Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet;
115 My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre,
For from my heart thine image ne’er shall go;
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
And so obsequious will thy father be,
[♦] Even for the loss of thee, having no more,
120 As Priam was for all his valiant sons.
I’ll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will,
[♦] For I have murdered where I should not kill. [Exit with the body.
K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,