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Tit. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them.

Mar. But yet let reason govern thy lament.

Tit. If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes. When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatning the welkin with his big-fwoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil ? I am the fea; hark, how her fighs do blow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth : Then must my sea be moved with her sighs, Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why, my bowels cannot hide her woes But, like a drunkard, must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues.

Erter e Mafenger, bringing in two beads and a band.

Itel. Worthy Andronicus, ill art chou repay'd For that good hand, thou sent'st the emperor ; Here are the heads of thy two noble fons, And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back. Thy grief's their sport, thy resolution mock'd; That woe is me to think upon thy woes, More than remembrance of my father's death. [Exit.

Mar, Now let hot Etna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell; These miseries are more than may be borne! To weep with them that weep, doth ease sume deal, But forrow fouted at is double death.

-woe-extremes. j. e. extremes caused by excesive sorrow. But Mr. Theobald, on his own authority, alters it to deep, without notice given. WARB. It is deep in the old quarto of 1611.



Luc. Ah, that this light should make so deep a

wound, And

yet detested life not shrink thereat ; That evet death fhould let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest than to breathe.

[Lavinia kifles kim. Mar. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortlefs, As frozeń water to a ftarved snake.

TII. When will this fearful flumber have an end ?

Mar. Now, farewell, flattery ! die, Andronicus ;
Thou dost not Number; see thy two sons' heads,
Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here;
Thy other banish'd son with this dear fight
Struck pale and bloodlėss; and thy brother I,
Even like å stony image, cold and numb.
Ah! now no more will I controul thy griefs ;
Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand
Gnawing with thy teeth, and be this dismal sight
The closing up of your most wretched eyes !
Now is a time to storm, why art thou still?

Tit. Ha, ha, ha!
Mar. Why dost thou laugh? it fits rot with this

Tit. Why I have not another tear to shed ?
Besides, this sorrow is an enemy,
And would usurp upon my watry eyes,
And make them blind with tributary tears;
Then which way shall I find revenge's cave?
For these two heads do seem to speak to me,
And chreat me, I shall never come to bliss,
Till all these mischiefs be return'd again,
Even in their throats that have committed them.
Come, let me see, what tack I have to do
You heavy people, circle me about ;
That I may turn me to each one of you,
Arid swear unto my foul co' right your wrongs.
The vow is made ;-come, brother, take a head,


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And in this hand the other will I bear;
Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these things;
Bear thou my hand, fweet wench, between thy teeth.
As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight, ,
Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay ;
Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there ;
And if you love me, as I think you do,
Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do.

Manet Lucius.
Luc Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father,
The woful'ít man that ever liv'd in Rome;
Farewell, proud Rome ; till Lucius comes again,
He leaves his pledges dearer than his life;
Farewell, Lavinia, my noble fifter,
O, 'would thou wert as thou tofore haft been !
But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives,
But in oblivion and hateful griefs ;
If Lucius live, he will require your wrongs,
And make proud Saturninus and his emperess
Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his

queen. Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power, To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine. (Exil Lucius,


An apartment in Titus's boufc. A banquet. Enter Titus, Marcus, Lavinia, and young

Lucius, a boy. Tit. So, so, now sit ; and look, you eat no more Than will preserve just so much strength in us As will revenge these bitter woes of ours.

2 This scene, which does not contribute any thing to the action, yet seems to have the same author with the rest, is omitted in the quarto of 1611, but found in the folio of 1623, Jonssos.


Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot;
Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands,
And cannot passionate our ten-fold grief
With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine
Is left to tyrannize upon my breast;
And when my heart, all mad with misery,
Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,
Then thus I thump it down.-
Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs!

[To Lavinió.
When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating,
Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still ;
Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans ;
Or get some little knife between thy teeth,
And just against thy heart make chou a hole,
That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall,
May run into that sink, and soaking in,
Drown the lamenting fool in sea salt tears.

Mar. Fy, brother, fy, teach her not thus to lay Such violent hands upon her tender life.

Tit. How now! has forrow made thee doat already? Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I; What violent hands can she lay on her life? Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands, – To bid Æneas tell the tale twice o'er, How Troy was burnt, and he inade miserable ? O, handle not the theme, no talk of hands,Left we remember still, that we have none. Fy, fy, how frantickly I square my talk, As if we should forget we had no hands, If Marcus did not name the word of hands? Come, let's fali to, and, gentle girl, eat this. Here is no drink: hark, Marcus, what she says, I can interpret all her martyi’d signs; She says, the drinks no other drink but tears, Brew'd with her forrows, melh'd upon her cheeks. Speechless complaint !-0, I will learn thy thought;

In thy dumb action will I be as perfect,
As begging hermits in their holy prayers.
Thou shalt

not figh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven,
Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a fign,
But I, of these, will wrest an alphabet,
And: by still practice learn to know the meaning.

Boy. Good grandsire, leave these bitter:deep laments; Make my aunt merry with fome pleasing tale.

Mar. Alas, the tender boy, in pallion mov'd, Doth weep to see his grandfire's heaviness.

Tit. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears. And tears will quickly melt thy life away.

[Marcus Strikes ibe disly with a knife. What doft thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife ?

Mar. At that that I have kill'd, my lord, a iy.

Tit. Out on thee, murderer; thou kill'st my heart; Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny ! A deed of death done on the innocent Becomes not Ticus' brother ; get thee gone, I see, thou art not for my company:

Mar. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly.

Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and mother?
How would he hang his sender gilded wings,
4 And buz lamenting doings in the air?
Poor harmless fly,
That with his pretty buzzing melody,

3 by fill praitice) By conjlant or continual pra&tice.

JOHNSON. 4 And buz lamenting doings in the air.) Lamening doings is a very idle expression, and conveys no idea. I read

dolingsThe alteration which I have made, though it is but the addition of a fingle letter, is a great increase to the sense; and though, indeed, there is fomewhat of a tautology in the epithet and subftancive annexed to it, yet that's no new thing with our author.



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