Do not you mark how passionate, how wild Distressed Lady she bewayls her child? That he is dead, and that he thus should die? No: she unnat'rall laughs. Unhappy I! I, who deare Brother, perish in thy fall, While thou hast bury'd at thy Funerall, My remnant of low hopes to see the day, When thy just hand full vengeance should display, A Fathers death, and Sisters wrongs to pay. Now where shall I my dolefull footsteps turn, Who am all desolate, and twice forlorn? Brotherlesse Orphan. Once more to their check Whom I most hate, I must submit my neck, My Fathers Headsmen serve. With me is't well? But 'tis resolv'd, I will no longer dwell In these curs'd walls, but here before this gate Laying me down, will fade disconsolate, And let them, if they take this ill within Kill me, my slaughter were a courteous sinne, To live in pain, the light I hate to spinne. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESDAY BOOK: IRMA LEESE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS JOHN BROWN by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE HASTY PUDDING by JOEL BARLOW OH! WEEP FOR THOSE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE OLD WOMAN by JOSEPH CAMPBELL GOLIATH AND DAVID by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES THE TOKEN by FRANK TEMPLETON PRINCE |