Love, to her ear, was but a name,
	Combin’d with vanity and shame;
	Her hopes, her fears, her joys, were all
	Bounded within the cloister wall.

Scott.    

	Know of your youth, examine well your blood,
	Whether, if you yield not to your father’s choice,
	You can endure the livery of a nun;
	For aye to be in shady cloister mewed;
	To live a barren sister all your life,
	Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.
	Thrice blessed they, that master so their blood,
	To undergo such maiden pilgrimage.

Shakespeare.