"It is my holy mission to be a sompnour or pardoner.
Small of faith!" cried the sompnour. "Ah, Sir Didymus yet walks upon earth!
"Base-born and foul-mouthed knave!" cried the sompnour. "You prate of holy things, to which your hog's mind can never rise.
At this crowning insult the sompnour, with a face ashen with rage, raised up a quivering hand and began pouring Latin imprecations upon the angry alderman.