Doge.What?
Jac. Fos.My poor mother, for my birth,160
And me for having lived, and you yourself
(As I forgive you), for the gift of life,
Which you bestowed upon me as my sire.
Mar. What hast thou done?
Jac. Fos.Nothing. I cannot charge
My memory with much save sorrow: but
I have been so beyond the common lot
Chastened and visited, I needs must think