Mart. Pity! the Church abhors it. 'Twere Mercy to such a Wretch to pray him into Purgatory.
Jourd. I'll give all my Estate to the Church, I'll found Monasteries, I'll build Abbies.
Mart. All will not do, ten thousand Masses will not deliver you.
Jourd. Was ever such a miserable Wretch!
Mart. Thou hast Sins enough to damn thy whole Family. Monstrous Impiety! to lift up the Hand of Justice against the Church.
Jourd. Oh speak some Comfort to me: will no Penance expiate my Crime?
Mart. It is too grievous for a single Penance, go settle your Estate on the Church, and send your Daughter to a Nunnery, her Prayers will avail more than yours: Heaven hears the young and innocent with Pleasure. I will, my self, say four Masses a-day for you; and all these, I hope, will purchase your Forgiveness, at least your Stay in Purgatory will be short.
Jourd. My Daughter! She is to be married to-morrow, and I shall never prevail on her.
Mart. You must force her; your all depends on it.
Jourd. But I have already sworn I will not force her.