ed all the
women-folk whether they knew what it was to eat raw flesh at night. "I
will tell you what it is, ladies," he said, whereat the young men of
Amboise, who had just arrived with their wives, sisters, and nieces, and
who had no knowledge of the pilgrim's humour, began to be scandalised;
though on listening further their indignation gave place to laughter,
even when he said that to eat the lamb it was needful to have one's
loins girt, one's feet in one's shoes, and one's hand on one's staff.

The friar, seeing them laugh at this, and guessing the reason,
immediately corrected himself. "Well," said he, "to have shoes on one's
feet and a staff in one's hand; 'tis all one."

That this sally was received with laughter you will readily believe.
Even the ladies could not refrain from merriment, and for them he
added other diverting sayings. Then finding the time was nearly up, and
wishing the ladies to be well pleased with him when they departed, he
said to them--"Now, fair ladies, when you are chatting presently with
your gossips, you will be asking one another: 'Who, pray, is this Master
Friar, that speaks out so boldly? He must be a brisk fellow.' I will
tell you, ladies, yes, I will tell you, and be not astonished if I speak
out boldly, for I am of Anjou, at your service."

With these words he ended his sermon, leaving his hearers more disposed
to laugh at his foolish speeches than to weep in memory of our Lord's
Passion which was then being commemorated.

The other sermons that he preached during the festival had much the
same value. You are aware that these friars never fail to go begging
for their Easter eggs, and receive not only eggs, but many other things,
such as linen, yarn, chitterlings, hams, chines, and similar trifles. So
when Easter Tuesday came, and the friar was making those exhortations to
charity of which such folks as he are no niggards, he said--

"I am bound to thank you, ladies, for the liberality you have shown to
our poor monastery, and yet I cannot forbear telling you that you have
hitherto not duly considered the nature of our wants. You have for the
most part given us chitterlings, but of these we ourselves have no lack.
God be praised, our monastery is indeed full of them. What then can we
do with so many? I will tell you. My advice, ladies, is that you should
mix your hams with our chitterlings; in this way you would bestow fine
alms."

Then, continuing his sermon, he brought into i