The reverend stillness of the cloisters, scarce broken by the quiet tread of the monks, is now disturbed by armed heel and clank of sword; while in its saintly courts are heard the ribald song, the profane jest, and the angry brawl.

Of the brethren, only those tenanting the cemetery are left.

All else are gone, driven forth, as vagabonds, with stripes and curses, to seek refuge where they may.
A sad, sad change has come over Whalley Abbey.

In the plenitude of its pride and power has it been cast down, desecrated, despoiled.

Its treasures are carried off, its ornaments sold, its granaries emptied, its possessions wasted, its storehouses sacked, its cattle slaughtered and sold.