The Scepters promis’d of imperiouse Rome,
In stede of them shall crooked shepehookes beare,
Needles or forkes, or guide the carte, or plough?
Ah learne t’ endure: your birth and high estate
Forget, my babes, and bend to force of fate.
Farwell, my babes, farwell, my hart is clos’de
With pitie and paine, my self with death enclos’de,
My breath doth faile. Farwell for euermore,
Your Sire and me you shall see neuer more.
Farwell swete care, farwell. Chil. Madame Adieu.