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Ay, by my faith our very women too: And in your hall remain, to serve your state, Nor child nor aged crone.

Decide, and cast her off!—How far the thoughts To which these words ye yoke, may go, I guess not. (Eagerly.) They reach not to her life? Oh, oh! oh, oh! that stern and dreadful silence!

We will not shed her blood.

Then ye will spare her.

Commit her to our keeping: ask us not How we shall deal with her.

Some fearful mystery is in your words, Which covers cruel things. O woe the day,