No More Learning

Well said, Father Varlaam.

HOSTESS. (Enters. )
There you are, my fathers. Drink to your health.

MISSAIL. Thanks, my good friend. God bless thee. (The
monks drink. Varlaam trolls a ditty: "Thou passest
by, my dear," etc. ) (To GREGORY) Why don't you join
in the song? Not even join in the song?

GREGORY. I don't wish to.

MISSAIL.
Everyone to his liking--

VARLAAM. But a tipsy man's in Heaven. * Father Missail!
We will drink a glass to our hostess. (Sings: "Where
the brave lad in durance," etc. ) Still, Father Missail,
when I am drinking, then I don't like sober men; tipsiness
is one thing--but pride quite another. If you want
to live as we do, you are welcome. No? --then take
yourself off, away with you; a mountebank is no
companion for a priest.

[*The Russian text has here a play on the words which cannot
be satisfactorily rendered into English. ]

GREGORY. Drink, and keep your thoughts to yourself,*
Father Varlaam! You see, I too sometimes know how
to make puns.

[*The Russian text has here a play on the words which cannot
be satisfactorily rendered into English. ]

VARLAAM. But why should I keep my thoughts to myself?