Hen. Why not,
My lord? When my poor father in the flesh
Was struck by death they dressed me in this hue;
And heavier cause have I to wear it now,
When he who gave my soul its dearest light—
My father in nobility above
The blood or happy chance of birth—is gone
To come no more.
Win. But, good, my liege, am I
So little worth that with a strange misfit