Ho, Alva! seest thou not the coming of thine own liege lord?
or art thou already so blinded by good liquor thou would'st dare neglect the very Pope himself, did he honor us with his company?
Alva, I say, you roistering hound, you drunken blade, bring hither a stool for the worthy confessor! Faith! doth he not bear the sins of us all, and must he not be greatly aweary with so vast a load.

Saint Theresa! 't is fortunate there is yet a bottle left uncracked for the good _padre_!" I gathered the heavy hood closer about my face, so as better to muffle voice as well as conceal features; made an apparent effort to stand firm, but with such poor success I noticed the grins expand on the faces watching me.
"Peace, my son," I hiccoughed, with an assumption of drunken gravity, uplifting my disengaged arm as if in priestly benediction of the impious crew.

"Tempt me not to turn aside from the solemn path of duty by offerings of that foul fiend which doth so corrupt and despoil men.
Know you, I am now on my way to perform the sweet offices of our most holy religion, and need greatly to permit my mind to dwell in peace upon more soulful things than that which lieth in the wine pot.

You are mere beasts of the field, sons of Belial, children of wrath, every one of you, doomed to death, even as it is written, 'He that taketh the sword shall perish by the sword.' Laugh, will you, you drunken scum of the sea!" I shouted, glaring about savagely on the grimacing faces.
"'T is truth out of Holy Writ I speak, but I waste the precious word in such company--'t is casting pearls before swine--for there be none here who comprehend the things of the Spirit." "The spirit say you, _padre_ ?" interrupted the officer, evidently in rare good humor.

"_Bastinade_! thou doest wrong to all this worshipful company by so grievous a slur.