These must be the tyrant's obsequies, this the funeral procession of the fratricide.
It is not seemly that he who stripped his country of her freedom should have his ashes covered by his country's earth.
"Besides, why tell again my own sorrows?
Why count over my troubles?
Why weave the thread of my miseries anew?
Ye know them more fully than I myself.

I, pursued to the death by my stepfather, scorned by my mother, spat upon by friends, have passed my years in pitiable wise, and my days in adversity; and my insecure life has teemed with fear and perils.
In fine, I passed every season of my age wretchedly and in extreme calamity.

Often in your secret murmurings together you have sighed over my lack of wits; there was none (you said) to avenge the father, none to punish the fratricide.

And in this I found a secret testimony of your love; for I saw that the memory of the King's murder had not yet faded from your minds.
"Whose breast is so hard that it can be softened by no fellow-feeling for what I have felt?
Who is so stiff and stony, that he is swayed by no compassion for my griefs?
Ye whose hands are clean of the blood of Horwendil, pity your fosterling, be moved by my calamities.

Pity also my stricken mother, and rejoice with me that the infamy of her who was once your queen is quenched.