Or lov’d, or drink, or entertain yourself,
Taking your pleasure, while she pines at home.
—And what a world of fears possess me now!
How anxious that my son is not return’d;
Lest he take cold, or fall, or break a limb!
—Gods, that a man should suffer any one
To wind himself so close about his heart,
As to grow dearer to him than himself!
And yet he is not my son, but my brother’s,
Whose bent of mind is wholly different.