What's Lewis doing?

Isen. Oh--befooled,--
Bewitched with dogs and horses, like an idiot
Clutching his bauble, while a priceless jewel
Sticks at his miry heels.

Wal. The boy's no fool,--
As good a heart as hers, but somewhat given
To hunt the nearest butterfly, and light
The fire of fancy without hanging o'er it
The porridge-pot of practice. He shall hear or--

Isen. And quickly, for there's treason in the wind.
They'll keep her dower, and send her home with shame
Before the year's out.

Wal. Humph! Some are rogues enough for't.
As it falls out, I ride with him to-day.

Isen. Upon what business?

Wal. Some shaveling has been telling him that there are heretics on
his land: Stadings, worshippers of black cats, baby-eaters, and
such like. He consulted me; I told him it would be time enough to
see to the heretics when all the good Christians had been well
looked after. I suppose the novelty of the thing smit him, for now
nothing will serve but I must ride with him round half a dozen
hamlets, where, with God's help, I will show him a mansty or two,
that shall astonish his delicate chivalry.