So proudly hung, and filled with comfort's chattels,
As though its owner hoped long respite from
A clayey bed. Where is the tenant, father?
Friar. She'll enter presently,—ah, even now.
[Henry puts on cowl. Enter lady Albemarle, bearing a small box which she holds to her bosom]
La. Alb. Father, hast brought the holy man? The saint
Whose prayer may save the soul already damned.
Fr. Good daughter——
La. Alb. Ha! Good devil! That were better!