hioness of
Misnia came suddenly? I heard that war had been proclaimed on that
score; but what terms of peace were concluded?

Isen. Terms of peace! Do you call it peace to be delivered over to
his nuns' tender mercies, myself and Guta, as well as our lady,--as
if we had been bond-slaves and blackamoors?

Wal. You need not have submitted.

Isen. What! could I bear to see my poor child wandering up and
down, wringing her hands like a mad woman--I who have lived for no
one else this sixteen years? Guta talked sentiment--called it a
glorious cross, and so forth.--I took it as it came.

Wal. And got no quarter, I'll warrant.

Isen. Don't talk of it--my poor back tingles at the thought.

Wal. The sweet Saints think every woman of the world no better than
she should be; and without meaning to be envious, owe you all a
grudge for past flirtations. As I am a knight, now it's over, I
like you all the better for it.

Isen. What?

Wal. When I see a woman who will stand by her word, and two who
will stand by their mistress. And the monk, too--there's mettle in
him. I took him for a canting carpet-haunter; but be sure, the man
who will bully his own patrons has an honest purpose in him, though
it bears strange fruit on this wicked hither-side of the grave.
Now, my fair nymph of the birchen-tree, use your interest to find me
supper and lodging; for your elegant squires of the trencher look
surly on me here: I am the prophet who has no honour in his own
country. [Exeunt.]

SCENE VI

Dawn. A rocky path leading to a mountain Chapel. A Peasant sitting
on a stone with dog and cross-bow.

Peasant [singing].

Over the wild moor, in reddest dawn of morning,
Gaily the huntsman down green droves must roam:
Over the wild moor, in grayest wane of evening,
Weary the huntsman comes wandering home;
Home, home,
If he has one. Who comes here?

[A Woodcutter enters with a laden ass.]

What art going about?

Woodcutter. To warm other folks' backs.

Peas. Thou art in the common lot--Jack earns and Gill spends--
therein lies the true division of labour. What's thy name?

Woodc. Be'est a keeper, man, or a charmer, that dost so catechise
me?

Peas. Both--I am a keeper, for I keep all I catch; and a charmer,
for I drive bad spirits out of honest men's turnips.

Woodc. Mary sain us, what be they like?

Peas. Four-legged kitchens of leather, cooking farmers' crops into
butcher's meat by night, withou