Too late, sir, and too seldom--Where have you been
These four months past, while we are sold for bond-slaves
Unto a peevish friar?

Wal. Why, my fair rosebud--
A trifle overblown, but not less sweet--
I have been pining for you, till my hair
Is as gray as any badger's.

Isen. I'll not jest.

Wal. What? has my wall-eyed Saint shown you his temper?

Isen. The first of his peevish fancies was, that she should eat
nothing which was not honestly and peaceably come by.

Wal. Why, I heard that you too had joined that sect.

Isen. And more fool I. But ladies are bound to set an example--
while they are not bound to ask where everything comes from: with
her, poor child, scruples and starvation were her daily diet; meal
after meal she rose from table empty, unless the Landgrave nodded
and winked her to some lawful eatable; till she that used to take
her food like an angel, without knowing it, was thinking from
morning to night whether she might eat this, that, or the other.

Wal. Poor Eves! if the world leaves you innocent, the Church will
not. Between the devil and the director, you are sure to get your
share of the apples of knowledge.