From its huge den. But if no beasts avail,
This heart of mine into some monster change;
For of my hate can any shape be made
That thou desir'st. Oh, mould my woman's form265
To match my grief. My breast cannot contain
Its rage. Why dost thou search the farthest bounds
Of earth, and overturn the world? Or why
Dost thou demand of hell its evil shapes?
This breast of mine will furnish for thy use
All fearful things. To work thy deadly hate270