Read it through once

TITUS. It was my dear, and he that wounded her Hath hurt me more than had he killed me dead. For now I stand as one upon a rock, Environed with a wilderness of sea, Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, Expecting ever when some envious surge Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. This way to death my wretched sons are gone; Here stands my other son, a banished man, And here my brother, weeping at my woes. But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. Had I but seen thy picture in this plight It would have madded me. What shall I do Now I behold thy lively body so? Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears, Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyred thee. Thy husband he is dead, and for his death Thy brothers are condemned, and dead by this. Look, Marcus! Ah, son Lucius, look on her! When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew Upon a gathered lily almost withered.