Ab. Yea, Most Holy, we be much accursed by reason of yon cursed—(The old man takes out some tablets and seating himself on the floor proceeds to calculate.)
Ab. Yon, yon—
Hild. Say on, Sirrah! Accursed? hast lost thy tongue? (Abbot and Monks all groan.) Speak on or means shall be found to make thee!
Ab. Nay, nay, Most Holy! He be cursing us now wi’ his deviltries. I may not mention his name because of the blight. Wilt thou not bless me so that I may proceed unharmed?
Hild. (Makes the sign of the cross.) Yea, ’tis done. Proceed!
Ab. (Growing bolder.) Yon cursed dog of a sorcerer hath bewitched us all.
Monks. Yea, yea, Most Holy.
Hild. He hath then but little to do.
Ab. Nay, Most Holy, he hath done much.