Y. Clare. Blood! she'll have ne'er a nun unbagg'd to sing mass then.
Jer. The Abbot of Waltham will have as many children to put to nurse as he has calves in the marsh.
Moun. Well, to be brief, the nun will soon at night turn tippet;[297] if I can but devise to quit her cleanly of the nunnery, she is mine own.
Fab. But, sirrah Raymond, what news of Peter Fabel at the house?
Moun. Tush, he is the only man, a necromancer and a conjuror, that works for young Mounchensey altogether; and if it be not for friar Benedic, that he can cross him by his learned skill, the wench is gone, Fabel will fetch her out by very magic.
Fab. Stands the wind there, boy? keep them in that key,
The wench is ours before to-morrow day.
Well, Harry[298] and Frank, as ye are gentlemen,
Stick to us close this once; you know your fathers
Have men and horse lie ready still at Cheston,
To watch the coast be clear, to scout about,
And have an eye unto Mounchensey's walks:
Therefore you two may hover thereabouts,
And no man will suspect you for the matter:
Be ready but to take her at our hands,
Leave us to scamble[299] for her getting out.
Jer. Blood! if all Hertfordshire were at our heels, we'll carry her away in spite of them.
Y. Clare. But whither, Raymond?
Moun. To Brian's upper lodge in Enfield Chase;
He is mine honest friend, and a tall keeper;
I'll send my man unto him presently,
To acquaint him with your coming and intent.
Fab. Be brief and secret.