Having thus led them about, to the great diversion of the mob and the dreadful fear of little children, he finally carried them to an entertainment at a summer-house without the gate that leads to St.
Ligarius.
As they came near to the place, he espied Tickletoby afar off, coming home from mumping, and told them in macaronic verse: Hic est de patria, natus, de gente belistra, Qui solet antiqua bribas portare bisacco.

(Motteux reads: 'Hic est mumpator natus de gente Cucowli, Qui solet antiquo Scrappas portare bisacco.') A plague on his friarship, said the devils then; the lousy beggar would not lend a poor cope to the fatherly father; let us fright him.

Well said, cried Villon; but let us hide ourselves till he comes by, and then charge him home briskly with your squibs and burning sticks.

Tickletoby being come to the place, they all rushed on a sudden into the road to meet him, and in a frightful manner threw fire from all sides upon him and his filly foal, ringing and tingling their bells, and howling like so many real devils, Hho, hho, hho, hho, brrou, rrou, rrourrs, rrrourrs, hoo, hou, hou hho, hho, hhoi.

Friar Stephen, don't we play the devils rarely?
The filly was soon scared out of her seven senses, and began to start, to funk it, to squirt it, to trot it, to fart it, to bound it, to gallop it, to kick it, to spurn it, to calcitrate it, to wince it, to frisk it, to leap it, to curvet it, with double jerks, and bum-motions; insomuch that she threw down Tickletoby, though he held fast by the tree of the pack-saddle with might and main.