SCENE I. [The travellers, with some of the monks of the monastery, are
seated before the fire. The Jew, bent, gaunt and gray-bearded, stands
to one side, unrecognized, muttering to himself indistinctly. He has
evidently just entered, for the melted snow still gleams from his
clothing. The company disregard him, conversing among themselves.]
A SOLDIER. Now, by Our Lady, 'tis a raw cold night--
I mind me when on such a night I lay
Unsheltered in the trenches facing Mons
In Flanders.
A MERCHANT. Hem! Sir Longbeard tells a tale.
List, all!
THE SOLDIER. By Holy mass--
THE MERCHANT. Ho! Hear the oaths!
They 're thick as--
THE SOLDIER. Hark ye! Hush thy meddling tongue!
A PEASANT. A quarrel! Mark them!
A MONK. Shame! On such a night
When angels fill the air, and voices sweet,
Mysterious, sing their golden songs of peace--
On this glad night to quarrel?
THE SOLDIER. Why, to-night--
THE MONK. On such a night was Christ, our Saviour, born,
While all the earth was wrapped in sacred peace.
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