PRIORESS. Jesus daughter, Mary's child, Holy matron, woman mild, For thee a mass shall still be said, Every sister drop a bead; And those again succeeding them For you shall sing a Requiem.
FRANK. The wench is gone, harry; she is no more a woman of this world: mark her well, she looks like a Nun already. What thinkst on her?
HARRY. By my faith, her face comes handsomely to 't. But peace, let's hear the rest.
SIR ARTHUR. Madam, for a twelvemonths approbation, We mean to make this trial of our child. Your care and our dear blessing in mean time We pray may prosper this intended work.
PRIORESS. May your happy soul be blithe, That so truly pay your tithe: He who many children gave, Tis fit that he one child should have. Then, fair virgin, hear my spell, For I must your duty tell.
MILLISCENT. --Good men and true, stand together, and hear your charge.
PRIORESS. First, a mornings take your book, The glass wherein your self must look; Your young thoughts, so proud and jolly, Must be turnd to motions holy; For your busk, attires, and toys Have your thoughts on heavenly joys; And for all your follies past You must do penance, pray, and fast.
BILBO. --Let her take heed of fasting; and if ever she hurt her self with praying, I'll ne'er trust beast.
MILLISCENT. --This goes hard, berladye!
PRIORESS. You shall ring the sacring bell, Keep your hours, and tell your knell, Rise at midnight at your matins, Read your Psalter, sing your latins, And when your blood shall kindle pleasure, Scourge your self in plenteous measure.
MILLISCENT. --Worse and worse, by Saint Mary.
FRANK. --Sirra Hal, how does she hold her countenance? Well, go thy ways, if ever thou prove a Nun, I'll build an Abbey.
HARRY. --She may be a Nun; but if ever she prove an Anchoress, I'll dig her grave with my nails.
FRANK. --To her again, mother!
HARRY. --Hold thine own, wench!
PRIORESS. You must read the mornings mass, You must creep unto the Cross, Put cold ashes on your head, Have a hair cloth for your bed.
BILBO. --She had rather have a man in her bed.
PRIORESS. Bid your beads, and tell your needs, Your holy Avies, and you Creeds; Holy maid, this must be done, If you mean to live a Nun.
MILLISCENT. --The holy maid will be no Nun.
SIR ARTHUR. Madam, we have some business of import, And must be gone. Wilt please you take my wife into your closet, Who further will acquaint you with my mind; And so, good madam, for this time adieu.
[Exeunt women.]
SIR RALPH. Well now, Francke Jerningham, how sayest thou? To be brief,-- What wilt thou say for all this, if we two, Her father and my self, can bring about, That we convert this Nun to be a wife, And thou the husband to this pretty Nun? How, then, my lad? ha, Francke, it may be done.
HARRY. --Aye, now it works.
FRANCKE. O God, sir, you amaze me at your words; Think with your self, sir, what a thing it were To cause a recluse to remove her vow: A maimed, contrite, and repentant soul, Ever mortified with fasting and with prayer, Whose thoughts, even as her eyes, are fixd on heaven, To draw a virgin, thus devour'd with zeal, Back to the world: O impious deed! Nor by the Canon Law can it be done Without a dispensation from the Church: Besides, she is so prone unto this life, As she'll even shriek to hear a husband named.
BILBO. Aye, a poor innocent she! Well, here's no knavery; he flouts the old fools to their teeth.
SIR RAPH. Boy, I am glad to hear Thou mak'st such scruple of that conscience; And in a man so young as in your self, I promise you tis very seldom seen. But Franke, this is a trick, a mere devise, A sleight plotted betwixt her father and my self, To thrust Mounchensey's nose besides the cushion; That, being thus behard of all access, Time yet may work him from her thoughts, And give thee ample scope to thy desires.
BILBO. --A plague on you both for a couple of Jews!
HENRY. --How now, Franke, what say you to that?
FRANCKE. --Let me alone, I warrant thee.-- Sir, assured that this motion doth proceed From your most kind and fatherly affection, I do dispose my liking to your pleasure: But for it is a matter of such moment As holy marriage, I must crave thus much, To have some conference iwth my ghostly father, Friar Hildersham, here by, at Waltham Abbey, To be absolude of things that it is fit None only but my confessor should know.