Part 9 (1/2)
MILLISCENT.
Madam, it is the order of this place, When any virgin comes for approbation,-- Lest that for fear or such sinister practise She should be forced 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.]
MOUNTCHENSEY.
Life of my soul! bright Angel!
MILLISCENT.
What means the Friar?
MOUNTCHENSEY.
O Milliscent, tis I.
MILLISCENT.
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.
MOUNTCHENSEY.
Mountchensey, thy true friend.
MILLISCENT.
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 camst thou to a.s.sume this shape?
MOUNTCHENSEY.
By means of Peter Fabell, my kind Tutor, Who in the habit of Friar Hildersham, Franke Jerningham's old friend and confessor, Helped me to act the part of priestly novice, Plotted by Franke, by Fabell and my self, And so delivered to Sir Arthur Clare, Who brought me here unto the Abbey gate, To be his Nun-made daughter's visitor.
MILLISCENT.
You are all sweet traitors to my poor old father.
O my dear life! I was a dream't to night That, as I was a praying in mine Psalter, There came a spirit unto me as I kneeled, And by his strong persuasions tempted me To leave this Nunry; and me thought 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.
MOUNTCHENSEY.
O thou Idolatress, that dost this wors.h.i.+p 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!
MILLISCENT.
Well, visitor, lest that perhaps my mother Should think the Friar too strickt in his decrees, I this confess to my sweet ghostly father: If chast pure love be sin, I must confess, I have offended three years now with thee.
MOUNTCHENSEY.
But do you yet repent you of the same?
MILLISCENT.
Yfaith, I cannot.