If I had had the luck to meet with a fighting friar indeed, I might have been thwacked, and soundly too; but I hold myself a match for any two laymen; it takes nine fighting laymen to make a fighting friar." "Whence come you now, holy father ?" asked Matilda.
"From Rubygill Abbey," said the friar, "whither I never return: For I must seek some hermit cell, Where I alone my beads may tell, And on the wight who that way fares Levy a toll for my ghostly pray'rs, Levy a toll, levy a toll, Levy a toll for my ghostly pray'rs." "What is the matter then, father ?" said Matilda.
"This is the matter," said the friar: "my holy brethren have held a chapter on me, and sentenced me to seven years' privation of wine.

I therefore deemed it fitting to take my departure, which they would fain have prohibited.

I was enforced to clear the way with my staff.

I have grievously beaten my dearly beloved brethren: I grieve thereat; but they enforced me thereto.

I have beaten them much; I mowed them down to the right and to the left, and left them like an ill-reaped field of wheat, ear and straw pointing all ways, scattered in singleness and jumbled in masses; and so bade them farewell, saying, Peace be with you.