Bishop. Bah! priest! What can this Marpurg-madness do for me?
Con. Leave you the tutelage of all her children.
Bishop. Thank you—to play the dry-nurse to three starving brats.
Con. The minor’s guardian guards the minor’s lands.
Bishop. Unless they are pitched away in building hospitals.
Con. Instead of fattening in your wisdom’s keeping.
Bishop. Well, well,—but what gross scandal to the family!
Con. The family, my lord, would gain a saint.
Bishop. Ah! monk, that canonisation costs a frightful sum.
Con. These fees, just now, would gladly be remitted.