Her last confession, that 'twas her hand struck
Her daughter's heart, her child and John's.
Alb. Let go!
It was her malady that spoke. I'll to her
And rival death in tortures! God, I will——
Hen. Death has outstripped you, sir. Her breath is gone.
Alb. Then I'll inflict her body till her ghost
Comes back to shriek in it!
Hen. You're yet too late.
We've given orders for her due interment