For the best wine that's to be had,
Lest he should see, and run horn-mad.
She's kind, and ever did admire
A well-fed monk or well-hung friar.
Go to, quoth Friar John, thou old noddy, thou doddipolled ninny, go to the devil thou'rt prating of.I've done with rhyming; the rheum gripes me at the gullet. Let's talk of paying and going; come.
CHAPTER 5.XLVII.