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Give!

Share it, say'st thou?—Agnes; share it?

[Wildly.]

I will rather die than spare it All! See, inch by inch I've bent To thy will; my force is spent! Half's enough; she needs no more!

Was the whole too much before, When for thy child it was meant?

[Gives.]

Woman, take; in this was clad At the font my little lad. Here the scarf, cloak, mantle, good For the night-air, here the hood Warm for winter; take this last

Give me!

Is this all thou hast?

[Gives again.]

Take the crowning vesture worn, By the child to Death's Font