The abbot was counting his beads in his cell
With a flagon beside him. The abbot drank well,
And emptied it oft ere the first matin bell.
All quiet, all well.
"Hist! Brother Menander! A word in thine ear.
I'll show thee a way, if the corridor's clear,
To the abbot's own cellar. The abbot may hear?
Never fear! Never fear!"
Oh, Brother Menander, oh, bold Brother John,
Be chary, call wary on Mary her Son!