. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete, That taught his son the office of a fowl! An yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd. I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus; Thy father, Minos, that denied our course; The sun that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy Thy brother Edward, and thyself the sea Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words! My breast can better brook thy dagger's point Than can my ears that tragic history. But wherefore dost thou come? is't for my life? Think'st thou I am an executioner? A persecutor, I am sure, thou art: If murdering innocents be executing, Why, then thou art an executioner. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption. Hadst thou been kill'd when first thou didst presume, Thou hadst not lived to kill a son of mine. And thus I prophesy, that many a thousand, Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear, And many an old man's sigh and many a widow's, And many an orphan's water-standing eye-- Men for their sons, wives for their husbands, And orphans for their parents timeless death-- Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born. The owl shriek'd at thy birth,--an evil sign; The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time; Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempest shook down trees; The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top, And chattering pies in dismal discords sung. Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain, And, yet brought forth less than a mother's hope, To wit, an indigested and deformed lump, Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree. Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born, To signify thou camest to bite the world: And, if the rest be true which I have heard, Thou camest-- I'll hear no more: die, prophet in thy speech: For this amongst the rest, was I ordain'd. Ay, and for much more slaughter after this. God forgive my sins, and pardon thee! What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted. See how my sword weeps for the poor king's death! O, may such purple tears be alway shed From those that wish the downfall of our house! If any spark of life be yet remaining, Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither: I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear. Indeed, 'tis true that Henry told me of; For I have often heard my mother say I came into the world with