Perchance she will.
Wife
.
(to Hippolyta)
Say something quick, that we may hold her still.
Emily
.
Hark, did I hear a pleading little voice?
Ah, ladies, in her punishment rejoice!
Junior. (meekly, in a weak, timid tone from behind the curtain) Dear ladies all, whom Father Chaucer loved, Hippolyta, and Emily, Mrs. Wife of Bath and Sister Prioress, and the two nuns, and Griselda and anybody else I haven't mentioned, I'm sorry, and I'll never do it again.
Hippolyta
.