Dor. Anything.
Lod. As the fact in you seems strange, so blame me not
If your penance be as strange. You may wonder at it,
But it is wonderous easy in performance;
But as your penance I enjoin it. Nay, now I remember
In an old French authentic author, his book
'Titled, De Satisfactione, I read the same
Enjoin'd a lady of Dauphin. 'Tis no holy fast,
No devout prayer, nor no zealous pilgrimage;
'Tis out of the prescrib'd road.
Dor. Let it be
So strange [that] story ne'er match'd the injunction,
I do vow the plenal strict performance.
Lod. Listen to me.
Soon at night (so rumour spreads it through the city)
The two great dukes of Venice and Verona
Are feasted by your lord, where a masque's intended.
Dor. That's true, sir.
Lod. Now, when ye all are set round about the table,
In depth of silence, you shall confess these words
Aloud to your husband, You are not this child's father:
And, 'cause my order bars[148] me such inquisition,
You shall say, Such a man lay with me,
Naming the party was partner in your sin.
Dor. Good sir!
Lod. This is your penance I enjoin you: keep it,
You are absolv'd; break it, you know the danger of it. Good-bye!
Dor. O good sir, stay! never was penance of more shame than this.
Lod. You know the danger of the breach as to us:
'Tis the shameful loss of our religious orders,
If we reveal.