At eve, within yon studious nook,
I ope my brass-embossed book,
Portray'd with many a holy deed
Of martyrs crown'd with heavenly meed;
Then, as my taper waxes dim,
Chant, ere I sleep, my measured hymn.
* * * * *
Who but would cast his pomp away,
To take my staff and amice grey,
And to the world's tumultuous stage,
Prefer the peaceful Hermitage?
--Warton

Notwithstanding the prescription of the genial hermit, with which his
guest willingly complied, he found it no easy matter to bring the harp
to harmony.

"Methinks, holy father," said he, "the instrument wants one string, and
the rest have been somewhat misused."

"Ay, mark'st thou that?" replied the hermit; "that shows thee a master
of the craft. Wine and wassail," he added, gravely casting up his
eyes--"all the fault of wine and wassail!--I told Allan-a-Dale, the
northern minstrel, that he would damage the harp if he touched it after
the seventh cup, but he would not be controlled--Friend, I drink to thy
successful performance."

So saying, he took off his cup with much gravity, at the same time
shaking his head at the intemperance of the Scottish harper.

The knight in the meantime, had brought the strings into some order,
and after a short prelude, asked his host whether he would choose a
"sirvente" in the language of "oc", or a "lai" in the language of "oui",
or a "virelai", or a ballad in the vulgar English. [23] "A ballad, a ballad," said the hermit, "against all the 'ocs' and 'ouis'
of France. Downright English am I, Sir Knight, and downright English
was my patron St Dunstan, and scorned 'oc' and 'oui', as he would have
scorned the parings of the devil's hoof--downright English alone shall
be sung in this cell."