For mine own head, yoked in my sister’s curse

The blessing he refused me.

Well, take comfort ;
This grace may yet be thine.

Palermo. A Nunnery. Enter ABBESS, followed by a
Lay-Sister.

Is the poor creature roused ?

Nay, she still sleeps.
T would break your pious heart to see her, mother.
She begged our meanest cell, though ’t is past doubt
She has been bred to delicate luxury.
I deemed her spent, had not the soft breast heaved
As gently as a babe s and even in dreams
Two crystal drops oozed from her swollen lids,
And trickled down her cheeks. Her grief sleeps not,
Although the fragile body craves its rest.