Thy hate forbids thy palace to my flight.
To all Marcellus’ tears and mine proclaim,
Even to Augustus mingled grief and shame;
That infant feels my tears, with fond desire
To sooth my sorrows, prattles of his sire;
Thy cruel mandates all have seen obey’d,
A trophy to thy guilty flame I’m made;
In our misfortunes dost thou pleasure find,
Can grief and joy at once possess thy mind;
But if thy worthless heart more outrage give,