Maid.  Madam, if ought bee in that letter ill, Mee thinks ’tis good [that] you can tak’t so well.

Lady.  Peace you; a braineles weake, besotted fellowe! 
But lett mee better recollect myself. 
Madnes nor folly, and add lust to them,
Durst not in fury, heate, or Ignorans,
Have tempted my unquestioned chastity
Without a fowrth abetter, jealousy. 
The more I ponder that, I more suspect
By that my Lord should have a hand in this,
And,[101] knowinge there’s such difference in our yeares,
To proove my feythe might putt this triall on mee. 
Else how durst such a poore penurious fryar
Oppose such an unheard of Impudens
Gaynst my incensed fury and revendge? 
My best is therefore, as I am innocent,
To stooddy myne owne safety, showe this letter,
Which one [?] my charity woold have conceiled,
And rather give him upp a sacrifice
To my lord’s just incensement then indanger
Myne owne unblemisht truthe and loyalty
By incurringe his displeasure; heare hee coms.

    Enter the Lord de Averne with som followers;
   his man Denis

L.  Averne.  Howe, Lady? reading?

Lady.  Yes, a letter, sir.

L.  Averne.  Imparts it any newes?

Lady.  Yes, syr, strange newes, And scarce to bee beleaved.

Lord Av.  Forreyne.

Lady.  Nay, domestick, Tis howsehould busines all.

Lord Av.  May I impart it?

Lady.  Oh, syr, in any case,
As one it most concernes; but I intreate you,
Reade it with patiens; the simplicity
Of him that writte it will afford you mirthe,
Or else his mallice spleane.—­Nowe by his temper
And change of countenance I shall easily find
Whose hand was cheife in this.

Lord Av.  All leave the place.

Denis.  We shall, syr.

Lord Av.  Possible
That this shoold bee in man, nay in man vowed
Unto a strickt abstemious chastity! 
From my owne creature and from one I feede,
Nay from a place built in my holiest vowes,
Establisht in my purpose in my lyfe,
Maintayn’d from my revenue, after death
Firm’d and assur’d to all posterityes—­
That that shoold breede such vipers!

Lady.  Patiens, syr; the fellowe suer is madd.

Lord Av.  I can be madd as hee too and I will. 
Thus to abuse my goodnes! in a deede
Som woold hold meritorious, att the least
Intended for an act of piety,
To suffer in my zeale! nay to bee mockt
In my devotion, by these empty drones
That feede upon the honey of my hyve! 
To invert my good intentements, turne this nest
                              [Ink:  paper ready. 
I built for prayer unto a bedd of sinnes! 
Which thus I’l punish; this religious place,
Once vowed to sanctity, I’l undermyne
And in one instant blowe the structure upp
With all th’unhallowed covent.