MONK.
Good lack! my son, your heart is too much set
Upon the child, to bow before Heav'n's will,
That turns your soul back to itself with stripes;
Oh! know you not, Sir, that the child is dead?
Good lack! my son, your heart is too much set
Upon the child, to bow before Heav'n's will,
That turns your soul back to itself with stripes;
Oh! know you not, Sir, that the child is dead?