Bishop. So am I.
You shall to Marpurg with this holy man.
Eliz. Ah, there you speak again like my own uncle.
I’ll go—to rest [aside] and die. I only wait
To see the bones of my beloved laid
In some fit resting-place. A messenger
Proclaims them near. O God!
Bishop. We’ll go, my child,
And meeting them with all due honour, show
In our own worship, honourable minds.
[Exit Elizabeth.]
A messenger! How far off are they, then?
Serv. Some two days’ journey, sir.
Bishop. Two days’ journey, and nought prepared?
Here, chaplain—Brother Hippodamas! Chaplain, I say! [Hippodamas enters.] Call the apparitor—ride off with him, right and left—Don’t wait even to take your hawk—Tell my knights to be with me, with all their men-at-arms, at noon on the second day. Let all be of the best, say—the brightest of arms and the newest of garments. Mass! we must show our smartest before these crusaders—they’ll be full of new fashions, I warrant ’em—the monkeys that have seen the world. And here, boy [to a page], set me a stoup of wine in the oriel-room, and another for this good monk.
Con. Pardon me, blessedness—but holy rule—
Bishop. Oh! I forgot.—A pail of water and a peck of beans for the holy man!—Order up my equerry, and bid my armourer—vestryman, I mean—look out my newest robes.—Plague on this gout.
[Exeunt, following the Bishop.]