quaesistis miserae vulnus memorabile matri, sed mortem obscuram numerandaque funera passi, heu quantus furto cruor et sine laude iacetis! quin ego non dextras miseris complexibus ausim dividere et tanti consortia rumpere leti: ite diu fratres indiscretique supremis ignibus et caros urna confundite manes.
a wound for a grieving mother to tell of; you suffered a fameless end, a death for numbering,  lying, alas, in so much blood stealthily, with none to praise. Nay, I dare not separate your hands locked in pitiful embrace and break the union of such a passing. Go, long be brothers, unsevered in the final pyre, and mingle your fond ashes in the urn.
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book3.json