Bar.

Sir John, here is the hobbling friar again, that has been so often to ask after you. Shall we say you are at home?

Fal.

Ay, let him in. What can the gouty precisian want with me?

Friar.

Peace be with you. Sir John, God save ye.

Fal.

Thank thee good father. What is your reverence's will?

Fri.

I think thou dost not know me, Sir John. It is indeed many years since our personal intimacy: your way of life and mine—

Fal.

Were something different, father, to be sure: and tho' I may have seen you before, it is so long since I have been at shrift, that I must crave your pardon if I have totally forgot ye. And yet your reverence may be my ghostly father, for ought I know.

Fri.

Fie, fie, Sir John, a man of your age and gravity.

Fal.

Hoh! if your business be to chide me, I shut mine ears.

Fri.

If you will not admit your wound to be prob'd; how can you expect to be cur'd, Sir John?

Fal.

Cur'd! 'sblood, I took thee for a priest, and I find thou art a surgeon.

Fri.

A spiritual one, Sir John; and such as your disorder requires.

Fal.

Dost thou know my case then? A spiritual surgeon sayst thou? I am not given over by the surgeons bodily yet. Who call in the divine till they have sent out the doctor?

Fri.

I know your case well, Sir John. It is perhaps less your body than your mind that is infected.

Fal.

Nay, like enough. I have indeed been damnably dispirited ever since the king's coronation. A confounded melancholy hangs upon me like a quotidian ague.

Fri.

It is that melancholy, and the cause of it, Sir John, I would remove.

Fal.

And how wouldst thou remove it? By providing me with a charge of horse, and restoring me to the king's favour. I know no other way.

Fri.

By inducing thee to repent, and be restor'd to the favour of the King of kings; which thou hast forfeited by a dissolute and abandoned life. Dost thou not think thou art in a state of reprobation?

Fal.

Pray, friar, by what authority dost thou take upon thee to catechise me? Dost thou come out of mere charity, or art thou employ'd by thy superiors?

Fri.

Suppose the former, Sir John.

Fal.

Suppose the former, father friar, why then the devil is so strong in me, that I should be tempted to throw thee headlong down stairs for thy charitable impertinence.

Fri.

Thy ill-manners, Sir John, would be inexcusable, were it not to be supposed the consequence of an habitual antipathy to ev'ry thing that is good. But, I will not lay claim to greater merit than is my due. I am come by order of my Lord-chief-justice; who is so much your friend as to interest himself in your reformation.

Fal.

My Lord-chief-justice! that's another matter. I cry thee mercy, reverend father. I find thou'rt not the man I took thee for. Your reverence does me honour; and I profess I am much indebted to his lordship's kind love and regard to my soul's health.

Fri.

You'll hear me then, Sir John.

Fal.

Yea, heav'n forbid I should not—what I said was meant against those officious zealots, who are so forward to pry into mens consciences that will not bear the looking into.

Fri.

Sir John, we know your failings; and shall not put you to the trouble of auricular confession at present.

Fal.

There, friar, thou win'st my heart. Come sit thee down. Wilt drink a glass of sack?

Fri.

I never do, Sir John.

Fal.

I cry thee mercy, then. Here is to your reverence's health; and now, I'll tell thee what,—I do protest I sit me now upon the stool of repentance, and have been honestly deliberating, some time past, to change my course of life. I am heartily tir'd of it. Indeed, I am, good father.

Fri.

I am glad to find thee in such promising dispositions, and think thou couldst not do better than to betake thyself, agreeable to his lordship's intentions, to some monastery, where thou wilt be secluded from temptations, and have all spiritual assistance to encourage thee to mortify the desires of the flesh.

Fal.

Hold thee there, good father. Let me understand thee. What! would his lordship make a monk of me? I must there beg his pardon. A monk; and to mortify the flesh! For heav'ns sake, good father, consider what a mortification indeed that must be to me, who have six times the quantity of any other man. If I must be included within the pale of the church, why not make a canon of me (not indeed a minor canon) but a prebendary, or a bishop, now. Something might be said for either of these. But for a monk! I know not any thing I am less fit for; unless indeed his lordship had meant to make a running footman of me.

Fri.

Nay, Sir John, his lordship will not use compulsion in this. He will not so far lay a restraint on your inclinations.

Fal.

O, if I ever find myself that way inclin'd; his lordship may depend on it I shall be as ready as ever to follow my inclinations. But the lesson of lean and sallow abstinence is very long and hard, good father; I am not gotten half-way through the first chapter yet.

Fri.

Some steps, however, Sir John, you must take, toward a more reputable way of life; and that speedily too: otherwise you will be stript of the honours of knighthood; and the king's sentence of banishment will be strictly put into execution against you.

Fal.

As to the matter of knighthood; once a knight and always a knight, you know. The king may make as many knights as he pleases; but he will not so easily unmake them again. My title will not depend on the king's courtesy, but on that of my followers. I am, notwithstanding, very desirous to give his lordship satisfaction: and do assure thee, on the honour of a soldier, of the sincerity of my repentance.

Fri.

And yet this may be only a transitory penitence, owing to your late disappointment. What reason canst thou give me to hope this state of mind will continue?

Fal.

Why, father, what I am shortly going to do is an act, that has confin'd many a man to a state of repentance, which hath continued to the last hour of his life.

Fri.

This, Sir John, is saying something. Pray what are you going to do?

Fal.

I have taken a resolution, father, to—What dost thou think now it is I have resolv'd upon?

Fri.

Some commendable act of penance, no doubt.

Fal.

Nay, it may well be call'd so, I believe. I am determin'd, good father, to marry.

Fri.

Call you that an act of penance, Sir John? Is marriage a state of mortification?

Fal.

I wish I may not find it so.

Fri.

Well, Sir John, marriage is a holy state; and in some degree I approve your resolution; but, in the estimation of the church, it is also an holy act, and ought not to be enter'd into unadvisedly. Your repentance should preceed your receiving the benefit of that sacrament.

Fal.

O, doubt not but I shall repent me sufficiently afterwards.

Fri.

Ah! Sir John, Sir John, I fear me you are no true penitent: but, however, it may be lawful to salve what cannot be effectually cur'd. I did not expect to make a convert at the first interview. If thou takest any measures that tend tow'rd reformation, thou shalt have my

Prayers and best assistance therein. Another time I will hold farther conversation with thee.

Fal.

In the mean time, good father, let me stand fair in your report to my Lord chief-justice and his majesty.

Fri.

Thou shalt stand fairer than I fear thou deservest. Farewel.