[40] To bid his young son welcome to his grave?
Away! vexation almost stops my breath,
[♦] That sunder’d friends greet in the hour of death.
Lucy, farewell: no more my fortune can,
But curse the cause I cannot aid the man.
45 Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away,
[♦] ’Long all of Somerset and his delay. [Exit, with his soldiers.
Lucy. Thus, while the vulture of sedition
Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders,
[♦] Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss