Harry. 
By my faith, her face comes handsomely to ’t.  But peace,
let’s hear the rest.

Sir Arthur. 
Madam, for a twelvemonths approbation,
We mean to make this trial of our child. 
Your care and our dear blessing in mean time
We pray may prosper this intended work.

Prioress. 
        May your happy soul be blithe,
        That so truly pay your tithe: 
        He who many children gave,
        Tis fit that he one child should have. 
        Then, fair virgin, hear my spell,
        For I must your duty tell.

Milliscent. 
—­Good men and true, stand together, and hear your charge.

Prioress. 
        First, a mornings take your book,
        The glass wherein your self must look;
Your young thoughts, so proud and jolly,
Must be turnd to motions holy;
For your busk, attires, and toys
Have your thoughts on heavenly joys;
And for all your follies past
You must do penance, pray, and fast.

Bilbo. 
—­Let her take heed of fasting; and if ever she hurt her self
with praying, I’ll ne’er trust beast.

Milliscent. 
—­This goes hard, berladye!

Prioress. 
        You shall ring the sacring bell,
        Keep your hours, and tell your knell,
        Rise at midnight at your matins,
        Read your Psalter, sing your latins,
        And when your blood shall kindle pleasure,
        Scourge your self in plenteous measure.

Milliscent. 
—­Worse and worse, by Saint Mary.

Frank. 
—­Sirra Hal, how does she hold her countenance?  Well, go thy
ways, if ever thou prove a Nun, I’ll build an Abbey.

Harry. 
—­She may be a Nun; but if ever she prove an Anchoress, I’ll
dig her grave with my nails.

Frank. 
—­To her again, mother!

Harry. 
—­Hold thine own, wench!

Prioress. 
        You must read the mornings mass,
        You must creep unto the Cross,
        Put cold ashes on your head,
        Have a hair cloth for your bed.

Bilbo. 
—­She had rather have a man in her bed.

Prioress. 
        Bid your beads, and tell your needs,
        Your holy Avies, and you Creeds;
        Holy maid, this must be done,
        If you mean to live a Nun.

Milliscent. 
—­The holy maid will be no Nun.

Sir Arthur. 
Madam, we have some business of import,
And must be gone. 
Wilt please you take my wife into your closet,
Who further will acquaint you with my mind;
And so, good madam, for this time adieu.

[Exeunt women.]

Sir Ralph. 
Well now, Francke Jerningham, how sayest thou? 
To be brief,—­
What wilt thou say for all this, if we two,
Her father and my self, can bring about,
That we convert this Nun to be a wife,
And thou the husband to this pretty Nun? 
How, then, my lad? ha, Francke, it may be done.