Chapter XXXIV
It is not texts will do it. Church artillery
Are silenced soon by real ordnance,
And canons are but vain opposed to cannon.
Go, coin your crosier, melt your church plate down,
Bid the starved soldier banquet in your halls,
And quaff your long-saved hogsheads. Turn them out
Thus primed with your good cheer, to guard your wall,
And they will venture for't.
Old Play.
The abbot received his counsellor with a tremulous eagerness of welcome, which announced to the sub-prior an extreme agitation of spirits, and the utmost need of good counsel. There was neither mazer-dish nor standing-cup upon the little table at the elbow of his huge chair of state; his beads alone lay there, and it seemed as if he had been telling them in his extremity of distress. Beside the beads was placed the mitre of the abbot, of an antique form, and blazing with precious stones, and the rich and highly embossed crosier rested against the same table.
The sacristan and old Father Nicolas had followed the sub-prior into the abbot's apartment, perhaps with the hope of learning something of the important matter which seemed to be in hand. They were not mistaken; for, after having ushered in the sub-prior, and being themselves in the act of retiring, the abbot made them a signal to remain. 'My brethren,' he said, 'it is well known to you with what painful zeal we have overseen the weighty affairs of this house committed to our unworthy hand; your bread hath been given to you, and your water hath been sure; I have not wasted the revenues of the convent on vain pleasures, as hunting or haw king, or in change of rich cope or alb, or in feasting idle bards and jesters, saving those who, according to old wont, were received in time of Christmas and Easter. Neither have I enriched either mine own relations nor strange women, at the expense of the patrimony.'
