Abbot—Ah, now you leave your figure.
Father Benedict— And take yours.
Abbot—You climbed the mountain, then—?
Father Benedict— To get my wool.
Abbot—And chop the brier?
Father Benedict— That belonged to God.
Abbot—Then tell me this: If it belonged to God,
How then do you, His shepherd, claim the wool
That God's own flukes have pulled from his own sheep?
Father Benedict—You do not understand.
Abbot— I think I do.
Father Benedict—I did not mean the brier was God's, but this:
That it belonged to God to chop it down.