Harry. 
—­Aye, now it works.

Francke. 
O God, sir, you amaze me at your words;
Think with your self, sir, what a thing it were
To cause a recluse to remove her vow: 
A maimed, contrite, and repentant soul,
Ever mortified with fasting and with prayer,
Whose thoughts, even as her eyes, are fixd on heaven,
To draw a virgin, thus devour’d with zeal,
Back to the world:  O impious deed! 
Nor by the Canon Law can it be done
Without a dispensation from the Church: 
Besides, she is so prone unto this life,
As she’ll even shriek to hear a husband named.

Bilbo. 
Aye, a poor innocent she!  Well, here’s no knavery; he flouts
the old fools to their teeth.

Sir Raph. 
Boy, I am glad to hear
Thou mak’st such scruple of that conscience;
And in a man so young as in your self,
I promise you tis very seldom seen. 
But Franke, this is a trick, a mere devise,
A sleight plotted betwixt her father and my self,
To thrust Mounchensey’s nose besides the cushion;
That, being thus behard of all access,
Time yet may work him from her thoughts,
And give thee ample scope to thy desires.

Bilbo. 
—­A plague on you both for a couple of Jews!

Henry. 
—­How now, Franke, what say you to that?

Francke. 
—­Let me alone, I warrant thee.—­
Sir, assured that this motion doth proceed
From your most kind and fatherly affection,
I do dispose my liking to your pleasure: 
But for it is a matter of such moment
As holy marriage, I must crave thus much,
To have some conference iwth my ghostly father,
Friar Hildersham, here by, at Waltham Abbey,
To be absolude of things that it is fit
None only but my confessor should know.

Sir Raph. 
With all my heart:  he is a reverend man;
And to morrorw morning we will meet all at the Abbey,
Where by th’ opinion of that reverend man
We will proceed; I like it passing well. 
Till then we part, boy; aye, think of it; farewell! 
A parent’s care no mortal tongue can tell.

[Exeunt.]

Scene II.  Before the Priory Gate.

[Enter Sir Arthur Clare, and Raymond Mounchensey, like a Friar.]

Sir Arthur. 
Holy young Novice, I have told you now
My full intent, and do refer the rest
To your professed secrecy and care: 
And see,
Our serious speech hath stolen upon the way,
That we are come unto the Abbey gate. 
Because I know Mountchensey is a fox,
That craftily doth overlook my doings,
I’ll not be seen, not I. Tush, I have done: 
I had a daughter, but she’s now a Nun. 
Farewell, dear son, farewell.