marched forward towards a pass or
ford called the Gue de Vede, except seven companies of foot and two hundred
lancers, who, staying there, broke down the walls of the close, to waste,
spoil, and make havoc of all the vines and vintage within that place. The
monks (poor devils) knew not in that extremity to which of all their sancts
they should vow themselves. Nevertheless, at all adventures they rang the
bells ad capitulum capitulantes. There it was decreed that they should
make a fair procession, stuffed with good lectures, prayers, and litanies
contra hostium insidias, and jolly responses pro pace.

There was then in the abbey a claustral monk, called Friar John of the
funnels and gobbets, in French des entoumeures, young, gallant, frisk,
lusty, nimble, quick, active, bold, adventurous, resolute, tall, lean,
wide-mouthed, long-nosed, a fair despatcher of morning prayers, unbridler
of masses, and runner over of vigils; and, to conclude summarily in a word,
a right monk, if ever there was any, since the monking world monked a
monkery: for the rest, a clerk even to the teeth in matter of breviary.
This monk, hearing the noise that the enemy made within the enclosure of
the vineyard, went out to see what they were doing; and perceiving that
they were cutting and gathering the grapes, whereon was grounded the
foundation of all their next year's wine, returned unto the choir of the
church where the other monks were, all amazed and astonished like so many
bell-melters. Whom when he heard sing, im, nim, pe, ne, ne, ne, ne, nene,
tum, ne, num, num, ini, i mi, co, o, no, o, o, neno, ne, no, no, no, rum,
nenum, num: It is well shit, well sung, said he. By the virtue of God,
why do not you sing, Panniers, farewell, vintage is done? The devil snatch
me, if they be not already within the middle of our close, and cut so well
both vines and grapes, that, by Cod's body, there will not be found for
these four years to come so much as a gleaning in it. By the belly of
Sanct James, what shall we poor devils drink the while? Lord God! da mihi
potum. Then said the prior of the convent: What should this drunken
fellow do here? let him be carried to prison for troubling the divine
service. Nay, said the monk, the wine service, let us behave ourselves so
that it be not troubled; for you yourself, my lord prior, love to drink of
the best, and so doth every honest man. Never yet did a man of worth
dislike good wine, it is a monast