A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS

“Statim sacerdoti apparuit diabolus in specie puellae pulchritudinis mirae, et ecce Divus, fide catholica, et cruce, et aqua benedicta armatus venit, et aspersit aquam in nomine Sanctae et Individuae Trinitatis, quam, quasi ardentem, diabolus, nequaquam sustinere valens, mugitibus fugit.”—­ROGER HOVEDEN.

     “Lord Abbot!  Lord Abbot!  I’d fain confess;
       I am a-weary, and worn with woe;
     Many a grief doth my heart oppress,
       And haunt me whithersoever I go!”

     On bended knee spake the beautiful Maid;
       “Now lithe and listen, Lord Abbot, to me!”—­
     “Now naye, fair daughter,” the Lord Abbot said,
       “Now naye, in sooth it may hardly be.

     “There is Mess Michael, and holy Mess John,
       Sage penitauncers I ween be they! 
     And hard by doth dwell, in St. Catherine’s cell,
       Ambrose, the anchorite old and gray!”

     —­“Oh, I will have none of Ambrose or John,
       Though sage penitauncers I trow they be;
     Shrive me may none save the Abbot alone—­
       Now listen, Lord Abbot, I speak to thee.

     “Nor think foul scorn, though mitre adorn
       Thy brow, to listen to shrift of mine! 
     I am a maiden royally born,
       And I come of old Plantagenet’s line.

     “Though hither I stray in lowly array,
       I am a damsel of high degree;
     And the Compte of Eu, and the Lord of Ponthieu,
       They serve my father on bended knee!

     “Counts a many, and Dukes a few,
       A suitoring came to my father’s Hall;
     But the Duke of Lorraine, with his large domain,
       He pleased my father beyond them all.

     “Dukes a many, and Counts a few,
       I would have wedded right cheerfullie;
     But the Duke of Lorraine was uncommonly plain,
       And I vowed that he ne’er should my bridegroom be!

     “So hither I fly, in lowly guise,
       From their gilded domes and their princely halls;
     Fain would I dwell in some holy cell,
       Or within some Convent’s peaceful walls!”

     —­Then out and spake that proud Lord Abbot,
       “Now rest thee, fair daughter, withouten fear. 
     Nor Count nor Duke but shall meet the rebuke
       Of Holy Church an he seek thee here: 

     “Holy Church denieth all search
       ’Midst her sanctified ewes and her saintly rams,
     And the wolves doth mock who would scathe her flock,
       Or, especially, worry her little pet lambs.

     “Then lay, fair daughter, thy fears aside,
       For here this day shalt thou dine with me!”—­
     “Now naye, now naye,” the fair maiden cried;
       “In sooth, Lord Abbot, that scarce may be!

     “Friends would whisper, and foes would frown,
       Sith thou art a Churchman of high degree,
     And ill mote it match with thy fair renown
       That a wandering damsel dine with thee!