"It is but right," said he,
"that the sharpest arrows should be given to him who knows best how to
inflict mortal wounds with them." This Tyrrel was a French knight of
good extraction, the wealthy lord of the castles of Poix and Pontoise,
filling a high place among the nobles, and a gallant soldier; he was
therefore admitted to familiar intimacy with the King and became his
constant companion. Meanwhile as they were idly talking and the King's
household attendants were assembled about him, a monk of Gloucester
presented himself and delivered to the King a letter from his abbot.
Having read it, the King burst out laughing and said merrily to the
knight just mentioned, "Walter, do what I told you." The knight
replied, "I will, my lord." Slighting then the warnings of the elders,
and forgetting that the heart is lifted up before a fall, he said
respecting the letter he had received, "I wonder what has induced my
lord Serlo to write me in this strain, for I really believe he is a
worthy abbot and respectable old man. In the simplicity of his heart he
transmits to me, who have enough besides to attend to, the dreams of
his snoring monks and even takes the trouble to commit them to writing
and send them a long distance.
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