He Romë burnt for his délicacý; 4133 The senators he slew upon a day, To hearë how that men would weep and cry; And slew his brother, and by his sister lay. His mother made he in piteous array; For he her wombë slittë, to behold Where he conceived was; so well-away! That he so little of his mother told. 4134

No tear out of his eyen for that sight Came; but he said, a fair woman was she. Great wonder is, how that he could or might Be doomësman 4135 of her deadë beautý: The wine to bringë him commanded he, And drank anon; none other woe he made, When might is joined unto cruelty, Alas! too deepë will the venom wade.