THE CHRONICLE OF CLEMENDY
and are now so cold and quiet? But it was certainly a sorrowful thing to die for a little fellow with bright eyes and a curly tail; 'twas bad enough when a lady died for her big pet, who could put his arms all round the cote-hardie, and fondle it, and say pretty things, and kiss those full red lips, that are now so white and chilly. But yet 'tis of none of these dear dead maidens that I am going to talk, nor of their brave Knights that payed quit rent to them in kisses, and did with their embraces full knightly suit and service. Though one wrestled with a bull till the brute's horns broke off, and another charged twice through the stricken field of Banbury, pole-axe in hand, though one fought two days and nights with a few small ships against a host of French and Spanish galleys (hard by to Rochelle, this did Jehan de Hastings, third of that name), yet I know you care not much about them, or their noble and ancient coats, and I wis that you would not weep at the fate of the last Seigneur who died when he was but seventeen being pierced through the body in a tourney. I will therefore devise you a tale of another marvel of the minster, which (to speak the plain truth) made a great noise in its day, was a notable nuisance to the lords and ladies aforesaid, pestered the good monks till their stalls were too hot to hold them, and played the very deuce with the honest townsfolk of Burgavenny, who then, as now, lived a quiet life and asked for nothing but to be left alone. And what was this marvel? How could anything about a church be so wicked as to worry people and make them say
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