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SATURNINUS. A goodly lady, trust me, of the hue That I would choose, were I to choose anew. Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance. Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer, Thou com’st not to be made a scorn in Rome. Princely shall be thy usage every way. Rest on my word, and let not discontent Daunt all your hopes. Madam, he comforts you Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths. Lavinia, you are not displeased with this?