Althoff thou best a Frere.’”

The Hermit, in return, expresses his apprehension that his guest means to drag him into some confession of offence against the forest laws, which, being betrayed to the King, might cost him his life. Edward answers by fresh assurances of secrecy, and again urges on him the necessity of procuring some venison. The Hermit replies, by once more insisting on the duties incumbent upon him as a churchman, and continues to affirm himself free from all such breaches of order.Many a day have I been here,
And flesh-meat I eat never,
    But milk of the cow;
Warm yourself well, and go to sleep,
And I will cover you with my cloak,
    Softly to lie."
It would seem that the manuscript is here imperfect, for we do not find
the reasons which finally induce the curtal Friar to amend the King’s
cheer. But acknowledging his guest to be such a "good fellow" as has
seldom graced his board, the holy man at length produces the best his
cell affords. Two candles are placed on a table, white bread and baked
pastries are displayed by the light, besides choice of venison, both
salt and fresh, from which they select collops. "I might have eaten my
bread dry," said the King, "had I not pressed thee on the score of
archery, but now have I dined like a prince—if we had but drink enough." This too is afforded by the hospitable anchorite, who dispatches an
assistant to fetch a pot of four gallons from a secret corner near his
bed, and the whole three set in to serious drinking. This amusement is
superintended by the Friar, according to the recurrence of certain
fustian words, to be repeated by every compotator in turn before
drinking—a species of High Jinks, as it were, by which they regulated
their potations, as toasts were given in later times. The one drinker
says "fusty bandias", to which the other is obliged to reply, "strike
pantnere", and the Friar jokes about the King’s lack of
memory, who sometimes forgets the words of action. The night is spent
in this jolly pastime. Before his departure in the morning, the King
invites his reverend host to Court, promises, at least, to repay his
hospitality, and expresses himself much pleased with his entertainment.
The jolly Hermit at length agrees to venture there, and to ask for Jack Fletcher, which is the name assumed by the King. After the
Hermit has shown Edward some feats of archery, the joyous pair
separate. The King rides home, and rejoins his retinue. As the romance
is imperfect, we are not acquainted how the discovery takes place; but
it is probably much in the same manner as in other narratives turning
on the same subject, where 

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