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Thou may'st not come: he's still; he is asleep: Thou canst not see him. (Voice heard again.)

Asleep, say'st thou? do I not hear his voice? Nay, let me pass; I will not be withheld. My lady follows me with some good drug To chafe his brow, poor wretch! and give him comfort.

Return, and tell the countess to forbear: She must not see him; foul unwholesome air Has made the chambers noxious. Hie thee back, And say she must not come.

And dost thou think this will prevent her? Never, Ev'n from the sick bed of her meanest servant, Hath she stood fearfully aloof, when comfort Could be administer'd.— I've seen the pain-rack'd wretch smile in his pain To see his lady's sweetly pitying face Peep past his ragged curtain, like a gleam Of kindly sunshine, bidding him good morrow. And thinkest thou now, from this poor dying man,