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Oh! I am slain! Give over, dear father: fight no more for me, my brave Humphry.

Slain! O! no, no, no! Thou art wounded, love, but not slain: Heaven will not suffer such cruelty.—Run, O run for assistance immediately!

My dear, dear mother! nothing can save me.

Say not so. No, no! thou wilt be saved.

There is sure and speedy death in this wound: I feel it, and I am glad of it. Move me not from this spot; torment me not with any vain assistance, but let me quietly go where I ought to go—where I wish to go; for it is not meet that I should live.

No, no! thou shalt live! I will breathe my soul into thee; I will encircle thee, and grow into thee with the warm life of a mother. Death shall not tear thee from me!