Sar. Mark! he weeps.
Tell. Were he my son,
He would not shed a tear. He would remember
The cliff where he was bred, and learned to scan
A thousand fathoms’ depth of nether[513] air;
Where he was trained to hear the thunder talk,
And meet the lightning, eye to eye, where last
We spoke together, when I told him death
Bestowed the brightest gem that graces life,
Embraced for virtue’s sake. He shed a tear!