My gratious Lord, they have their mothers looks,
But when they list, their conquering fathers hart:
This lovely boy the yongest of the three,
Not long agoe bestrid a Scythian Steed:
Trotting the ring, and tilting at a glove:
Which when he tainted with his slender rod,
He raign'd him straight and made him so curves,
As I cried out for feare he should have falne.
