MOUN. Do, my good plump wench; if all fall right, I'll make your sisterhood one less by night. Now, happy fortune, speed this merry drift, I like a wench comes roundly to her shrift.
LADY. Have friars recourse then to the house of nuns?
MIL. Madam, it is the order of this place, When any virgin comes for approbation (Lest that for fear or such sinister practice She should be forc'd to undergo this veil, Which should proceed from conscience and devotion), A visitor is sent from Waltham House, To take the true confession of the maid.
LADY. Is that the order? I commend it well: You to your shrift, I'll back unto the cell. [_Exit._
MIL. My heart misgives me: I should know that voice. You? who are you? the holy virgin bless me! Tell me your name: you shall, ere you confess me.
MIL. My Raymond! my dear heart! Sweet life, give leave to my distracted soul To wake a little from this swoon of joy. By what means cam'st thou to assume this shape?
MOUN. By means of Peter Fabel, my kind tutor, Who in the habit of friar Hildersham, Frank Jerningham's old friend and confessor, Plotted by Frank, by Fabel, and myself, And so delivered to Sir Arthur Clare, Who brought me here unto the abbey-gate, To be his nun-made daughter's visitor.
MIL. You are all sweet traitors to my poor old father. O my dear life! I was a-dreamed to-night That, as I was praying in my psalter, There came a spirit unto me as I kneel'd, And by his strong persuasions tempted me To leave this nunnery: and methought He came in the most glorious angel-shape, That mortal eye did ever look upon. Ha! thou art sure that spirit, for there's no form Is in mine eye so glorious as thine own.
MOUN. O thou idolatress, that dost this worship To him whose likeness is but praise of thee! Thou bright unsetting star, which through this veil For very envy mak'st the sun look pale.
MIL. Well, visitor, lest that perhaps my mother Should think the friar too strict in his decrees, I this confess to my sweet ghostly father; If chaste pure love be sin, I must confess, I have offended three years now with thee.
MOUN. But do you yet repent you of the same?
MOUN. Nor will I absolve thee Of that sweet sin, though it be venial: Yet have the penance of a thousand kisses; And I enjoin you to this pilgrimage:-- That in the evening you bestow yourself Here in the walk near to the willow ground, Where I'll be ready both with men and horse To wait your coming, and convey you hence Unto a lodge I have in Enfield Chase: No more reply, if that you yield consent-- I see more eyes upon our stay are bent.