human
Friends, cries Gaston,
gpt
Welcome to you both. In happy hour you have come, to hunt the great woods with me. Fair fall us then! there is no sport, in heaven or on earth, like the chase--above all when we hunt in goodly company.
human
Young seigneur, the bell calls you; listen to its plaintive note chiming, from far away, through the trees. Return; or misfortune will befall you. Let us kneel together at the altar of Christ. Already, before daybreak, I heard mass, and sang the Alleluia; willingly will I do so again by your side. Come! Our duty done, sweeter by far will be the pleasures of the chase.
gpt
Ride, noble baron, ride, cries the black horseman.
human
Do not listen to this ill counsellor. The bugle blast is finer music than the chiming of bells, and the hunt better pastime far than a dull priest's sermon, and the droning of hymns.
gpt
Well said, friend on my left! cries Gaston.
human
Without offence to the white horseman, you are jovial company, after my own heart. We young lords want lively sport and merry jests; let us leave sermons and paternosters to the monks.