Margaret

I sent my mother to her grave, I drown'd my child beneath the wave. Was it not given to thee and me--thee too? 'Tis thou thyself! I scarce believe it yet. Give me thy hand! It is no dream! 'Tis true! Thine own dear hand!--But how is this? 'Tis wet? Quick, wipe it off! Meseems that yet There's blood thereon. Ah God! what hast thou done? Put up thy sword, I beg of thee!