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Rh

Nay, nay, good Nurse; think of next month's confession, When lying must be paid for. Father Thomas Know'st thou not where he is, this son of thine? A handsome youth, no doubt.

As ever stepp'd upon the blessed earth. When but an infant, he with fair Zorada Play'd like a brother. Such a pretty pair! And the sweet children loved each other dearly. Would he were here! but where he is I know not.

Vile wretch! thou liest; but thou shalt tell the truth. I'll press the breath from out thy cursed body, Unless thou tell me where thy son is hid.

My son, my Lord!

Ay, witch; I say thy son; The ugliest hound the sun e'er looked upon. Tell me, and instantly, if thou wouldst breathe Another moment. Tell me instantly. (Shaking her violently, while interposes,