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Dear Alice! how thou tremblest every limb, As in an ague fit!

It was no dream; It was no strong delusion of the fancy.

This is indeed an awful confirmation. But stay no longer here: go to thy home; Thou hast great need of rest.

I have more need, Within my closet, on my bended knees, To pray for mercy on my sinful self, And those to me most dear,—poor sinners all. This is a sad and awful visitation.

But didst thou not expect to find it so? I thought thou wert prepared.

I thought so too; But certainty makes previous expectation Seem, by comparison, a state of hope.

We now are free to hold upon our way. Let us proceed: come on with me, dear Alice. [Exeunt.