LVII.

Why did I spend my life, and spill my blood, That thy firme hand for ever might sustaine A well-pois'd scepter? does it now seeme good Thy brother's blood be spilt, life spent in vaine? 'Gainst thy owne sons and brothers thou hast stood In armes, when lesser cause was to complaine: And now crosse Fates a watch about thee keepe, Can'st thou be carelesse now? now can'st thou sleep?