DUCHESS OF YORK: Accursed and unquiet wrangling days, How many of you have mine eyes beheld! My husband lost his life to get the crown; And often up and down my sons were toss'd, For me to joy and weep their gain and loss: And being seated, and domestic broils Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors. Make war upon themselves; blood against blood, Self against self: O, preposterous And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen; Or let me die, to look on death no more!