Ar. But thou must obey or be driven out.
Gerb. Ariald, thou knowest my Margaret, thou knowest her sweet nature, her holy conversation. She hath no devil, that her loving should make me unworthy.
Gel. ’Tis damnable, good Father. But give me the word an’ we will trounce them out o’ the market.
Enter Margaret, the Priest’s Wife.
Marg. Gerbhert! Gerbhert! Good citizens have you seen the pastor? Mother Bernard, poor soul, needeth the last rites, she be dying.
Gel. Aye, thou wert ever an angel of mercy from heaven to the sick an’ poor.
Marg. What aileth thee, Gerbhert? What may be the matter?
Gerb. Come hither Margaret, this man telleth me
So strange a thing, I know not if he be mad
Who sayeth it, or I who hear his words.