On my shoulders[566] the gown of a monk—
Whom I managed for that very day
To get safely out of the way[567]—
And seat me, half sober, half drunk,
With the cowl thrown over my face;
In the father confessor’s place.
Eheu! benedicite![568]
In her orthodox sweet simplicity,
With that pensive, gray expression
She sighfully knelt[569] at confession,