Here is a profane and drunken minstrel,
called Allan-a-Dale--'nebulo quidam'--who has menaced me with corporal
punishment--nay, with death itself, an I pay not down four hundred
crowns of ransom, to the boot of all the treasure he hath already robbed
me of--gold chains and gymmal rings to an unknown value; besides what
is broken and spoiled among their rude hands, such as my pouncer-box and
silver crisping-tongs."

"It is impossible that Allan-a-Dale can have thus treated a man of your
reverend bearing," replied the Captain.

"It is true as the gospel of Saint Nicodemus," said the Prior; "he
swore, with many a cruel north-country oath, that he would hang me up on
the highest tree in the greenwood."

"Did he so in very deed? Nay, then, reverend father, I think you had
better comply with his demands--for Allan-a-Dale is the very man to
abide by his word when he has so pledged it." [43]

"You do but jest with me," said the astounded Prior, with a forced
laugh; "and I love a good jest with all my heart. But, ha! ha! ha! when
the mirth has lasted the livelong night, it is time to be grave in the
morning."

"And I am as grave as a father confessor," replied the Outlaw; "you must
pay a round ransom, Sir Prior, or your convent is likely to be called to
a new election; for your place will know you no more."

"Are ye Christians," said the Prior, "and hold this language to a
churchman?"

"Christians! ay, marry are we, and have divinity among us to boot,"
answered the Outlaw. "Let our buxom chaplain stand forth, and expound to
this reverend father the texts which concern this matter."

The Friar, half-drunk, half-sober, had huddled a friar's frock over his
green cassock, and now summoning together whatever scraps of learning
he had acquired by rote in former days, "Holy father," said he, "'Deus
faciat salvam benignitatem vestram'--You are welcome to the greenwood."

"What profane mummery is this?" said the Prior. "Friend, if thou be'st
indeed of the church, it were a better deed to show me how I may escape
from these men's hands, than to stand ducking and grinning here like a
morris-dancer."

"Truly, reverend father," said the Friar, "I know but one mode in which
thou mayst escape. This is Saint Andrew's day with us, we are taking our
tithes."

"But not of the church, then, I trust, my good brother?" said the Prior.

"Of church and lay," said the Friar; "and therefore, Sir Prior 'facite
vobis amicos de Mammone iniqui