We must suppose that even at that day there was something peculiarly fanciful in the mind of the man who collected such tales.  But, although he commends his favourite saints as being jocund and pleasant men, we are disappointed when we look for his own wit.  It is either verbal or sententious, and does not rise higher than, “Few things are impossible to women.”  “May God omnipotent grant you not to be deceived by woman omnipotent.”  “The dog does not gnaw a dry bone, nor the leech stick to an empty vein.”  His “Mirror of the Church” is full of violent attacks upon the monastic orders, especially the Cistercian, evidently written in serious indignation, although he sometimes indulges in a play upon words.  In this he was unlike many writers, who attacked the monks merely to amuse, for which there was a good opening, as the brethren, though in some cases weak, were generally viewed with respect, and tales about them were easily regarded as humorous.  There is a story of Walter Mapes having been called to see a Cistercian Abbot, when dangerously ill, and the Archdeacon recommended him to quit his order, and give up avarice and rapacity.  The Abbot refused, and even administered to the Archdeacon the rebuke, “Get thee behind me, Satan.”  Shortly afterwards Mapes was taken ill, and the Abbot going to visit him, strongly recommended him to renounce his light jesting habits, to give up his pluralities, and take refuge in the bosom of the Cistercian order—­at the same time producing a gown and cowl, with which he proposed to invest him.  Mapes, with characteristic humour called his servants, and told them that, if ever in a fit of sickness he expressed a desire of becoming a monk, they were to consider it a sign that he had lost his senses, and keep him in close confinement.

The character which Mapes obtained for himself, caused a large amount of poetry of a somewhat later date to be attributed to him.  It is called “Goliardic,” as it gives the views of a class of wild ecclesiastical or University men, who spent their time in composing lampoons, and were called Goliards, from their supposed gluttony.  In an epigram, one of these men is represented coming to a bishop’s palace, and stating that he is “all ready to dine,” somewhat in the way of the old Greek parasites.  The bishop tells him he does not want such disreputable company, but that as he has come, he may have his food.  We may suppose, however, that he and his poorer brethren did not occupy any dignified position at the repast, as one of them complains

“Abbas ire sede sursum,
Et prioris juxta ipsum,
Ego semper stavi dorsum

                Inter rascalilia.”

All these poems are in Latin rhyme.  Two of them are especially attributed to Mapes.  One is “on not marrying;” Golias here sets forth a very appalling catalogue of the miseries of matrimony.  The husband is a donkey who is spurned by his wife.  Her tongue is a sword.  He thanks heaven he has escaped from the danger he was once in from the fascinations of a beautiful lady.  The other piece is the “Confessions of Golias,” which are very frank with regard to various unclerical weaknesses.  Some of the stanzas may be translated as follows,