[♦] The unity the king thy brother made
[380] Had not been broken, nor my brother slain:
[♦] If thou hadst fear’d to break an oath by Him,
[♦] The imperial metal, circling now thy brow,
[♦] Had graced the tender temples of my child.
And both the princes had been breathing here,
[385] Which now, two tender playfellows for dust,
[♦] Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms.
What canst thou swear by now?
[♦] K. Rich. The time to come.