Stumbling on the bodies,
It blows moaning over the dead.
At times it is silent; and again dejectedly
It presses close to the faces of the fallen,
And plucks at their sleeves.
(Enter, riding their horses at a walk, King Dodon with his old Voevoda, plunged in gloomy thoughts, and stumble against the bodies of both the Princes.)
King Dodon
(throwing himself upon the bodies of his sons).
What terrible sight is this?
It is my sons! My own sons!
Without their helmets and their armour.