Lacy. Come on, my wags, we're near the Keeper's lodge.
Here have I oft walk'd in the watery meads,
And chatted with my lovely Margaret.
War. Sirrah Ned, is not this the Keeper?
Lacy. 'Tis the same.
Erms. The old lecher hath gotten holy mutton[233] to him; a nun, my lord.
Lacy. Keeper, how far'st thou? holla, man, what cheer?
How doth Peggy, thy daughter and my love?
Keeper. Ah, good my lord! O, woe is me for Peggy!
See where she stands clad in her nun's attire,
Ready for to be shorn in Framlingham:
She leaves the world because she left your love.
O, good my lord, persuade her if you can!
Lacy. Why, how now, Margaret! what, a malcontent?
A nun? what holy father taught you this,
To task yourself to such a tedious life
As die a maid? 'twere injury to me
To smother up such beauty in a cell.
Mar. Lord Lacy, thinking of my former miss,
How fond the prime of wanton years were spent
In love (O, fie upon that fond conceit,
Whose hap and essence hangeth in the eye!),
I leave both love and love's content at once,
Betaking me to him that is true love,
And leaving all the world for love of him.
Lacy. Whence, Peggy, comes this metamorphosis?
What, shorn a nun, and I have from the court
Posted with coursers to convey thee hence
To Windsor, where our marriage shall be kept!
Thy wedding robes are in the tailor's hands.
Come, Peggy, leave these peremptory vows.
Mar. Did not my lord resign his interest,
And make divorce 'twixt Margaret and him?
Lacy. 'Twas but to try sweet Peggy's constancy.
But will fair Margaret leave her love and lord?
Mar. Is not heaven's joy before earth's fading bliss,
And life above sweeter than life in love?
Lacy. Why, then, Margaret will be shorn a nun?
Mar. Margaret hath made a vow which may not be revok'd.
War. We cannot stay, my lord; an if she be so strict,
Our leisure grants us not to woo afresh.
Erms. Choose you, fair damsel,—yet the choice is yours,—
Either a solemn nunnery or the court,
God or Lord Lacy: which contents you best,
To be a nun, or else Lord Lacy's wife?
Lacy. A good motion.—Peggy, your answer must be short.
Mar. The flesh is frail; my lord doth know it well,
That when he comes with his enchanting face,
Whate'er betide I cannot say him nay.
Off goes the habit of a maiden's heart,
And, seeing fortune will, fair Framlingham,
And all the show of holy nuns, farewell!
Lacy for me, if he will be my lord.
Lacy. Peggy, thy lord, thy love, thy husband.
Trust me, by truth of knighthood, that the king
Stays for to marry matchless Elinor,
Until I bring thee richly to the court,
That one day may both marry her and thee.—
How say'st thou, Keeper? art thou glad of this?
Keeper. As if the English king had given
The park and deer of Fressingfield to me.
Erms. I pray thee, my lord of Sussex, why art thou in a brown study?
War. To see the nature of women; that be they never so near God, yet they love to die in a man's arms.
Lacy. What have you fit for breakfast? We have hied
And posted all this night to Fressingfield.
Mar. Butter and cheese, and umbles of a deer,
Such as poor keepers have within their lodge.
Lacy. And not a bottle of wine?
Mar. We'll find one for my lord.
Lacy. Come, Sussex, let us in: we shall have more,
For she speaks least, to hold her promise sure.
[Exeunt.