XLVIII

That old nurse stood beside her wondering,

      Until her heart felt pity to the core

At sight of such a dismal labouring,

      And so she kneeled, with her locks all hoar,

And put her lean hands to the horrid thing:

      Three hours they labour'd at this travail sore:

At last they felt the kernel of the grave,

And Isabella did not stamp and rave.