Enter a Man bearing another dead.
Man. O Father, speake yet; no, the mercilesse blowe Hath all bereft speech, motion, sense and life.
Wom. O beauteous innocence, whitenes ill blackt, How to be made a coale didst thou deserve?
Man. O reverend wrinckles, well becoming palenesse, Why hath death now lifes colours given thee And mockes thee with the beauties of fresh youth?
Wom. Why wert thou given me to be tane away So soone, or could not Heaven tell how to punish But first by blessing mee?
Man. Why where thy years Lengthened so long to be cut off untimely?
Nero. Play on, play on, and fill the golden skies With cryes and pitie, with your blood; Mens Eyes[57]—
Wom. Where are thy flattering smiles, thy pretty kisses, And armes that wont to writhe about my necke?
Man. Where are thy counsels? where thy good example, And that kind roughnes of a Father's anger?
Wom. Whom have I now to leane my old age on?