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Wog. (much surprised.) My lands! give up my lands?

First Monk. What are thy lands
Compared to that which they will purchase for thee?

Sec. Monk. To lay thy coffin'd body in the ground.
Rob'd in the garb of holy men and bless'd?

First Monk. To have thy tomb beneath the shading arch
Of sacred roof, where nought profane may enter;
Whilst midnight spirits stand and yell without,
But o'er the sacred threshold dare not trespass,

Wog. (with a rueful countenance.)
What, do you think I shall be dead so soon?

Hex. Life is uncertain; but how glorious, Thane,
To look beyond this wicked world of strife.
And for thyself provide a lofty seat
With saints and holy men and angel bands!

Wog. Nay, father, I am not so highly bent;
Do but secure me from the horrid fangs
Of the terrific fiend: I am not proud;
That will suffice me.

Hex. Nay, herein thy humility we praise not,
And much I fear, at such a humble pitch,
He who so lately scar'd thee in thy dreams
May reach thee still.

First Monk. O think of this!

Hex. Dreadful it is, thou know'st,
To see him in thy dreams; but when awake,
Naked, and all uncloth'd of flesh and blood,
As thou at last must be; how wilt thou bear