Fr. Jhon.  Oh terrible!

Abbot.  Or, if that will not tame you,
I will complayne to’th fownder of your loosenes,
Your riotts, and disorders, and petition
That you, as sowers off seditious hatred[62]
And sole disturbers of our common peace,
Maye bee excluded this society,
Banisht by common barre-law, and shutt out
To publick shame and beggerye.

Fr. Rich.  Horrible!

Fr. Jhon.  Fyrst then to showe my submisse willingnes
And forwardnes withall:  with as much charity
As any new reformed man maye doo,
I with a zeale and hart new reconsiled
Thus humbly begge his love. 
(Y’are a rogue, Ritchard.)

Fr. Rich.  To meete his trewe
And most unfeigned affection, heare in face
And viewe of this our holly brotherhoode,
As if in open coort with this mi[63] breath
I heare confine all hatred.
(Jhon, y’are a Jack sauce, I meane a sawcye Jacke.)

Fr. Jhon.  The orchard.

Fr. Rich.  Theare.

Abbot.  Why, this is as it should bee, and becomes
A trew religious order.  Such as are sequestred
And vowed unto a strict monasticke lyfe,
Ought to putt off these grosse and prophane sinnes
Most frequent amongst laye-men.  Unity,
Due conformation and fraternall love. 
Devotion, hott zeale, and obediens; these
Are vertues that become a cloyster best. 
Nowe lett’s retyre unto our oresons
And p[r]eye for our good fownders; may they still
Grow to our wishe and thryve to theire owne will.

[Exeunt all but Friar Jhon.

Fr. Jhon.  More then I woold to have my wishe on thee,
Richard, though I have a good stomacke too’t,
Ey, and to baste thee sowndly, I woold nowe
To have my will one her.  Tis a sweete creature;
Our patron owld, shee younge; som hope in that. 
Besydes, shee’s woondrous kind and affable;
And when we duck or congee, smiles as if
Shee tooke som pleasure in our shaven crownes. 
I am the fyrst that every morninge, when
Shee passes through the cloyster to her prayers,
Attend her with good morrowe, pray for her health. 
For her content and pleasure, such as canott bee
Hop’t or expected from her husband’s age;
And these my frendly wishes she returnes
Not only in kind language but sweete smiles,
The least of which breede som Incoradgement. 
I will, if shee persist to proove thus kind,
If not to speeke my thoughts, to wryte my mynd.

[Exit.

SCENA TERTIA.

Thunder.

Enter after a greate Tempestuous storme Mr. Ashburne
an Englishe marchant and his man Godfrey.

Ashburne.  Was ever knowne such a tempestuous night Of thunder, hayle, wynd, lightninge!  Twas as if The fower seditious brothers threatned warr And weare but nowe at battayle.