"Picture no more toothsome dainties to my soul lest for desire I swoon and
languish by the way. I pray thee, let us haste, sire, so may we reach fair
Canalise ere sunset--yet stay! Hearken, messire, hear ye aught? Sure, afar
the tocsin soundeth?"

Now hearkening thus, they both became aware
Of distant bells that throbbed upon the air,
A faint, insistent sound that rose and fell,
A clamour vague that ominous did swell.
As thus they stood, well hidden from the road,
Footsteps they heard of feet that briskly strode.
And, through the leaves, a small man they espied,
Who came apace, a great sword by his side.
Large bascinet upon his head he bore,
'Neath which his face a scowl portentous wore;
While after toiled a stout but reverend friar
Who, scant of breath, profusely did perspire
And, thus perspiring, panted sad complaints
Thus--on the heat, his comrade and the Saints.

"O Bax, O Bax! Saint Cuthbert aid me now!
O Bax, see how to sweat thou'st made me now!
Thy speed abate! O sweet Saint Dominic!
Why pliest thou thy puny shanks so quick;
O day! O Bax! O hot, sulphurous day,
My flesh betwixt ye melteth fast away.
Come, sit ye, Bax, in shade of yon sweet tree,
And, sitting soft, I'll sagely counsel thee."

"Not so, in faith," the small man, scowling, said,