My husband lost his life to get the crown;
[♦] And often up and down my sons were toss’d,
[♦] For me to joy and weep their gain and loss:
[60] And being seated, and domestic broils
Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors,
[♦] Make war upon themselves; blood against blood,
[♦] Self against self: O, preposterous
[♦] And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen;
[65] Or let me die, to look on death no more!
Q. Eliz. Come, come, my boy; we will to sanctuary.