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What happier chance could I, an exile, find 550 (553)
Than this, to marry me with the king's child?
Not, thought which galls thee, sickened of thy bed
And wounded with desire for a new bride;
Nor striving for the crown of many sons—
For those I have suffice, I nought complain— 555 (558)
But, that which makes most, that we prosperous
Should dwell and not know scanting; well aware
That every friend will shun the poor man's path.
Also that I might rear as fits my house
My children, and, giving brothers to thy sons,
Bind them in one, and having interknit 561 (564)
My family, live on in happy case.
For what needst thou more children? But to me
'Tis profit to advance my living sons 564 (566)
By those that shall be. Have I ill resolved?
Thyself, wert thou not galled about thy bed,
Couldst never say it. But to such a pass
You women are come now, that, your bed safe,
You think you have everything; but let ill luck
Touch that, and all that fairest is and best 570 (572)
You count most hateful. 'Twere a goodly boon
If men could raise their children otherwhence
