The rough, unkindly blasts of pitiless war
Suit not thy tender years.
Prince. Why, mother,
Mustn't I be a soldier? And 'tis time
I should begin my exercise—by and bye
'Twill be too late to learn—and yet I wish
That I were bigger now, for your sake, mother.
Marg. Why, boy?
Prince. Oh! you know well enough, for all your asking.
Do you think, if I were strong enough to fight,