ey were poor or needy, for every
mother's son of them had a very good fat belly-benefice.

As for their drink, 'twas an antifortunal; thus they called I don't know
what sort of a liquor of the place.

When they wanted to eat or drink, they turned down the back-points or flaps
of their cowls forwards below their chins, and that served 'em instead of
gorgets or slabbering-bibs.

When they had well dined, they prayed rarely all in quavers and shakes; and
the rest of the day, expecting the day of judgment, they were taken up with
acts of charity, and particularly--

O' Sundays, rubbers at cuffs.

O' Mondays, lending each other flirts and fillips on the nose.

O' Tuesdays, clapperclawing one another.

O' Wednesdays, sniting and fly-flapping.

O' Thursdays, worming and pumping.

O' Fridays, tickling.

O' Saturdays, jerking and firking one another.

Such was their diet when they resided in the convent, and if the prior of
the monk-house sent any of them abroad, then they were strictly enjoined
neither to touch nor eat any manner of fish as long as they were on sea or
rivers, and to abstain from all manner of flesh whenever they were at land,
that everyone might be convinced that, while they enjoyed the object, they
denied themselves the power, and even the desire, and were no more moved
with it than the Marpesian rock.

All this was done with proper antiphones, still sung and chanted by ear, as
we have already observed.

When the sun went to bed, they fairly booted and spurred each other as
before, and having clapped on their barnacles e'en jogged to bed too. At
midnight the Sandal came to them, and up they got, and having well whetted
and set their razors, and been a-processioning, they clapped the tables
over themselves, and like wire-drawers under their work fell to it as
aforesaid.

Friar John des Entoumeures, having shrewdly observed these jolly Semiquaver
Friars, and had a full account of their statutes, lost all patience, and
cried out aloud: Bounce tail, and God ha' mercy guts; if every fool should
wear a bauble, fuel would be dear. A plague rot it, we must know how many
farts go to an ounce. Would Priapus were here, as he used to be at the
nocturnal festivals in Crete, that I might see him play backwards, and
wriggle and shake to the purpose. Ay, ay, this is the world, and t'other
is the country; may I never piss if this be not an antichthonian land, and
our very antipodes. In Germany they pull