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. SIR ARTH. Madam, for a twelvemonth's approbation, We mean to make this trial of our child. Your care and our dear blessing, in meantime, We pray may prosper this intended work. PRI. May your happy soul be blithe, That so truly pay your tithe: He that many children gave, 'Tis fit that he one child should have. Then, fair virgin, hear my spell, For I must your duty tell. MIL. Good men and true, stand together, And hear your charge. [_Aside._ PRI. First, a-mornings take your book, The glass wherein yourself must look; Your young thoughts, so proud and jolly, Must be turn'd to motions holy; For your busk attires and toys, Have your thoughts on heavenly joys: And for all your follies past, You must do penance, pray and fast. BIL. Let her take heed of fasting; and if ever she hurt herself with praying, I'll ne'er trust beast. [_Aside._ MIL. This goes hard, by'r Lady! PRI. You shall ring the sacring-bell,[286] Keep your hours and toll[287] your knell, Rise at midnight to your matins, Read your psalter, sing your latins; And when your blood shall kindle pleasure, Scourge yourself in plenteous measure. MIL. Worse and worse, by Saint Mary! [_Aside._ FRANK. Sirrah Hal, how does she hold her countenance? Well, go thy ways, if ever thou prove a nun, I'll build an abbey. [_Aside._