Agr.My dearest child,1900
My injured child! See, I would have thee trust
My friendship. ’Twas my constant, loving wish
To right thy brother’s wrongs, and now my heart
Is wholly turned on thee.
Oct.Think not of me.
Am I not past all help? nor do I crave
The help that leads to death.
Agr.O never dream
That I had hand in that accursèd deed.