Who back recoil’d, he knew not why,
Even at the choice himself had made.
Next Henry’s Son, his eye on fire,
With just reproof the tyrant stings,
One savage blow speaks Richard’s ire,
And the youth soars on seraph wings.
In woeful guise of sad despair,
King Henry mourns his hopes beguil’d,
’Till Glo’ster’s dagger ends his care,
And sends the father to his child.