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And by my trowthe I have no wyt nor remembrance to wryte to you half the worchep that is her; but that lakyth as it comyth to mynd I shall tell you when I come home whyche I trust to God shal not be long to; for we depart owt of Brygge homward on Twysday next comyng & all folk that cam with my lady of Burgoyn out of Ingland, except syche as shall abyd her styll with hyr whyche I wot well shall be but fewe.
She chose to be Alone: she wishes, at this awful moment, For the last time, to commune with her God. Enter MARGARET CURL, bearing a golden cup of wine; she places it hastily upon the table, and leans, pale and trembling, against a chair. MELVIL. How, madam! What has frightened you? KENNEDY. Oh God! BURGOYN. Speak, madam! CURL. What, alas! have I beheld!
Her enemies shall not enjoy the triumph; They shall not say that fear hath blanched her cheeks When her fatigues have conquered human weakness. MELVIL. May I approach her? KENNEDY. She will come herself. Enter BURGOYN; two women of the chamber follow him, weeping, and in deep mourning. BURGOYN. Oh, Melvil! MELVIL. Oh, Burgoyn!
KENNEDY. O Melvil! I cannot support it. MARY. Come, Come all and now receive my last farewell. Margaret, farewell my Alice, fare thee well; Thanks, Burgoyn, for thy honest, faithful service Thy lips are hot, my Gertrude: I have been Much hated, yet have been as much beloved. May a deserving husband bless my Gertrude, For this warm, glowing heart is formed for love.
KENNEDY. None but her women and physician Burgoyn: You seem to look around you with surprise; Your eyes appear to ask me what should mean This show of splendor in the house of death. Oh, sir, while yet we lived we suffered want; But at our death plenty returns to us. Enter MARGARET CURL. KENNEDY. How, madam, fares the queen? Is she awake? She is already dressed she asks for you.
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