... He also wrote poems

The Prior built the Causeway for

His monks to reach the ale house door

Across the fen on weekdays when

The cold flood lay on field and more.

Go quaff man’s ale, if sin you must

Cried he. “We know ye are but dust.

That even then if ye be men

Let not your dust corrupt like rust.”

“Pray, put it down to human error.”

Monks quailed before their Prior’s terror.

“Sir, if we durst hath thirst –

Foul legacy of Adam’s error.”

The Prior plucked his ample beard

Perplexed by all these sins he’d heard;

For never, never had he ever

His own abstemious living queered.

“On weekdays in the alehouse sin –

If Peggy Cox will let you in.

Come Sunday fair to church repair,

Repent you of ale and gin.”

Today we follow where they went,

Each weekday to the alehouse bent

There to drink ale; on Sundays hale

We to church, there to repent