Read it through once

YOUNG LUCIUS. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess, Unless some fit or frenzy do 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 for 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.