BRAND.  ’Zounds, she thinks us devils!  Hear you, conjuror,
Except you use that trick to conjure down
The standing spirit of my lord the king,
That your good mother there, the Abbess, uses
To conjure down the spirit of the monk,
Not all your crosses have the power to bless
Your body from a sharp and speedy death.

MAT.  Are ye not fiends, but mortal bodies, then?
                               [Feels them all.

BRAND.  Maid, maid, catch lower when you feel young men. 
’Sblood, I was never taken for the devil till now.

MAT.  O, where shall chastity have true defence,
When churchmen lay this siege to innocence? 
Where shall a maid have certain sanctuary,
When Lady Lust rules all the nunnery? 
Now fie upon ye both, false seeming saints,
Incarnate devils, devilish hypocrites! 
A cowled monk, an aged veiled nun,
Become false panders, and with lustful speech
Essay the chaste ears of true maidenhead! 
Now fie upon this age!  Would I were dead!

MONK.  Come, leave her, lady:  she shall have her wish.

ABB.  Speed her, I pray thee:  should the baggage live,
She’ll slander all the chaste nuns in the land.

[Exeunt MONK, ABBESS.

BRAND.  Well, well, go; get you two unto your conjuring: 
Let me alone to lay her on God’s ground.

MAT.  Why dost thou stay?

BRAND.  Why, maid, because I must: 
I have a message to you from the king.

MAT.  And thou art welcome to his humble maid. 
I thought thee to be grim and fierce at first,
But now thou hast a sweet aspect, mild looks. 
Art thou not come to kill me from the king?

BRAND.  Yes.

MAT.  And thou art welcome; even the welcom’st man
That ever came unto a woful maid. 
Be brief, good fellow:  I have in the world
No goods to give, no will at all to make;
But God’s will and the king’s on me be done! 
A little money, kept to give in alms,
I have about me:  deathsman, take it all;
Thou art the last poor almsman I shall see. 
Come, come, despatch!  What weapon will death wear,
When he assails me?  Is it knife or sword,
A strangling cord, or sudden flaming fire?

BRAND.  Neither, thou manly maid.  Look here, look here: 
A cup of poison.  Wherefore dost thou smile?

MAT.  O God! in this the king is merciful: 
My dear-lov’d Huntington by poison died. 
Good fellow, tell the king I thank his grace,
And do forgive his causeless cruelty. 
I do forgive thee too, but do advise
Thou leave this bloody course, and seek to save
Thy soul immortal, closed in thy breast: 
                             [He gives it her. 
Be brief, I pray you.  Now, to King John’s health
A full carouse:[358] and, God, remember not
The curse he gave himself at Robin’s death,
Wishing by poison he might end his life,
If ever he solicited my love. 
Farewell, good fellow.  Now thy medicine works. 
And with the labour I am forc’d to rest.