Hie monologue — The Spanish Tragedie

I, now I know thee, now thou namest thy sonne; Thou art the liuely image of my griefe: Within thy face sorrowes I may see; The eyes are [dim'd] with teares, they cheekes are wan, They forehead troubled, and thy muttring lips Murmure sad words abruptly broken off By force of windie sighes thy spirit breathes; And all this sorrow riseth for thy sonne, And selfe-same sorrow feele I for my sonne. Come in, old man; thou shalt to Izabell. Leane on my arme; I thee, thou me shalt stay; And thou and I and she will sing a song, Three parts in one, but all of discords fram'd,-- Talke not of cords!--but let vs now be gone,-- For with a cord Horatio was slaine.