Pet. Woman, what wantest thou here?
Hild. Drive her not out, Peter, see, her reason
Like me from my high Papacy, is exiled
From her poor body. I would speak with her.
Sorrow and defeat make men more kindly.
(To Margaret.) Daughter, wouldst thou speak a word with me?
Marg. Sir, I would see the Pope, but his attendants
Would drive me out, an’ my sweet baby here.
They say he’s dead an’ he will smile no more,
’Tis but because that terrible Pope had laid