Jer. Farewell, dear Raymond.
H. Clare. Friend, adieu.
Mil. Dear sweet.
No joy enjoys my heart till we next meet. [Exeunt.
Fab. Well, Raymond, now the tide of discontent
Beats in thy face; but, ere't be long, the wind
Shall turn the flood. We must to Waltham Abbey.
And as fair Millicent in Cheston lives
A most unwilling nun, so thou shalt there
Become a beardless novice, to what end,
Let time and future accidents declare.
Taste thou my sleights: thy love I'll only share.
Moun. Turn friar? Come, my good counsellor, let's go,
Yet that disguise will hardly shroud my woe. [Exeunt.
Enter the Prioress of Cheston, with a nun or two, Sir Arthur Clare, Sir Ralph Jerningham, Henry and Frank, Lady Clare, Bilbo, with Millicent.
L. Clare. Madam,
The love unto this holy sisterhood
And our confirm'd opinion of your zeal
Hath truly won us to bestow our child
Rather on this than any neighbouring cell.
Pri. Jesus' daughter, Mary's child,
Holy matron, woman mild,
For thee a mass shall still be said,
Every sister drop a bead;
And those again succeeding them
For you shall sing a Requiem.
Frank. The wench is gone, Harry; she is no more a woman of this world. Mark her well, she looks like a nun already: what think'st on her?
Har. By my faith, her face comes handsomely to't.
But peace, let's hear the rest.