That we be here, here is his written word.
(Holds up the Pope’s Bull.)
Yea, further, you shall choose you even now.
Thou shalt not shrive yon dying woman, till
Thou hast renounced this woman.
Gerb. My sweet Margaret, put your trust in me.
(To Arnulph.) Thou cruel preacher, show me yon dread bull,
Whose horns do even now rend me. Tell me now
’Tis but a lie and not great Hildebrand’s.
I knew him once, he seemed a kindly man,