Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae!

But 'twas ere I was born.
Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me,
Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just,
He be as miserably slain as I.
Ah, let me live in prison all my days;
And when I give occasion of offence,
Then let me die ...

I never did thee harm: why wilt thou slay me?

O, let me pray before I take my death!
To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me!

Then let my father's blood open it again:
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.

So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch
That trembles under his devouring paws;
And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey,
And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder.
Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword,
And not with such a cruel threatening look.
Sweet ...

Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands?
Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes!