(_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!


(_The_ PRIORESS _sings to the tune of the Old English Ballad,
"Drink to Me Only With Thine Eyes_.")


Oh! We are Chaucer's children here,
And well we love his name
We live in hearts that hold him dear,
Are nourished by his fame.
Oh, listen now, while thus we sing
Our songs of olden days,
When court and king and common folk
United, voiced his praise.