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- Вальтер Скотт
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- Стр. 138/364
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When
they
had
reached
the
little
moonlight
glade
,
having
in
front
the
reverend
,
though
ruinous
chapel
,
and
the
rude
hermitage
,
so
well
suited
to
ascetic
devotion
,
Wamba
whispered
to
Gurth
,
"
If
this
be
the
habitation
of
a
thief
,
it
makes
good
the
old
proverb
,
The
nearer
the
church
the
farther
from
God
.
--
And
by
my
coxcomb
,
"
he
added
,
"
I
think
it
be
even
so
--
Hearken
but
to
the
black
sanctus
which
they
are
singing
in
the
hermitage
!
"
In
fact
the
anchorite
and
his
guest
were
performing
,
at
the
full
extent
of
their
very
powerful
lungs
,
an
old
drinking
song
,
of
which
this
was
the
burden
:
--
"
Come
,
trowl
the
brown
bowl
to
me
,
Bully
boy
,
bully
boy
,
Come
,
trowl
the
brown
bowl
to
me
:
Ho
!
jolly
Jenkin
,
I
spy
a
knave
in
drinking
,
Come
,
trowl
the
brown
bowl
to
me
.
"
"
Now
,
that
is
not
ill
sung
,
"
said
Wamba
,
who
had
thrown
in
a
few
of
his
own
flourishes
to
help
out
the
chorus
.
"
But
who
,
in
the
saint
's
name
,
ever
expected
to
have
heard
such
a
jolly
chant
come
from
out
a
hermit
's
cell
at
midnight
!
"
"
Marry
,
that
should
I
,
"
said
Gurth
,
"
for
the
jolly
Clerk
of
Copmanhurst
is
a
known
man
,
and
kills
half
the
deer
that
are
stolen
in
this
walk
.
Men
say
that
the
keeper
has
complained
to
his
official
,
and
that
he
will
be
stripped
of
his
cowl
and
cope
altogether
,
if
he
keeps
not
better
order
.
"
