Wait a little yet, we’ll heal that ulcer.
Beat. You know poor Bishop Gudrun, he is dead.
Hild. Nay, when died he? He was a goodly priest.
But scarce a zealous pastor. So he’s gone?
Beat. When I would come to thee to fill his place,
Canossa, with a loud and brutal laugh,
Says, nay, the Emperor must fill the chair
And at his prayer the licentious Prince hath sent
One of his courtiers, some rude, worldly man,
To fill the benefice. He laughs at thee,