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If she hold parley now with any thing, It must in truth be ghost or sprite.—Heigh ho! I'm tir'd, and will to bed. Or. Cathrina! sleepest thou? Awake! Awake! That hateful viper here! Is this my nightly guard? Detested wretch! I will steal back again. O no! I dare not. Tho' sleeping, and most hateful when awake, Still he is natural life and may be 'waked. (listening again.) 'Tis nearer now: that dismal thrilling blast! I must awake him. O no! no, no! Upon his face he wears a horrid smile That speaks bad thoughts. (Rud. speaks in his sleep.) He mutters too my name.—