FRIAR CUTHBERT. Well, then, since you are in the mood To give your noisy humors vent, Sing and howl to your heart's content!
CHORUS OF MONKS.
Funde vinum, funde!
Tanquam sint fluminis undae,
Nec quaeras unde,
Sed fundas semper abunde!
FRIAR JOHN. What is the name of yonder friar, With an eye that glows like a coal of fire, And such a black mass of tangled hair?
FRIAR PAUL. He who is sitting there, With a rollicking, Devil may care, Free and easy look and air, As if he were used to such feasting and frolicking?
FRIAR JOHN. The same.
FRIAR PAUL. He's a stranger. You had better ask his name, And where he is going and whence he came.
FRIAR JOHN. Hallo! Sir Friar!
FRIAR PAUL. You must raise your voice a little higher, He does not seem to hear what you say. Now, try again! He is looking this way.
FRIAR JOHN. Hallo! Sir Friar, We wish to inquire Whence you came, and where you are going, And anything else that is worth the knowing. So be so good as to open your head.
LUCIFER. I am a Frenchman born and bred, Going on a pilgrimage to Rome. My home Is the convent of St. Gildas de Rhuys, Of which, very like, you never have heard.