There's for thy felf, and that's for Tamora: That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. Mar. Alas, poor man, grief has fo wrought on him, He takes falfe fhadows for true fubftances. Come, take away; Lavinia, go with me, I'll to thy closet, and go read with thee Sad ftories, chanced in the times of old. Come, boy, and go with me, thy fight is young, And thou shalt read when mine begins to dazzle. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I. Titus's Houfe. Enter young Lucius and Lavinia running after bim, and the Boy flies from ber, with his books under bis arm. Enter Titus, and Marcus. Boy H Elp, grandfire, help! my aunt Lavinia Follows me every where, I know not why. Mar. Stand by me, Lucius, do not fear thy aunt, Some whither, would fhe have thee go Ah boy, Cornelia never with more care with her. Read to her fons, than fhe hath read to thee Can't thou not guefs wherefore fhe plies thee thus ? Ran mad through forrow; that made me to fear; Which made me down to throw my books, and flie, I will moft willingly attend your Ladyship. Tit. How now, Lavinia? Marcus, what means this? Some book there is that fhe defires to fee. Which is it, girl, of these? open them, boy, Why lifts the up her arms in fequence thus? Mar. I think the means that there was more than one Confederate in the fact. Ay, more there was : Or elfe to heav'n fhe heaves them, for revenge. Tit. Lucius, what book is that the toffes fo? Boy. Grandfire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphofes ; My mother gave it me. Mar. For love of her that's gone, Perhaps the cull'd it from among the reft. Tit. Soft! fee how bufily fhe turns the leaves! Help her what would fhe find? Lavinia, fhall I read ? This is the tragick tale of Philomel, And treats of Tereus' treafon and his rape; And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy. Mar. See, brother, fee, note how the quotes the leaves. Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus furpriz'd, sweet girl, Ravish'd and wrong'd, as Philomela was, Forc'd in the ruthless, vaft, and gloomy woods? Ay, fuch a place there is, where we did hunt, Pattern'd by that the poet here describes, By nature made for murders and for rapes. Mar. O why fhould nature build fo foul a den, Unless the Gods delight in tragedies! Tit. Give figns, fweet girl, for here are none but friends, What Roman Lord it was durft do the deed Or Or flunk not Saturnine as Tarquin erst, Mar. Sit down, fweet neice; brother, fit down by me. Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, Infpire me, that I may this treafon find. My Lord, look here; look here, Lavinia. [He writes his name with his ftaff, and guides it with bis feet and mouth. This fandy plot is plain; guide, if thou can'ft, Curft be that heart that forc'd us to this fhift! [She takes the staff in her mouth, and guides it with ker fumps, and writés.' Tit. Oh do you read, my Lord, what she hath writ? Stuprum, Chiron, Demetrius. Mar. What, what !-the luftful fons of Tamora, Performers of this hateful bloody deed ? Tit. Magne Regnator Poli, Tam lentus audis fcelera! tam lentus vides! Mar, Oh calm thee, gentle Lord; although I know To ftir a mutiny in the mildeft thoughts, My Lord, kneel down with me: Lavinia, kneel, E And And lulls him whilft fhe playeth on her back, Come, come, thou'lt do my meffage, wilt thou not? Ay, marry will we, Sir, and we'll be waited on. [Exeunt. Marcus, attend him in his ecftafie, That hath more fears of forrow in his heart Than foe-mens marks upon his batter'd shield, SCENE II. The Palace. [Exit. Enter Aaron, Chiron, and Demetrius at one door: and at another door young Lucius and another, with a bundle of weapons and verfes writ upon them. Cbi. Demetrius, here's the fon of Lucius, He hath fome meffage to deliver us. Aar. Ay, fome mad meffage from his mad grandfather. I greet your Honours from Andronicus, And And pray the Roman Gods confound you both. Dem. Gramercy, lovely Lucius, what's the news? Your Lordships, that whenever you have need, And fo I leave you both, like bloody villains. [Exit. Dem. What's here, a scrowl, and written round about? Let's fee. Integer vitae fcelerifque purus, Non eget Mauri jaculis nec arcu. Cbi. O'tis a verfe in Horace, I know it well: I read it in the Grammar long ago. Aar. Ay juft, a verfe in Horace-right, you have itNow what a thing it is to be an ass ? Here's no fond jeft, th' old man hath found their guilt, And now, young Lords, was't not a happy ftar To brave the Tribune in his brother's hearing. Aar. Had he not reafon, Lord Demetrius ? At fuch a bay, by turn to serve our luft. Aar. Here lacketh but your mother to say Amen. |