Each in his way, I mark, does all he can
To mitigate my sorrow. Noting this,
“How,” said I to myself, “so many then
Anxious for me alone? to pleasure me?
So many slaves to dress me? All this cost
For me alone?—Meanwhile, my only son,
For whom all these were fit, as well as me,
Nay rather more, since he is of an age
More proper for their use; him, him, poor boy,
Has my unkindness driven forth to sorrow.