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Ay, thou art right: Sophera moved the latch.

Com'st thou to tell me that the priest is gone?

The Countess did command me to inform you She is not well, and begs that for the night She may in solitude recruit her spirits. She wishes you good night and peaceful sleep. She bade me say, my Lord, her malady Is of no ardent kind that should alarm you; But, as she hopes, will pass away ere morn. No, faith! a soldier is too well inured To disappointment; knowing not at daybreak Whether his next night's slumber shall be had On silken couch, by some fair princess fann'd, Or on the cold damp earth, with dead men's bones His wounded head to pillow. No, sweet maid! We bear such evils lightly.

'T is well ye do; and so, brave Sir, good night! [Exit.