I would thou hadst not lived that little breath —
What didst thou know, but only birth, then death?
And all the joy a loving child should bring
Her parents, is become their bitterest sting.
Lament III
So, thou hast scorned me, my delight and heir;
Thy father’s halls, then, were not broad and fair
Enough for thee to dwell here longer, sweet.
True, there was nothing, nothing in them meet
For thy swift-budding reason, that foretold