Were wet with tears, when on the funeral pyre
She placed thy form and saw the flames consume
Thy limbs and face fair as the wingéd god's.
Octavia: Me, too, he must destroy—or fall by me.
Nurse: But nature has not given thee strength to slay.175
Octavia: Yet anguish, anger, pain, distress of soul,
The ecstasy of grief will give me strength.
Nurse: Nay, by compliance, rather, win thy lord.
Octavia: That thus he may restore my brother slain?
Nurse: That thou thyself mayst go unscathed of death;