Then said the dreamer: "Whether is greater, he that sitteth at meat or he that serveth?"
"The king is the perfectest servant," cried Brother Owyn, "but the king is king, he is no dullard serf. The King's Son came to earth and put on this garment of a poor man, and for this reason wilt thou say the poor man shall wear the garment of the king? Thou art no schoolman."
"Ah, master, master, this that thou sayst I said it again and yet again to mine own self," the dreamer sighed; "for what know I of life wherein is no kings and no knighthood? Verily it is thus and so; God made the king. So did I cry to the vision, wrestling the night through on the misty hill. I cannot see clear, but whether I be convinced or no, the vision hath conquered and I must sing it. The ploughman knoweth the way to truth; the king shall crave his company."
"Nay, thou dost not see clear. I doubt me if ever thou wilt," said Brother Owyn. "Thou hast got the Malvern mist in thy head, boy. Who shall profit by a vision in a mist?"
"'T is larger than life, seen thus," quoth the dreamer. "Natheless, let me go forth into a new land. How may I rid me of the mist if I dwell within it? Let me go to London, and if the vision fade, if it be proven a temptation, I 'll cast it from me. How may I know men in the wilderness? How may I touch their hearts if I know them not?"
Brother Owyn smiled and laid his hand upon the dreamer's shoulder: "And art thou crying out for knowledge of men?--Thou that fleest into the hills if a merchant ask night's shelter of the prior, thou that hast played truant these three days because, forsooth, the young Prince Lionel and his train are come hither to hunt in the King's Forest?"
The dreamer hung his head: "Yet must I go," he said. "There came a little lad across the round hill yesterday,--a very manikin of wisdom with the heart of a child,--no doubt they breed such in palaces. He boasted himself a poet and would have me tell him a tale. He quarrelled with the measure, his ear being attuned to French foibles, but for that I care not; but he saith my men be no better than dolls of wood.--Master, 't is a true word. Whether the vision be false or no, God will discover to me; but this, that I am not fit to touch men's hearts, because I am stranger to them,--thou knowest. The little lad turned away from my tale. He laughed.--Thou hast seen thy world. Thou hast a tale to tell. But I,--what may I sing but the mist? Hark you, Brother Owyn, I shall bring naught of glory to Malvern Priory till I be let forth. Say this to the prior."