To do this piece of ruthless butchery,
Albeit they were flesh’d villains, bloody dogs,
Wept like to children in their death’s sad story:
O thus! quoth Dighton, lay the gentle babes;
Thus, thus! quoth Forrest, girdling one another,
Within their innocent alabaster arms;
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,
And in that summer-beauty kiss’d each other;
A book of prayers on their pillow lay,
Which once, quoth Forrest, almost changed my mind.