Mountchensey. 
Fare you well!—­Aye, you have done! 
Your daughter, sir, shall not be long a Nun. 
O my rare Tutor! never mortal brain
Plotted out such a mass of policy;
And my dear bosom is so great with laughter,
Begot by his simplicity and error,
My soul is fallen in labour with her joy. 
O my true friends, Franke Jerningham and Clare,
Did you now know but how this jest takes fire—­
That good sir Arthur, thinking me a novice,
Hath even poured himself into my bosom,
O, you would vent your spleens with tickling mirth! 
But, Raymond, peace, and have an eye about,
For fear perhaps some of the Nuns look out. 
        Peace and charity within,
        Never touch’t with deadly sin;
        I cast my holy water pure
        On this wall and on this door,
        That from evil shall defend,
        And keep you from the ugly fiend: 
Evil spirit, by night nor day,
        Shall approach or come this way;
Elf nor Fairy, by this grace,
Day nor night shall haunt this place. 
Holy maidens!

[Knock.]

[Answer within.] Who’s that which knocks? ha, who’s there?

Mountchensey. 
Gentle Nun, here is a Friar.

[Enter Nun.]

Nun. 
A Friar without, now Christ us save! 
Holy man, what wouldst thou have?

Mountchensey. 
Holy maid, I hither come
From Friar and father Hildersome,
By the favour and the grace
Of the Prioress of this place,
Amongst you all to visit one
That’s come for approbation;
Before she was as now you are,
The daughter of Sir Arthur Clare,
But since she now became a Nune,
Call’d Milliscnet of Edmunton.

Nun. 
Holy man, repose you there;
This news I’ll to our Abbess bear,
To tell her what a man is sent,
And your message and intent.

Mountchensey. 
Benedicite.

Nun. 
Benedicite.

[Exit.]

Mountchensey. 
Do, my good plump wench; if all fall right,
I’ll make your sister-hood one less by night. 
Now happy fortune speed this merry drift,
I like a wench comes roundly to her shrift.

[Enter Lady, Milliscent.]

Lady. 
Have Friars recourse then to the house of Nuns?

Milliscent. 
Madam, it is the order of this place,
When any virgin comes for approbation,—­
Lest that for fear or such sinister practise
She should be forced to undergo this veil,
Which should proceed from conscience and devotion,—­
A visitor is sent from Waltham house,
To take the true confession of the maid.

Lady. 
Is that the order?  I commend it well: 
You to your shrift, I’ll back unto the cell.

[Exit.]

Mountchensey. 
Life of my soul! bright Angel!

Milliscent. 
What means the Friar?