During the processions they trilled and quavered most melodiously betwixt their teeth I do not know what antiphones, or chantings, by turns.  For my part, ’twas all Hebrew-Greek to me, the devil a word I could pick out on’t; at last, pricking up my ears, and intensely listening, I perceived they only sang with the tip of theirs.  Oh, what a rare harmony it was!  How well ’twas tuned to the sound of their bells!  You’ll never find these to jar, that you won’t.  Pantagruel made a notable observation upon the processions; for says he, Have you seen and observed the policy of these Semiquavers?  To make an end of their procession they went out at one of their church doors and came in at the other; they took a deal of care not to come in at the place whereat they went out.  On my honour, these are a subtle sort of people, quoth Panurge; they have as much wit as three folks, two fools and a madman; they are as wise as the calf that ran nine miles to suck a bull, and when he came there ’twas a steer.  This subtlety and wisdom of theirs, cried Friar John, is borrowed from the occult philosophy.  May I be gutted like an oyster if I can tell what to make on’t.  Then the more ’tis to be feared, said Pantagruel; for subtlety suspected, subtlety foreseen, subtlety found out, loses the essence and very name of subtlety, and only gains that of blockishness.  They are not such fools as you take them to be; they have more tricks than are good, I doubt.

After the procession they went sluggingly into the fratery-room, by the way of walk and healthful exercise, and there kneeled under the tables, leaning their breasts on lanterns.  While they were in that posture, in came a huge Sandal, with a pitchfork in his hand, who used to baste, rib-roast, swaddle, and swinge them well-favouredly, as they said, and in truth treated them after a fashion.  They began their meal as you end yours, with cheese, and ended it with mustard and lettuce, as Martial tells us the ancients did.  Afterwards a platterful of mustard was brought before every one of them, and thus they made good the proverb, After meat comes mustard.

      Their diet was this: 

O’ Sundays they stuffed their puddings with puddings, chitterlings, links, Bologna sausages, forced-meats, liverings, hogs’ haslets, young quails, and teals.  You must also always add cheese for the first course, and mustard for the last.

O’ Mondays they were crammed with peas and pork, cum commento, and interlineary glosses.

O’ Tuesdays they used to twist store of holy-bread, cakes, buns, puffs, lenten loaves, jumbles, and biscuits.

O’ Wednesdays my gentlemen had fine sheep’s heads, calves’ heads, and brocks’ heads, of which there’s no want in that country.

O’ Thursdays they guzzled down seven sorts of porridge, not forgetting mustard.

O’ Fridays they munched nothing but services or sorb-apples; neither were these full ripe, as I guessed by their complexion.