Must now returne my fleshe to filthy slime,
On fortune’s wheele I may no longer clime:
Therefore my lordes, although my glasse be runne,
Yet take remorse on Constantine my sonne.
31.
“My monarche, court, my kingdomes all,
(O stately Rome) farewell to them, and thee,
Farewell my lordes, which see my finall fall,
Farewell my childe, my wyfe, more deare to mee
Then all the world, we must depart I see: