human
Nay! Nay! In pity, I beseech you. You know not what you do--what terrors you condemn me to. A plague, a horrible one, a sweating sickness, passed over this province a year back--it took many, among others him who laid here. He was of Chantillon--a seigneur--and is now removed by his friends. Mercy! Mercy! Mercy! Condemn me not to this. Think, I beseech you. The grave is infected, impregnated with contagion. Mercy! Mercy! Mercy!