Queen, thy twain brethren and thy mother's sons.
ALTHAEA.
Lay down your dead till I behold their blood
If it be mine indeed, and I will weep.
MESSENGER,
Weep if thou wilt, for these men shall no more.
ALTHAEA.
O brethren, O my father's sons, of me
Well loved and well reputed, I should weep
Tears dearer than the dear blood drawn from you
But that I know you not uncomforted,
Sleeping no shameful sleep, however slain,
For my son surely hath avenged you dead.
MESSENGER.
Nay, should thine own seed slay himself, O queen?