JUNIOR. I knew that I didn't know a word of that Chaucer lesson. I don't
believe English people ever spoke like those old Canterbury pilgrims.
If I studied a year I'd never know whether a letter was silent or wasn't
silent. _I_ think it ought all to be made silent, and I think we ought
to be allowed to read George Barr McCutcheon or somebody interesting
instead of old fogies that died in--Dear me! When did old Chaucer die
anyway?


(_The_ PRIORESS _comes forward with dignity and speaks to the evident
wonder of the_ JUNIOR.)


PRIORESS. Mademoiselle, were you from Stratford-at-the-Bowe,
Where I learned French, some manners you might know.


JUNIOR. Bats in my belfry all right.


PRIORESS. Alas, my child, try while that you are yonge
To make your Englishe sweet upon the tonge.
You should speak always in fair Charity.


WIFE. Yea, but how harshly did you speak of me!


JUNIOR. I'm blessed if I know what you are, so how could I say anything?