To give you in your stead a better self! Such as you were, when these eyes first beheld You mounted on your sprightly steed, White Margery, Sir Rowland my father's gift, And all my maidens gave my heart for lost.
I was a young thing then, being newly come Home from my convent education, where Seven years I had wasted in the bosom of France: Returning home true protestant, you call'd me Your little heretic nun.

How timid-bashful Did John salute his love, being newly seen! Sir Rowland term'd it a rare modesty, And praised it in a youth.
_John_.

Now Margaret weeps herself.
(_A noise of bells heard_.) _Marg_.

Hark the bells, John.
_John_.

Those are the church-bells of St.Mary Ottery.
_Marg_.