_Friar Cuthbert._ And before the bell for matins sounds, He takes his lantern, and goes the rounds, Flashing it into our sleepy eyes, Merely to say it is time to arise. But enough of that. Go on, if you please, With your story about St. Gildas de Rhuys. _Lucifer._ Well, it finally came to pass That, half in fun and half in malice, One Sunday at Mass We put some poison into the chalice. But, either by accident or design, Peter Abelard kept away From the chapel that day, And a poor, young friar, who in his stead Drank the sacramental wine, Fell on the steps of the altar, dead! But look! do you see at the window there That face, with a look of grief and despair, That ghastly face, as of one in pain? _Monks._ Who? where? _Lucifer._ As I spoke, it vanished away again. _Friar Cuthbert._ It is that nefarious Siebald the Refectorarius. That fellow is always playing the scout, Creeping and peeping and prowling about; And then he regales The Abbot with Scandalous tales. _Lucifer_. A spy in the convent? One of the brothers Telling scandalous tales of the others? Out upon him, the lazy loon! I would put a stop to that pretty soon, In a way he should rue it. _Monks_. How shall we do it? _Lucifer_. Do you, brother Paul, Creep under the window, close to the wall, And open it suddenly when I call. Then seize the villain by the hair, And hold him there, And punish him soundly, once for all. _Friar Cuthbert_. As St. Dustan of old, We are told, Once caught the Devil by the nose! _Lucifer_. Ha! ha! that story is very clever, But has no foundation whatsoever. Quick! for I see his face again Glaring in at the window pane; Now! now! and do not spare your blows. (FRIAR PAUL _opens the window suddenly, and seizes_ SIEBALD. _They beat him._) _Friar Siebald_. Help! help! are you going to slay me? _Friar Paul_. That will teach you again to betray me! _Friar Siebald_. Mercy! mercy! _Friar Paul_ (_shouting and beating_). Rumpas bellorum lorum, Vim confer amorum Morum verorum, rorun. Tu plena polorum! _Lucifer_. Who stands in the doorway yonder, Stretching out his trembling hand, Just as Abelard used to stand, The flash of his keen, black eyes Forerunning the thunder? _The Monks (in confusion)_. The Abbot! the Abbot! _Friar Cuthbert (to the girl)_. Put on your disguise! _Friar Francis_. Hide the great flagon From the eyes of the dragon! _Friar Cuthbert_. Pull the brown hood over your face, Lest you bring me into disgrace!