Arn. Even so. Wouldst thou curse him with thy touch?
Marg. Evil Man, good Friends, forgive my misery.
But even now, as I did pass our home,
I left his little one, and mine, asleep,
His sweet face pillowed on his rosy arm,
I bent and kissed him, he did look so like
His father, and now good friends forgive me, it is but
A passing madness, but it seemed these men
Had built a wall of hideous black between