75 Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.
Weep, wretched man, I’ll aid thee tear for tear;
And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war,
[♦] Be blind with tears, and break o’ercharged with grief.
Enter a Father that has killed his son, bringing in the body.
[♦] Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me,
80 Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold;
For I have bought it with an hundred blows.
But let me see: is this our foeman’s face?
[♦] Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son!