Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,
85 Throw up thine eye! see, see what showers arise,
Blown with the windy tempest of my heart,
[♦] Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart!
O, pity, God, this miserable age!
[♦] What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,
[90] Erroneous, mutinous and unnatural,
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!
[♦] O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!