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Under strokes of iron they are come to this, and under strokes of iron there await them—what, one might perhaps ask—shares in their father's tomb.1  Our shrill, heart-rending wail goes with them—product of lamentation and pain felt of its own accord—a wail from a distressed mind, joyless, pouring forth tears from a heart  that wastes away as I weep for these two princes.
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