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"I never sit," replied the nun in a harsh, rasping voice. "Truly, that is more than I could say," observed Maude with a smile. "Shall it like you to drink a draught of small ale?" "I never drink ale." This assertion would not sound strange to us, but it was astounding to Maude. "Would you ipocras and spice rather?" "I never eat spice." "Will you eat a marchpane?" "I never eat marchpane."
Here is one of Sir John Mandeville's tales. After telling about the tomb of St. John at Ephesus, Sir John goes on: "And then men pass through the isles of Cophos and Lango, of the which isles Ipocras was lord. And some say that in the isle of Lango is Ipocras's daughter in form of a Dragon. It is a hundred foot long, so men say. But I have not seen it.
This he washed down with bastard, malmsey, and good ale, topped with almonds, comfits, perfumed cherries with "ipocras," then sprinkled himself with rose-water and dabbled his face and hands in it. Filled to the turret, he lurched to his feet, and drinking to Sir Hugh's toast, 27 "Her sacred Majesty!" he clanked and roared. "Elizabeth!" as though upon the field of battle.
This he washed down with bastard, malmsey, and good ale, topped with almonds, comfits, perfumed cherries with "ipocras," then sprinkled himself with rose-water and dabbled his face and hands in it. Filled to the turret, he lurched to his feet, and drinking to Sir Hugh's toast, "Her sacred Majesty!" he clanked and roared. "Elizabeth!" as though upon the field of battle.
You shall never have peace while Hal is in this kingdom." "Fair Uncle, I am sure he will repay me!" was the response of the warm-hearted Richard. "Ha!" said John of Gaunt, and sipped his ipocras with a grim smile. "Sans doute, Monseigneur, sans doute!" Westminster Hall beheld a grand and imposing ceremony on the Michaelmas Day of 1397.
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