"Hang Geof Chaucer on a sour apple tree, Hang Geof Chaucer on a sour apple tree, Hang Geof Chaucer on a sour apple tree, Our teacher marks us on!" (_exit as she sings_) (_The curtain in front of the bookcase shakes more violently than before. Then from behind the curtain comes the voice of the_ WIFE OF BATH.) WIFE. Ladies, I prithee harkneth for the best. Can Chaucer's children swich words hear, and rest? This is the point, to speken short and pleyn, We, one and all, were used with desdeyn. (_She comes out of the bookcase_.) Come forth and whan we've made our reckoning That girl perchance another tune will sing. (_Enter the_ PRIORESS.) What word, sweet Eglantine, would you employ To tell us of your vengeful wrath? PRIORESS. (_with deep intensity_) St. Loy! WIFE. Then Chaucer's uttered sooth about her oath! Odsbodikins! That cannot do us both! PRIORESS. Come hider, my two nonnes to my side, Till that my mighty anger shall subside. (_Enter two_ NUNS _who stand on either side of the_ PRIORESS.) That girl, alas! hath made my speech too tarte Who once was conscience al and tendre herte. O Emelye, whose hair is in a tresse Behynd your back, a yarde long. WIFE. (_aside_) I guesse. (_Enter_ EMILY.) PRIORESS. O Emelye, let that hair's golden ray Shine on our vengeance ere another day. EMILY. The path of duty plain is to be seen. (_Enter_ HIPPOLYTA, _the queen._) EMILY. Ladies, this is Hippolyta, the queen. (_They all bow, the_ PRIORESS _with delicate grace, the_ WIFE _with a clumsy courtesy_.) EMILY. My sister is a famous Amazon. HIPPOLYTA. I have no grievance, but I want the fun. PRIORESS. In courtesye lay ever my desire. (_Aside to_ NUNS.) How charming with a real queen to conspire. FIRST NUN. Madame, your smiling is full simple. SECOND NUN. And coy. WIFE. Come, how can we that saucy wight destroy? EMILY. (_musingly_) She, as a servant, would befit my station. FIRST NUN. (_to_ PRIORESS) Or feed your hounds. (_The_ SECOND NUN _nods in agreement_.) PRIORESS. (_catching sight of the_ WIFE'S _look of disapproval--aside_) Or scour _her_ reputation! WIFE. Pray, madam, if it's all the same to you Perhaps the rest would like a word or two. PRIORESS. I fear you ask too little, for I know That you have answered "yes" five times or so! WIFE. A spiteful thing! Perhaps if you'd had _one_, He might have taught you how to curb your tongue. (_There is a weak cry from the bookcase._) EMILY. Surely 'twas not to quarrel that we came. (_A second cry from the bookcase_) PRIORESS. Hark. 'Tis a voice I hardly dare to name.