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.

SIR RAPH.
With all my heart: he is a reverend man;
And to morrorw morning we will meet all at the Abbey,
Where by th' opinion of that reverend man
We will proceed; I like it passing well.
Till then we part, boy; aye, think of it; farewell!
A parent's care no mortal tongue can tell.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II. Before the Priory Gate.

[Enter Sir Arthur Clare, and Raymond Mounchensey, like a
Friar.]

SIR ARTHUR.
Holy young Novice, I have told you now
My full intent, and do refer the rest
To your professed secrecy and care:
And see,
Our serious speech hath stolen upon the way,
That we are come unto the Abbey gate.
Because I know Mountchensey is a fox,
That craftily doth overlook my doings,
I'll not be seen, not I. Tush, I have done:
I had a daughter, but she's now a Nun.
Farewell, dear son, farewell.

MOUNTCHENSEY.
Fare you well!—Aye, you have done!
Your daughter, sir, shall not be long a Nun.
O my rare Tutor! never mortal brain
Plotted out such a mass of policy;
And my dear bosom is so great with laughter,
Begot by his simplicity and error,
My soul is fallen in labour with her joy.
O my true friends, Franke Jerningham and Clare,
Did you now know but how this jest takes fire—
That good sir Arthur, thinking me a novice,
Hath even poured himself into my bosom,
O, you would vent your spleens with tickling mirth!
But, Raymond, peace, and have an eye about,
For fear perhaps some of the Nuns look out.
 Peace and charity within,
 Never touch't with deadly sin;
 I cast my holy water pure
 On this wall and on this door,
 That from evil shall defend,
 And keep you from the ugly fiend:
Evil spirit, by night nor day,
 Shall approach or come this way;
Elf nor Fairy, by this grace,
Day nor night shall haunt this place.
Holy maidens!

[Knock.]

[Answer within.] Who's that which knocks? ha, who's there?

MOUNTCHENSEY.
Gentle Nun, here is a Friar.

[Enter Nun.]

NUN.
A Friar without, now Christ us save!
Holy man, what wouldst thou have?

MOUNTCHENSEY.
Holy maid, I hither come
From Friar and father Hildersome,
By the favour and the grace
Of the Prioress of this place,
Amongst you all to visit one
That's come for approbation;
Before she was as now you are,
The daughter of Sir Arthur Clare,
But since she now became a Nune,
Call'd Milliscnet of Edmunton.

NUN.
Holy man, repose you there;
This news I'll to our Abbess bear,
To tell her what a man is sent,
And your message and intent.

MOUNTCHENSEY.
Benedicite.

NUN.
Benedicite.

[Exit.]

MOUNTCHENSEY.
Do, my good plump wench; if all fall right,
I'll make your sister-hood one less by night.
Now happy fortune speed this merry drift,
I like a wench comes roundly to her shrift.

[Enter Lady, Milliscent.]

LADY.
Have Friars recourse then to the house of Nuns?

MILLISCENT.
Madam, it is the order of this place,
When any virgin comes for approbation,—
Lest that for fear or such sinister practise
She should be forced to undergo this veil,
Which should proceed from conscience and devotion,—
A visitor is sent from Waltham house,
To take the true confession of the maid.

LADY.
Is that the order? I commend it well:
You to your shrift, I'll back unto the cell.

[Exit.]

MOUNTCHENSEY.
Life of my soul! bright Angel!

MILLISCENT.
What means the Friar?

MOUNTCHENSEY.
O Milliscent, tis I.

MILLISCENT.
My heart misgives me; I should know that voice.
You? who are you? The holy virgin bless me!
Tell me your name: you shall, ere you confess me.

MOUNTCHENSEY.
Mountchensey, thy true friend.

MILLISCENT.
My Raymond, my dear heart!
Sweet life, give leave to my distracted soul,
To wake a little from this swoon of joy.
By what means camst thou to assume this shape?

MOUNTCHENSEY.
By means of Peter Fabell, my kind Tutor,
Who in the habit of Friar Hildersham,
Franke Jerningham's old friend and confessor,
Helped me to act the part of priestly novice,
Plotted by Franke, by Fabell and my self,
And so delivered to Sir Arthur Clare,
Who brought me here unto the Abbey gate,
To be his Nun-made daughter's visitor.

MILLISCENT.
You are all sweet traitors to my poor old father.
O my dear life! I was a dream't to night
That, as I was a praying in mine Psalter,
There came a spirit unto me as I kneeled,
And by his strong persuasions tempted me
To leave this Nunry; and me thought
He came in the most glorious Angel shape,
That mortal eye did ever look upon.
Ha, thou art sure that spirit, for there's no form
Is in mine eye so glorious as thine own.

MOUNTCHENSEY.
O thou Idolatress, that dost this worship
To him whose likeness is but praise of thee!
Thou bright unsetting star, which through this veil,
For very envy, mak'st the Sun look pale!

MILLISCENT.
Well, visitor, lest that perhaps my mother
Should think the Friar too strickt in his decrees,
I this confess to my sweet ghostly father:
If chast pure love be sin, I must confess,
I have offended three years now with thee.

MOUNTCHENSEY.
But do you yet repent you of the same?

MILLISCENT.
Yfaith, I cannot.

MOUNTCHENSEY.
Nor will I absolve thee
Of that sweet sin, though it be venial;
Yet have the penance of a thousand kisses,
And I enjoin you to this pilgrimage:
That in the evening you bestow your self
Here in the walk near to the willow ground,
Where I'll be ready both with men and horse
To wait your coming, and convey you hence
Unto a lodge I have in Enfield chase.
No more reply, if that you yield consent—
I see more eyes upon our stay are bent.

MILLISCENT.
Sweet life, farewell! Tis done: let that suffice;
What my tongue fails, I send thee by mine eyes.

[Exit]

[Enter Fabell, Clare, and Jerningham.]

JERNINGHAM.
Now, Visitor, how does this new made Nun?

CLARE.
Come, come, how does she, noble Capouchin?