[150] North. Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so
[♦] That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.
[♦] York. That face of his the hungry cannibals
[♦] Would not have touch’d, would not have stain’d with blood:
But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,
155 O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania.
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father’s tears:
This cloth thou dip’dst in blood of my sweet boy,
And I with tears do wash the blood away.
[♦] Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this: