1st Woman. Just like herself—
Now ruffling up like any tourney queen;
Now weeping in dark corners; then next minute
Begging for penance on her knees.
2d Woman. One trick’s cured;
That lust of giving; Isentrude and Guta,
The hussies, came here begging but yestreen,
Vowed they were starving.
Con. Did she give to them?
2d Woman. She told them that she dared not.
Con. Good. For them,
I will take measures that they shall not want:
But see you tell her not: she must be perfect.
1st Woman. Indeed, there’s not much chance of that a while.
There’s others, might be saints, if they were young,
And handsome, and had titles to their names,
If they were helped toward heaven, now—
Con. Silence, horse-skull!
Thank God, that you are allowed to use a finger
Towards building up His chosen tabernacle.
2d Woman. I consider that she blasphemes the means of grace.
Con. Eh? that’s a point, indeed.
2d Woman. Why, yesterday,
Within the church, before a mighty crowd,
She mocked at all the lovely images,
And said ‘the money had been better spent
On food and clothes, instead of paint and gilding:
They were but pictures, whose reality
We ought to bear within us.’