Sir Ralph. Good-morrow, gentle knight;
A happy day after your short night's rest.
Sir Arth. Ha, ha! Sir Ralph, stirring so soon indeed?
By'r Lady, sir, rest would have done right well:
Our riding late last night has made me drowsy.
Go to, go to, those days are gone with us.
Sir Ralph. Sir Arthur, Sir Arthur, care go with those days!
Let 'em even go together, let 'em go;
'Tis time, i' faith, that we were in our graves,
When children leave obedience to their parents
When there's no fear of God, no care, no duty.
Well, well—nay, it shall not do, it shall not:
No, Mounchensey, thou'lt hear on't, thou shalt,
Thou shalt, i' faith; I'll hang thy son,
If there be law in England. A man's child
Ravish'd from a nunnery! This is rare!
Well, there's one gone for friar Hildersham.
Sir Arth. Nay, gentle knight, do not vex thus, it will but hurt your heat. You cannot grieve more than I do; but to what end? But hark you, Sir Ralph, I was about to say something—it makes no matter. But hark you in your ear; the friar's a knave: but God forgive me, a man cannot tell, neither. 'Sfoot, I am so out of patience, I know not what to say.
Sir Ralph. There's one went for the friar an hour ago. Comes he not yet? 'Sfoot, if I do find knavery under's cowl, I'll tickle him, I'll ferk him. Here, here, he's here, he's here. Good-morrow, friar; good-morrow, gentle friar.
Enter Hildersham.
Sir Arth. Good-morrow, father Hildersham, good-morrow.
Hil. Good-morrow, reverend knights, unto you both.
Sir Arth. Father, how now? You hear how matters go;
I am undone, my child is cast away;
You did your best, at least I think the best:
But we are all cross'd; flatly, all is dash'd.
Hil. Alas! good knights, how might the matter be?
Let me understand your grief for charity.