Come, it is supper-time.

_Julian_.
I will not sup to-night.

_Robert_.
Not sup? You'll never live to be a saint.

_Julian_.
A saint! The devil has me by the heel.

_Robert_.
So has he all saints; as a boy his kite,
Which ever struggles higher for his hold.
It is a silly devil to gripe so hard;--
He should let go his hold, and then he has you.
If you'll not come, I'll leave the light with you.
Hark to the chorus! Brother Stephen sings.

Chorus. _Always merry, and never drunk.
That's the life of the jolly monk_.

SONG.

They say the first monks were lonely men,
Praying each in his lonely den,
Rising up to kneel again,
Each a skinny male Magdalene,
Peeping scared from out his hole
Like a burrowing rabbit or a mole;