[240] ’Tis he that sent us hither now to slaughter thee.
[♦] Clar. It cannot be; for when I parted with him,
[♦] He hugg’d me in his arms, and swore, with sobs,
That he would labour my delivery.
[♦] Sec. Murd. Why, so he doth, now he delivers thee
[245] From this world’s thraldom to the joys of heaven.
[♦] First Murd. Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord.
[♦] Clar. Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul,
To counsel me to make my peace with God,
And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind,