How they eyed the bag as they stood in the porch!

Cho. _Oh! always merry, and never drunk_.
That's the life of the jolly monk!

_Robert_.
The song is hardly to your taste, I see!
Where shall I set the light?

_Julian_.
I do not need it.

_Robert_.
Come, come! The dark is a hot-bed for fancies.
I wish you were at table, were it only
To stop the talking of the men about you.
You in the dark are talked of in the light.

_Julian_.
Well, brother, let them talk; it hurts not me.

_Robert_.
No; but it hurts your friend to hear them say,
You would be thought a saint without the trouble;
You do no penance that they can discover.
You keep shut up, say some, eating your heart,
Possessed with a bad conscience, the worst demon.
You are a prince, say others, hiding here,
Till circumstance that bound you, set you free.
To-night, there are some whispers of a lady