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I thought thou wert behind me: mercy on us! A kind of qualm came o'er me, when I look'd On all within this silent dismal room, And to that corner where the death-bed stood,— A sudden qualm came o'er me.

Let us be busy—there's no time to lose; The provost and his daughter will be here Ere we have done our work. The Lord preserve us! 'tis an awful thing.

It was a sudden call: so young,—so good!

Ay, many a sore heart thinks of her this night.

And he, the most of all, that noble gentleman: Lord pardon him for being what he is!

And what is that?

A rank and Roman papist.