FITZ.  Reserve my honour and my daughter’s fame,
And no poor subject that your grace commands
Shall willinger submit, obey, and serve.

KING.  Do then but this.  Persuade thy beauteous child
To leave the nunnery and return to court,
And I protest from henceforth to forswear
All such conceits of lust as I have borne.

FITZ.  I will, my lord, do all that I may do;
But give me leave in this to doubt of you.

KING.  This small thing grant, and ask me anything;
Or else die in exile, loath’d of the king.

FITZ.  You shall perceive I will do what I may.

    Enter on the wall, ABBESS, MATILDA. Re-enter HUBERT.

HUB.  Matilda is afraid to leave the house;
But lo, on yonder battlement she stands,
But in no case will come within your hands.

KING.  What! will my lady-abbess war[340] with us? 
Speak, lady; wherefore shut you up your gates?

ABB.  Have we not reason, when an host of men
Hunt and pursue religious chastity? 
King John, bethink thee what thou tak’st in hand
On pain of interdiction of thy land. 
Murderers and felons may have sanctuary,
And shall not honourable maids distress’d,
Religious virgins, holy nuns profess’d,
Have that small privilege?  Now, out upon thee, out! 
Holy Saint Catherine, shield my virginity! 
I never stood in such extremity.

HUB.  My lord, the abbess lies, I warrant you;
For I have heard there is a monk of Bury,
That once a week comes thither to make merry.

KING.  Content thee, Hubert; that same monk and she,
And the worst come, my instruments shall be. 
Good lady-abbess, fear no violence;
There’s not one here shall offer you offence.

FITZ.  Daughter, all this while tears my speech have stay’d. 
My lord the king, lords, all draw near, I pray,
And hear a poor man’s parting from his child. 
Matilda, still my unstain’d honour’s joy,
Fair ornament of old Fitzwater’s coat,[341]
Born to rich fortunes, did not this ill-age
Bereave thee of thy birthright’s heritage,
Thou see’st our sovereign—­lord of both our lives,
A long besieger of thy chastity—­
Hath scatter’d all our forces, slain our friends,
Razed our castles, left us ne’er a house
Wherein to hide us from his wrathful eye: 
Yet God provides; France is appointed me,
And thou find’st house-room in this nunnery. 
Here, if the king should dote as he hath done,
It’s sacrilege to tempt a holy nun: 
But I have hope he will not; yet my fear
So drowns my hope, as I am forc’d to stay,
And leave abruptly what I more would say.

MAT.  O, go not yet, my griev’d heart’s comforter! 
I am as valiant to resist desire
As ever thou wert worthy in the field. 
John may attempt, but if Matilda yield,
O, then—­