The loud little man on the roof they saw not nor heard.
"Which things again are an allegory," said Brother Copas.
The Brethren of St.Hospital had no Episode of their own.

But from the time of the Conquest downward they had constantly to take part in the moving scenes as members of the crowd, and the spectators constantly hailed their entry.
"Our coat of poverty is the wear to last, after all," said Copas, regaining the green-room and mopping his brow.

"We have just seen out the Plantagenets." In this humble way, when the time came, he looked on at the Episode of Henry the Eighth's visit to Merchester, and listened to the blank verse which he himself had written.

The Pageant Committee had ruled out the Reformation, but he had slyly introduced a hint of it.
The scene consisted mainly of revels, dances, tournays, amid which a singing man had chanted, in a beautiful tenor, Henry's own song of _Pastime with good Companye_ .-- "Pastime with good Companye, I love and shall until I die: Grudge who lust, but none deny, So God be pleased, thus live will I.
For my pastance, Hunt, sing and dance, My heart is set.
All goodly sport For my comfort Who shall me let ?" With its chorus-- "For Idleness Is chief mistress Of vices all.
Then who can say But mirth and play Is best of all ?" As to the tune of it their revels ended, Henry and Catherine of Aragon and Charles the Emperor passed from the sunlit stage, one solitary figure--the blind Bishop of Merchester--lingered, and stretched out his hands for the monks to come and lead him home, stretched out his hands towards the Cathedral behind the green elms.
"Being blind, I trust the Light.
Ah, Mother Church! If fire must purify, If tribulation search thee, shall I plead _Not in my time, O Lord_?
Nay let me know All dark, yet trust the dawn--remembering The order of thy services, thy sweet songs, Thy decent ministrations--Levite, priest And sacrifice--those antepasts of heaven.
We have sinn'd, we have sinn'd! But never yet went out The flame upon the altar, day or night; And it shall save thee, O Jerusalem! Jerusalem!" "And I stole that straight out of Jeremy Taylor," murmured Brother Copas, as the monks led off their Bishop, chanting-- "Crux, in caelo lux superna, Sis in carnis hac taberna Mihi pedibus lucerna-- "Quo vexillum Dux cohortis Sistet, super flumen mortis, Te, flammantibus in portis!" -- "While I wrote that dog-Latin myself," said Brother Copas, musing, forgetful that he, the author, was lingering on the stage from which he ought to have removed himself three minutes ago with the rest of the crowd.
"Ger' out! Get off, zat olt fool! What ze devil you mean by doddling!" It was the voice of Mr.Isidore screeching upon him through the megaphone.

Brother Copas turned about, uplifting his face to it for a moment with a dazed stare.