possess her: For I have heard my grandsire say full oft, Extremity of griefs would make men mad; And I have read that Hecuba of Troy Ran mad through sorrow: that made me to fear; Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did, And would not, but in fury, fright my youth: Which made me down to throw my books, and fly-- Causeless, perhaps. But pardon me, sweet aunt: And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go, I will most willingly attend your ladyship. Lucius, I will. How now, Lavinia! Marcus, what means this? Some book there is that she desires to see. Which is it, girl, of these? Open them, boy. But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd Come, and take choice of all my library, And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed. Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus? I think she means that there was more than one Confederate in the fact: ay, more there was; Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so? Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses; My mother gave it me. For love of her that's gone, Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest. Soft! see how busily she turns the leaves! What would she find? Lavinia, shall I read? This is the tragic tale of Philomel, And treats of Tereus' treason and his rape: And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy. See, brother, see; note how she quotes the leaves. Lavinia, wert thou thus surprised, sweet girl, Ravish'd and wrong'd, as Philomela was, Forced in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods? See, see! Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt-- O, had we never, never hunted there!-- Pattern'd by that the poet here describes, By nature made for murders and for rapes. O, why should nature build so foul a den, Unless the gods delight in tragedies? Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none but friends, What Roman lord it was durst do the deed: Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed? Sit down, sweet niece: brother, sit down by me. Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, Inspire me, that I may this treason find! My lord, look here: look here, Lavinia: This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst This after me, when I have writ