Tit monologue — Titus Andronicus

It was my Deare, And he that wounded her, Hath hurt me more, then had he kild me dead: For now I stand as one vpon a Rocke, Inuiron'd with a wildernesse of Sea. Who markes the waxing tide, Grow waue by waue, Expecting euer when some enuious surge, Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. This way to death my wretched sonnes are gone: Heere stands my other sonne, a banisht man, And heere my brother weeping at my woes. But that which giues my soule the greatest spurne, Is deere Lauinia, deerer then my soule. Had I but seene thy picture in this plight, It would haue madded me. What shall I doe? Now I behold thy liuely body so? Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy teares, Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee: Thy husband he is dead, and for his death Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this. Looke Marcus, ah sonne Lucius looke on her: When I did name her brothers, then fresh teares Stood on her cheekes, as doth the hony dew, Vpon a gathred Lillie almost withered