At morning, with the sun’s.
Alph. Thou hast no look
For me, my mother!
Elm. Oh! that I should live
To say, I dare not look on thee! Farewell,
My first-born, fare thee well!
Alph. Yet, yet beware!
It were a grief more heavy on thy soul,
That I should blush for thee, than o’er my grave
That thou shouldst proudly weep!