The captain mused a little space, And passed his hand across his face. “Fain would I find the guide you want, But ill may pursuivant, The only men that safe can ride Mine errands on the Scottish side: And though a bishop built this fort, Few holy brethren here resort; Even our good chaplain, as I ween, Since our last siege we have not seen: The mass he might not sing or say, Upon one stinted meal a day; So safe he sat in Durham aisle, And prayed for our success the while. Our Norham vicar, woe betide, Is all too well in case to ride; The priest of Shoreswood—he could rein The wildest war-horse in your train; But then, no spearman in the hall Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawl. Friar John of Tillmouth were the man: A blithesome brother at the can, A welcome guest in hall and bower, He knows each castle, town, and tower, In which the wine and ale is good, ’Twixt Newcastle and Holyrood. But that good man, as ill befalls, Hath seldom left our castle walls, Since, on the vigil of Saint Bede, In evil hour, he crossed the Tweed, To teach Dame Alison her creed. Old Bughtrig found him with his wife; And John, an enemy to strife, Sans frock and hood, fled for his life. The jealous churl hath deeply swore That if again he venture o’er, He shall shrive penitent no more. Little he loves such risks, I know; Yet in your guard, perchance, will go.” XXII. Young Selby, at the fair hall-board, Carved to his uncle and that lord, And reverently took up the word. “Kind uncle, woe were we each one, If harm should hap to brother John. He is a man of mirthful speech, Can many a game and gambol teach; Full well at tables can he play, And sweep at bowls the stake away. None can a lustier carol bawl; The needfullest among us all, When time hangs heavy in the hall, And snow comes thick at Christmas-tide, And we can neither hunt, nor ride A foray on the Scottish side. The vowed revenge of Bughtrig rude, May end in worse than loss of hood. Let Friar John, in safety, still In chimney-corner snore his fill, Roast hissing crabs, or flagons swill: Last night to Norham there came one, Will better guide Lord Marmion.” “Nephew,” quoth Heron, “by my fay, Well hast thou spoke; say forth thy say.” XXIII.