JUNIOR. Say something about each one of you! I never could in the world. That's why I hate Chaucer so. (_as she says hate Chaucer the characters all cringe_) I never could learn the old stuff, (_as she says old stuff they sigh and raise their eyes in silent protest_) FIRST NUN. It will go hard with thee for that same sin. (SECOND NUN _nods to these words._) EMILY. Prithee, delay no longer but begin. (_The_ JUNIOR _looks around until her eye meets the_ PRIORESS.) JUNIOR. Are you the Prioress? PRIORESS. I am y-cleped Madame Eglantine. JUNIOR. What rhymes with Eglantine? Wine? (_the_ PRIORESS _looks duly shocked_) Thine? Divine? I know. It's something about singing through your nose the _service divine_. FIRST NUN. The seemly way to sing. SECOND NUN. The seemly way. GRISELDA. Here, Eglantine, you can't take up all day. PRIORESS. I'd prove my vocal method without peer. HIPPOLYTA. Perhaps she could. WIFE. Suppose she does it here! JUNIOR. Never mind. Miss Eglantine. Did they call you Sister in those days? Never mind. I'll play your accompaniment on the piano. ALL. Piano? JUNIOR. Why, yes, Oh I never thought that you wouldn't know that. There's a piano. (_The following passage can be omitted if a piano is not convenient_.) (_They go over looking curiously at it. The_ WIFE _touches the keys by accident_. ALL _jump at the sound._) JUNIOR. What do you want to sing? PRIORESS. (_slightly affected_) Alas, I cannot sing without my notes. WIFE. Surely that is a line each reader quotes! JUNIOR. Do you know the _Yama-Yama Girl_? (_substitute any popular song_) (_The_ PRIORESS _looks blank_.) JUNIOR. Nor even the _Merry Widow_? PRIORESS. Why 'tis a thing that Chaucer never had, In his day seemly widows all were sad. You speak of folk of whom I have no ken. FIRST NUN. One song, Madame, you know. SECOND NUN. O, try it then! (_The_ PRIORESS _sings to the tune of the Old English Ballad, "Drink to Me Only With Thine Eyes_.") Oh! We are Chaucer's children here, And well we love his name We live in hearts that hold him dear, Are nourished by his fame. Oh, listen now, while thus we sing Our songs of olden days, When court and king and common folk United, voiced his praise. When I was once a little lasse At Stratford-on-the-Bowe I hastened daily to my classe, My one dream was to know. I studied there, full seemly deep, With ne'er the smallest hint That other maids would some day weep, At seeing me in print. I thought of nothing but my booke, To make my mind grow fair So I'm afraid I never took The pains to do my hair! (_She looks at the_ JUNIOR'S _hair_.) Perchance if now I went to school, And sought its culture wide, Of _coiffures_ strange I'd learn the rule, And scorn what was inside.