Thy father," (that word she spake with pain,
For a sigh had nigh rent her heart in twain,)
"Thy father, had he lived this day,
To see the branch of his body display,
How would he have joyed at this sweet sight?
But ah! false Fortune such joy did him spite,
And cut off his days with untimely woe,
Betraying him into the trains of his foe.
Now I, a wailful widow behight,
Of my old age have this one delight,