Wiz. By watching of the swine at their feeding. Some of this did by chance get mixed with their provender, and those that did eat of it grew quickly corpulent, and I,—thought me—
Hild. ’Twould suit the monks?
Wiz. Yea, but they overfed—
Hild. And died?
Wiz. Yea.
Hild. But these others—they accuse thee of their disorders.
Wiz. (To Monks.) Feed less, drink less, toil more, sleep less. Go not with the women, an your curse will leave you, ha, ha.
Ab. Nay, he hath a devil. We be church’s men.
Hild. Ye look it, what else doth he?