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This rash hairbrained devil of a friar fears nothing, but ventures and runs on like a mad devil as he is, and cares not a rush what becomes of others; as if everyone was a monk, like his friarship. A pox on grinning honour, say I. Go to, returned the friar, thou mangy noddy-peak! thou forlorn druggle-headed sneaksby! and may a million of black devils anatomize thy cockle brain.
As they came near to the place, he espied Tickletoby afar off, coming home from mumping, and told them in macaronic verse: Hic est de patria, natus, de gente belistra, Qui solet antiqua bribas portare bisacco. A plague on his friarship, said the devils then; the lousy beggar would not lend a poor cope to the fatherly father; let us fright him.
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