Again he paused and sighed. Then he went on: “I have not now to tell a tale of George a Green and Jack a Vale. ’Tis of John Skelton--unlucky John--that I must speak. They made me Rector of Diss in my native county, and there----” He paused and rubbed his chin and smiled. “Understand, sir, we poets pay for the favour of the Muse in many ways. Some of us are merry when we should be grave; and we are prone to fall in love despite our vows; and we love better the company of our brothers, even in taverns and alehouses,--even when they are but clowns and rustics of the baser sort,--than the loneliness of the priest’s house; we laugh in season and out of season; if we make songs we desire to sing them; the rattling of pint-pots, the tinkling of mazers, is music in our ears; we linger over the Psalms no longer than we must; we invent merry conceits and quips; men laugh with us: none so popular as the poet who makes mirth for the company.” Here he sighed and buried his face in the black jack. “‘Tis right good ale,” he said. “‘Tis solacyous ale, and from the Monastery cellar. Not such is the small stuff doled out to the rest. Drink, good sir. Ay! ’tis easy to make good cheer; but one is not the clown on the stage nor the fool, and they make men laugh as well. If the jester be also a grave scholar and a reverend Divine, there are presently rumours of things unseemly, things unworthy, things _tacenda_. Add to which that the poet inclineth often unto satire, like Horace and Juvenal; and that those against whom the satire is directed are apt to chafe and even to become revengeful. Quarrels, therefore, I had with Sir Christopher Garnyshe, and with Masters Barclay, Gaguin, and Lily. What? I thumped them and they thumped me. And the world [Illustration: BROKEN CROSS WITHIN THE ABBEY PRECINCTS.] laughed; and no one the worse. But one must not open mouth against the monks; and by freedom of speech I brought upon me the wrath of the Dominicans. So there was admonishing from the Bishop, and I left Diss, coming to London, where, I hoped, Christ cross me spede and by the favour of His Highness the King, once my scholar apt and quick, to receive some great office.” “Did you bring your wife with you, Sir John?” “Ha! Sayest thou wife? How? Doth the world know that I was married? Yea, I brought her with me--and my lusty boys. Sir, many there are--parish priests--who are married secretly and are thought to entertain a leman. By the King was I recommended to the Cardinal. And now, indeed, I thought my fortune made; and so paid court to that great man, and strove to please him. Yea, I wrote for him that admirable poem, profitable to the soul, entitled, ‘The Boke of Three Fooles.’ And the ‘Garlande of Laurell’ I dedicated to my Lord Cardinal’s right noble Grace: