From childhood I have thwarted you;—
You’ve been no mother, I no son,
Till you are gray, my childhood gone.
His Mother.
I do not ask to be caress’d.
Be what you please; I am not nice.
Be stern, be fierce, be cold as ice,
It will not cleave my armour’d breast;
Keep, though you hoard it, what was mine,
And never let it leave our line!