look to the brambles then,” said brother Michael.     

       “The bramble, the bramble, the bonny forest bramble, Doth make a jest Of silken vest, That will through greenwood scramble:       The bramble, the bramble, the bonny forest bramble.”  

       “Plague on your lungs, son Michael,” said the abbot; “this is your old coil: always roaring in your cups.”      

       “I know what I say,” said brother Michael; “there is often more sense in an old song than in a new homily.     

       The courtly pad doth amble, When his gay lord would ramble:           But both may catch An awkward scratch, If they ride among the bramble:       The bramble, the bramble, the bonny forest bramble.”  

       “Tall friar,” said Sir Ralph, “either you shoot the shafts of your merriment at random, or you know more of the earl’s designs than beseems your frock.”      

       “Let my frock,” said brother Michael, “answer for its own sins. It is worn past covering mine. It is too weak for a shield, too transparent for a screen, too thin for a shelter, too light for gravity, and too threadbare for a jest. The wearer would be naught indeed who should misbeseem such a wedding garment.     

       But wherefore does the sheep wear wool? That he in season sheared may be, And the shepherd be warm though his flock be cool:           So I’ll have a new cloak about me.”  

  

       CHAPTER II     

      Vray moyne si oncques en feut depuis que le monde moynant moyna de moynerie.—RABELAIS. 

       The Earl of Huntingdon, living in the vicinity of a royal forest, and passionately attached to the chase from his infancy, had long made as free with the king’s deer as Lord Percy proposed to do with those of Lord Douglas in the memorable hunting of Cheviot. It is sufficiently well known how severe were the forest-laws in those days, and with what jealousy the kings of England maintained this branch of their prerogative; but menaces and remonstrances were thrown away on the earl, who declared that he would not thank Saint Peter for admission into Paradise, if he were obliged to leave his bow and hounds at the gate. King Henry (the 

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