But here my mind forsakes me, someone said
I was his daughter, but they must have lied.
God would not make a father so unkind
To curse his only daughter, kill her joy,
And make her baby like my baby here.
Hild. O God, O God, it cannot, cannot be!
A mist seems growing up before mine eyes!
Peter, Peter, this is mine own daughter.
Pet. Yea, she is distract. These women ever
Do come betwixt us and our sight of heaven.