ke
the unexpected apparition of a bed-ridden old woman
at a garret window. Thou art the very owl of Minerva,
and the little bill, that thou ever carriest with thee,
is given thee for this purpose, to peck at man's
frailty in the matter of repayment. Come, thou art
in danger. I must have thee bled.

_Host._ I tell thee I have bled, as much as e'er a
kettle-pated fellow of them all in these wars. I am
defunct of nearly all my substance.

_Will._ Substance? Why there is scarcely a doorway
thou canst pass through; and if one of Hell's
gate-posts be not put back a foot or two, thou wilt be
left, at thy latter end, like a huge undelivered parcel
in the lumber-room of Charon.

_Host._ I know not any carrier of that name, but 'tis
ill twitting a man, when he is in earnest, and did I
not love thee, and were this not a day of rejoicing,
thou shouldest drink no more out of mine own silver
flagon.

_Will._ Nay, I meant not to offend thee. Come,
we part soon. My master will pay thee thrice that
thou hast lost by this captain.

_Host._ Pish! I care not for ten times the money.
Thou understandest not the feelings of a tradesman.

_Will._ Come along, come along. The boat stays
under the bridge. Mistress Barbara is already on
board the ship, and swears that tar is the perfumery
of Satan. Come, I may never see thee again, and
although we shall not moisten our parting with tears,
it would scarcely, methinks, be appropriate that we
should say to each other "God be with you!" thirsting.
[_Exeunt._]

SCENE III.

[_Last Grooves._]

_Drawing-room at Whitehall, with practicable folding
doors and curtains, in the last Cut, 3rd Grooves.
A Nurse discovered in attendance. The Lady ELIZABETH
is lying on a Couch, surrounded by the Family of
CROMWELL. Her Sisters are kneeling around her._

_Eliz._ Leave me awhile; I shall be better soon.
I would but see my father; pray you seek him,
I wish to speak with him.

_Lady Crom._ Nay, my sweet child,
You must not be alone.

_Eliz._ Dear mother, pardon,
I shall be better.

_Nurse._ The physician said
She must not be denied the thing she asks.

_Lady Crom._ Well, then--but let me cover thee, my sweet,
The night is cold.

_Eliz._ No! no! I scarce can breathe.

_Lady Crom._ Indeed she mends, her eyes are brighter. Come.

[_They rise, and go out quietly._]

_Eliz._ [_Raising herself._] Unbare my beating bosom to the wind,
And let the breath of Hea