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Let me be forward in my work, good Father. I would retire, and give my thoughts to heaven Ere earthly things shall press to mingle with them. Come, then, and join thy fervent prayers with mine, And teach my dying voice to sue for mercy. [Exit with.

The right true metal this; 't will bear the furnace. Ah! who would once have thought that from my custody He should pass forth to such a death? Heaven doomed it. (Noise and bustle without.) What noise is that without?—Ho! who would enter?

Where is thy noble charge?

With his confessor, in the private chapel.