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Villon replied that the statute reached no farther than farces, drolls, antics, loose and dissolute games, and that he asked no more than what he had seen allowed at Brussels and other places. Tickletoby notwithstanding peremptorily bid him provide himself elsewhere if he would, and not to hope for anything out of his monastical wardrobe.
Villon, to dress an old clownish father greybeard, who was to represent God the father, begged of Friar Stephen Tickletoby, sacristan to the Franciscan friars of the place, to lend him a cope and a stole. Tickletoby refused him, alleging that by their provincial statutes it was rigorously forbidden to give or lend anything to players.
Tickletoby being come to the place, they all rushed on a sudden into the road to meet him, and in a frightful manner threw fire from all sides upon him and his filly foal, ringing and tingling their bells, and howling like so many real devils, Hho, hho, hho, hho, brrou, rrou, rrourrs, rrrourrs, hoo, hou, hou hho, hho, hhoi. Friar Stephen, don't we play the devils rarely?
Villon gave an account of this to the players, as of a most abominable action; adding, that God would shortly revenge himself, and make an example of Tickletoby. The Saturday following he had notice given him that Tickletoby, upon the filly of the convent so they call a young mare that was never leaped yet was gone a-mumping to St. Ligarius, and would be back about two in the afternoon.
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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