The old friar exclaimed, when his hook was caught fast
By the bough of a tree,
And he could not get free,
Though he tugg'd and used words you shall not hear from me.
But finding his hand must the line disengage,
He turned, much excited (but not in a rage),
When a ghastly hue over his countenance spread,
Before which the colour so instantly fled
That it whitened his nose, which was mostly bright red,
And made him look just like a calf over-bled,