A coward born, and life has bred me such.
Hark! Albemarle is coming! Lock the door!
[Runs to the table and takes up the box]
Look—in this box—my lover's letters—see!
I have the key. I'll give it to the devil,
And Albemarle may look for it in hell.
O, I am dying! Hide them for me, priest.
My letters from my king. I'll burn them all.
Nay, nay, sweet, pretty words, lie down with me.
Together we'll grow cold. Ye'd fire enough,