In pensive place obscure."
And tell your Ave Maries by the curls
(Dropping like golden beads) of Margaret's hair;
And make confession seven times a day
Of every thought that stray'd from love and Margaret;
And I your saint the penance should appoint—
Believe me, sir, I will not now be laid
Aside, like an old fashion.
John. O lady, poor and abject are my thoughts;
My pride is cured, my hopes are under clouds,