See the foe my life invade! 
    Haste, oh haste, to give me aid! 
    Bring me comfort and heart’s ease,
    Strengthen me in this disease!

Father. 
    Oh, my best-beloved son,
    What is this thou wouldst have done? 
    Weigh it well in heart and brain: 
    Do not leave me here in pain.

Son. 
    Father, this thy loving care
    Makes me weep full sore, I swear;
    For you will be childless when
    I have joined those holy men.

Father. 
    Therefore make a little stay,
    Put it off till the third day;
    It may be your danger is
    Not unto the death, I wis.

Son. 
    Such the anguish that I feel
    Through my inmost entrails steal,
    That I bide in doubt lest death
    Ere to-morrow end my breath.

Father. 
    Those strict rules that monks observe,
    Well I know them!  They must serve
    Heaven by fasting every day,
    And by keeping watch alway.

Son. 
    Who for God watch through the night
    Shall receive a crown of light;
    Who for heaven’s sake hungers, he
    Shall be fed abundantly.

Father. 
    Hard and coarse the food they eat,
    Beans and pottage-herbs their meat;
    After such a banquet, think,
    Water is their only drink!

Son. 
    What’s the good of feasts, or bright
    Cups of Bacchus, when, in spite
    Of all comforts, at the last
    This poor flesh to worms is cast?

Father. 
    Well, then, let thy parent’s moan
    Move thee in thy soul, my son! 
    Mourning for thee made a monk,
    Dead-alive in darkness sunk.

Son. 
    They who father, mother love,
    And their God neglect, will prove
    That they are in error found
    When the judgment trump shall sound.

Father. 
    Logic! would thou ne’er hadst been
    Known on earth for mortal teen! 
    Many a clerk thou mak’st to roam
    Wretched, exiled from his home.—­

    Never more thine eyes, my son,
    Shall behold thy darling one,
    Him, that little clerk so fair,
    N., thy friend beyond compare!

Son. 
    Oh, alas! unhappy me! 
    What to do I cannot see;
    Wandering lost in exile so,
    Without guide or light I go!—­

    Dry your tears, my father dear,
    Haply there is better cheer;
    Now my mind on change is set,
    I’ll not be a monk, not yet.

XIX.

The order adopted in this essay brings us now to drinking-songs.  Next to spring and love, our students set their affections principally on the tavern and the winebowl.  In the poems on the Order we have seen how large a space in their vagrant lives was occupied by the tavern and its jovial company of topers and gamesters.  It was there that—­