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liberal in his expenses, the landlord provided him a good lodging. The house was full of guests, and a friar coming in very late, they had no lodgings for him; the friar, rather than go any further, chose to accept a bedfellow; but there was none that wished to be disturbed at that time of night, but Robin (whom they took for a shoemaker) was well enough pleased to have such a bedfellow.
Matters being thus accommodated, and the friar in bed, he soon fell fast asleep, and slept very heartily; but Robin having got a pretty good nap before, had no mind to sleep any more that night, but to lie awake, and meditate mischief, for he never loved any of that function, so he studied how he should change breeches with the friar; and getting up at dawn of day, he put on not only the friar's breeches, but also his canonical garments. Robin finding the sacred habiliments fitted him very well; and being thus rigged, down stairs he goes, and calls the ostler, bidding him bring his boots, and make ready his horse. The ostler, not in the least mistrusting but that it was really the friar, brought him his boots, and asked him what corn his horse might have? "Half a peck of oats," says Robin; which was given him. Robin called for the reckoning, and was answered he paid all last night, but for his horse. The horse having eaten up his corn, he mounted with all the expedition imaginable, giving the ostler something to drink his health.
Away he rode, as fast as the friar's horse would carry him. The friar not dreaming what had happened, kept close within the bed; but about seven in the morning he rose out of his sleep, and going to bid his bedfellow good morning, soon found, not only that the bird was flown, but also that he was flown away with his feathers, for he saw nothing but a parcel of old clothes. Upon this the friar in great surprise calls for somebody to come up; but the servants supposing it was the shoemaker, asked him what ailed him to make such a noise, and bade him be quiet. This vexed the friar, and made him knock the harder; upon which the chamberlain went up, and threatened to thrash him if he made any more noise. The friar not understanding the meaning of this rude treatment, was amazed, and asked where his clothes were; the chamberlain replied, "Where a plague should they be but upon the chair where you left them? Who do you think would meddle with your dirty clothes? They are not of so much worth, that you need be afraid of any body's stealing them." "The man's mad," replied the friar: "Do you know who you speak to?" "Yes, I do," replied the chamberlain, "a drunken shoemaker." "Why, I am the friar," said he, "who
