[50] And lived by looking on his images:
But now two mirrors of his princely semblance
Are crack’d in pieces by malignant death,
And I for comfort have but one false glass,
[♦] Which grieves me when I see my shame in him.
55 Thou art a widow; yet thou art a mother,
[♦] And hast the comfort of thy children left thee:
[♦] But death hath snatch’d my husband from mine arms,
[♦] And pluck’d two crutches from my feeble limbs,
[♦] Edward and Clarence. O, what cause have I,