And I the haplesse maile to one poore bird,
Haue now the fatall obiect in mine eie,
10 Where my poore young was limde, was caught & kild.
Glo. Why, what a foole was that of Creete?
[♦] That taught his sonne the office
Of a birde, and yet for all that the poore
[♦] Fowle was drownde.
15 Hen. I Dedalus, my poore sonne Icarus,
Thy father Minos that denide our course,
Thy brother Edward, the sunne that searde his wings,