RENE-- (_To Simon._)
Matthew, thou publican!
SIMON-- Bacchus, thou saint!
(_He points forward to the corner of the dormitory
where Pierre and his companions enter with
the wine vessels which they proceed to place
beside the wall._)
BASIL--Simply the old clothes of My Lady Wine.
FIRST MONK--The blessed Virgin grant it be the train.
I had half yielded to old Andrew's dream;
I feared the train was lost.
SECOND MONK-- Another dream?
FIRST MONK--Last night, between the glances of the moon,
While his soul grabbled in the fogs of sleep,
He beheld Father's new cope in a brook,
Swishing against a fallen sycamore.
The censer and the golden chalices
Lay gleaming on the gravel.
SIMON-- (_Who has been tipping the casks._)
And the wine?
FIRST MONK--While he was hunting for it in his dream,
Like a blind weasel for a nest of eggs,
And had his hand on what felt like a skin,
The matins rang. He's been gruff ever since.
There's not a holy bell can call to prayer
To smooth our spirits with the thought of God,
But brings him from his hole with ruffled quills,
Threatening the belfry with his palmer's staff.
He says he hopes the Devil has snared the train
And spurred the asses off the bluffs to Hell.
SIMON--Now God forbid, with all that precious wine!
LEO-- (_To Basil._)
I shall tell Father on you.
BASIL--(_Imitating Leo's small voice._) Hear him roar!