deathless? Chaucer, dear,
I pray that you that heresy can't hear!

HIPPOLYTA. Hark one and all, while judgment I pronounce:
If that this maid her treason will renounce,
Most humbly on her knees our grace beseech,
And duly quote some lines of praise for each,
Then we will pardon grant? Do all consent?

(_All bow._)

If not, _unto the bookcase she is sent_.

JUNIOR. Say something about each one of you! I never could in the
world. That's why I hate Chaucer so. (_as she says hate Chaucer the
characters all cringe_) I never could learn the old stuff, (_as she
says old stuff they sigh and raise their eyes in silent protest_)

FIRST NUN. It will go hard with thee for that same sin.

(SECOND NUN _nods to these words._)

EMILY. Prithee, delay no longer but begin.

(_The_ JUNIOR _looks around until her eye meets the_ PRIORESS.)

JUNIOR. Are you the Prioress?

PRIORESS. I am y-cleped Madame Eglantine.

JUNIOR. What rhymes with Eglantine? Wine? (_the_ PRIORESS _looks duly
shocked_) Thine? Divine? I know. It's something about singing through
your nose the _service divine_.

FIRST NUN. The seemly way to sing.

SECOND NUN. The seemly way.

GRISELDA. Here, Eglantine, you can't take up all day.

PRIORESS. I'd prove my vocal method without peer.

HIPPOLYTA. Perhaps she could.

WIFE. Suppose she does it here!

JUNIOR. Never mind. Miss Eglantine. Did they call you Sister in those
days? Never mind. I'll play your accompaniment on the piano.

ALL. Piano?

JUNIOR. Why, yes, Oh I never thought that you wouldn't know that.
There's a piano.

(_The following passage can be omitted if a piano is not convenient_.)

(_They go over looking curiously at it. The_ WIFE _touches the keys by
accident_. ALL _jump at the sound._)

JUNIOR. What do you want to sing?

PRIORESS. (_slightly affected_)
Alas, I cannot sing without my notes.

WIFE. Surely that is a line each reader quotes!

JUNIOR. Do you know the _Yama-Yama Girl_? (_substitute any popular
song_)

(_The_ PRIORESS _looks blank_.)

JUNIOR. Nor even the _Merry Widow_?

PRIORESS. Why 'tis a thing that Chaucer never had,
In his day seemly widows all were sad.
You speak of folk of whom I have no ken.

FIRST NUN. One song, Madame, you know.

SECOND NUN. O, try it then!