If e’er in jest he spoke;

And the waves that lay in Michael’s bay

Shook, like a merry company,

Responsive to his joke.

Thrice every day he gorged his fill,

And thrice he drank as well:

One herd at least of salted swine,

One hundred fatted beeves in brine,

And eke a thousand casks of wine,

Were stow’d within his cell.