What manner devils we are, and when I clap
My hands thus and cry “Host!” then lead him forth.
[Exeunt Miller and Bottlejohn into cellar. To Friar.]
Meantime, my pixy, hide we here.
FRIAR
Sweet lord—
[They hide in the cupboard. Enter, left, Chaucer and
Prioress.]
PRIORESS
Parlez toujours, Monsieur!
Parlez toujours!