| | O no, she envies none but pleasant things. | |
| | Such is the folly of despiteful chance! | |
| | Fortune is blind, and sees not my deserts; | |
| | So is she deaf, and hears not my laments; | |
| | And could she hear, yet is she wilful-mad, | |
| | And therefore will not pity my distress. | |
| | Suppose that she could pity me, what then? | |
| | What help can be expected at her hands | |
| | Whose foot is standing on a rolling stone, | |
| | And mind more mutable than fickle winds? | 30 |
| | Why wail I then, where's hope of no redress? | |
| | O yes, complaining makes my grief seem less. | |
| | My late ambition hath distain'd my faith; | |
| | My breach of faith occasion'd bloody wars; | |
| | Those bloody wars have spent my treasure | |
| | And with my treasure my people's blood; | |
| | And with their blood, my joy and best belov'd, | |
| | My best belov'd, my sweet and only son. | |
| | O, wherefore went I not to war myself? | |
| | The cause was mine; I might have died for both: | |
| | My years were mellow, his but young and green; | |
| | My death were natural, but his was forc'd. | 42 |
| Alex. | No doubt, my liege, but still the prince survives. | |
| Vic. | Survives! ay, where? | |
| Alex. | In Spain--a prisoner by mischance of war. | |
| Vic. | Then they have slain him for his father's fault. | |
| Alex. | That were a breach to common law of arms. | |
| Vic. | They reck no laws that meditate revenge. | |