From the first
Corse til he that died today
Our whole kingdom
To be contracted in one brow of woe
Nor th’exterior
Nor the inward man resembles that it was
My crown,
Mine own ambition, and my queen
My soul is
Full of discord and dismay
She is so
Conjunctive to my life and soul
Not that I think
You did not love your father
Divided from
Herself and her fair judgement
The head is not
More native to the heart
Our sometime…
Sister, now our queen