Alas, alas, that I should have to die."
"What to your brothers leave?
My son beloved, blooming, and gentle bred,
What to your brothers leave?"
"To them the coach and team;
O lady mother, my heart is very sick:
To them the coach and team;
Alas, alas, that I should have to die."
"What to your sisters leave?
My son beloved, blooming, and gentle bred,