Oh, gentle Chaucer, could you see The world around us here, Perhaps you'd change your poetry And call no pilgrim _queer_ And could you see the ladies' dress, And what they wear the while, You'd know what made the critics guess You had a _simple style_. WIFE. (_to_ EMILY) Look at her smile upon that silly miss! Look, Emilye, did we come here for this? As to her singing, well, I have heard worse! I fear her verses will make her perverse. PRIORESS. (_to_ HIPPOLYTA) To punish her would make my conscience prick. GRISELDA. O Madame, be not flattered, think of _stick_. PRIORESS. Alas 'tis true! EMILY. Fire up your dying wrath. WIFE. (_to_ JUNIOR) What can you say about the Wife of Bath? JUNIOR. I don't know. I can't remember anything. WIFE. (_severely_) Did you not say my hosen were of red? JUNIOR. Well, they are, aren't they? WIFE. And what of that? Is that a case for scorn? My gear is eke as fine as e'er was worn. EMILY. What about me? JUNIOR. (_puzzled_) Who are you? I just _can't_ remember. HIPPOLYTA. Do you not recognize her by her hair? EMILY. 'Tis falling out because of grief and care! JUNIOR. Then I suppose you're Emily. But who is that? (_points to_ GRISELDA) GRISELDA. Ignorance!! (_she stamps her foot_) ALL. Griselda! You impatient! JUNIOR. Are you the one they used to call "Patient Griselda"? I never should have known you. And who are you? (_to_ HIPPOLYTA) HIPPOLYTA. You did not mention me so I excuse Your ignorance. And yet your suit you lose. Come, ladies, come, draw close while we confer, The instruments of Justice must not err. (_They draw together and hold a whispered consultation, the_ JUNIOR _vainly trying to pinch herself into reality_.) JUNIOR. I know it's all a dream, but I just can't wake myself up. HIPPOLYTA. For her mad crime, she's judged and in disgrace The sentence is to put her in our case. (_They take hold of the_ JUNIOR _and begin pushing her toward the bookcase at the back of the stage_.) JUNIOR. Why, I thought you were only joking. PRIORESS. Chaucer alone it is, with whom we jest. Come, nonnes both, and push her in with zest. JUNIOR. Oh, let me stay out. Don't make me go into that stuffy bookcase. There never will be room for me with all those other books. It will squeeze what little I do know out of me. (_Relentless, they push her behind the curtains into the bookcase. Her voice grows weaker, finally dying away._) WIFE. Life sentence is not much to pay for this. PRIORESS. (_to her_ NUNS _who nod in agreement_) _I_ think a little mercy not amiss. EMILY. She's quite filled up the space that once was ours. HIPPOLYTA. How are we going to pass our leisure hours? FIRST NUN. (_to_ SECOND) Perhaps she'll sing again.