We are pilgrim-priests. We asked for lodging in the village. But they told us that it was not lawful for them to receive us, so we lay down in the shelter of this shrine.
FISHER.
Truly, truly: I know of none in the village that could give you lodging.
PRIEST.
Pray tell me, sir, what brings you here?
FISHER.
Gladly. I am a cormorant-fisher. While the moon is shining I rest at this shrine; but when the moon sinks, I go to ply my trade.
PRIEST.
Then you will not mind our lodging here. But, sir, this work of slaughter ill becomes you; for I see that the years lie heavy on you. Pray leave this trade and find yourself another means of sustenance.
FISHER.