NUN.
Holy man, repose you there;
This news I'll to our Abbess bear,
To tell her what a man is sent,
And your message and intent.
MOUNTCHENSEY.
Benedicite.
NUN.
Benedicite.
[Exit.]
MOUNTCHENSEY.
Do, my good plump wench; if all fall right,
I'll make your sister-hood one less by night.
Now happy fortune speed this merry drift,
I like a wench comes roundly to her shrift.
[Enter Lady, Milliscent.]
LADY.
Have Friars recourse then to the house of Nuns?
MILLISCENT.
Madam, it is the order of this place,
When any virgin comes for approbation,—
Lest that for fear or such sinister practise
She should be forced to undergo this veil,
Which should proceed from conscience and devotion,—
A visitor is sent from Waltham house,
To take the true confession of the maid.
LADY.
Is that the order? I commend it well:
You to your shrift, I'll back unto the cell.
[Exit.]