Son.
Such the anguish that I feel
Through my inmost entrails steal,
That I bide in doubt lest death
Ere to-morrow end my breath.
Father.
Those strict rules that monks observe,
Well I know them! They must serve
Heaven by fasting every day,
And by keeping watch alway.
Son.
Who for God watch through the night
Shall receive a crown of light;
Who for heaven's sake hungers, he
Shall be fed abundantly.
Father.
Hard and coarse the food they eat,
Beans and pottage-herbs their meat;
After such a banquet, think,
Water is their only drink!
Son.
What's the good of feasts, or bright
Cups of Bacchus, when, in spite
Of all comforts, at the last
This poor flesh to worms is cast?