The Dramatic Works of Shakespeare

To that I call.

What, wilt thou kneel with me? [To Lavinia. Do then, dear heart! for heaven shall hear our prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds, When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. Mar. O brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. 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, Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark, how her sighs 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. Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand. Mess. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, 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 Aetna 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 some deal, But sorrow flouted at is double death!

Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound,

And yet detested life not shrink thereat!
That ever death should let life bear his name,
Where life hath no more interest but to breathe!
[Lavinia kisses him.
Mar. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless,
As frozen water to a starved snake.

Tit. When will this fearful slumber have an end?
Mar. Now farewell flattery! Die, Andronicus;
Thou dost not slumber! see, thy two son's heads!
Thy warlike hand; thy mangled daughter here!
Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight
Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I,
Even like a stony image, cold and numb!
Ah! now no more will I control thy griefs!
Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand
Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight
The closing up of our most wretched eyes!
Now is a time to storm; why art thou still?
Tit. Ha, ha, ha!

Mar. Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my wat'ry 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 threat 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 task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about; That I may turn me to each one of you,

And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs.
The vow is made! - Come, brother, take a head!
And in this hand the other will I bear!
Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these things;
Bear thou my hand, sweet 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!

[Exeunt Titus, Marcus and Lavinia.
Luc. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father;
The woeful'st man that ever liv'd in Rome!
Farewell! proud Rome! till Lucius come again,
He leaves his pledges dearer, than his life.
Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister!

O, 'would thou wert as thou 'tofore hast been!
But now nor Lucius, nor Lavinia lives,
But in oblivion, and hateful griefs.

If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs;
And make proud Saturninus and his empress
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!
SCENE II.

[Exit.

· A room in TITUS's house. A banquet

set out.

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.
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 Lavinia.
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 thou 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. Fye, brother, fye! teach her not thus to lay
Such violent hands upon her tender life!

Tit. How now! has sorrow made thee dote 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 Aeneas tell the tale twice o'er,
How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable?
O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands;
Lest we remember still, that we have none.—
Fye, fye, how franticly 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 fall to! and, gentle girl, eat this!
Here is no drink! Hark, Marcus, what she says;
I can interpret all her martyr'd signs;-
She says, she drinks no other drink but tears,
Brew'd with her sorrows, mesh'd upon her cheeks;
Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought;
In thy dumb action will I be as perfect,
As begging hermits in their holy prayers:
Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven,
Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign,

But I, of these, will wrest an alphabet,
And, by still practice, learn to know thy meaning.
Boy.Good grandsire,leave these bitter deep laments:
Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale.
Mar.as the tender boy, in passion mov'd,
Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness.
Tit. Peace, tender sapling! thou art made of tears,
And tears will quickly melt thy life away.

[Marcus strikes the dish with a knife.
What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife?
Mar. At that that I have kill'd, my lord; a fly.
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 Titus' 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 slender gilded wings,
And buz lamenting doings in the air?
Poor harmless fly!

That with his pretty buzzing melody,

Came here to make us merry: and thou hast kill'd him.

Mar. Pardon me, sir, 'twas a black ill-favour'd fly,
Like to the empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him.
Tit. 0, 0, 0!

Then pardon me for reprehending thee,
For thou hast done a charitable deed.
Give me thy knife, I will insult on him;
Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor,
Come hither purposely to poison me.-
There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora.-
Ah, sirrah!-

Yet I do think we are not brought so low,
But that, between us, we can kill a fly,
That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor.
Mar. Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on him,
He takes false shadows for true substances.

Tit. Come, take away!-Lavinia, go with me!
I'll to thy closet, and go read with thee
Sad stories, chanced in the times of old. -
Come, boy, and go with me! thy sight is young,
And thou shalt read, when mine begins to dazzle.

АС Т IV.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I. - The same. Before TITUS's house.
Enter TITUS and MARCUS. Then enter young LUCIUS,
LAVINIA running after him.

Boy. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia
Follows me every where, I know not why!
Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes!
Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean.
Mar. Stand by me, Lucius! do not fear thine aunt.
Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm.
Boy. Ay, when my father was in Rome, she did.
Mar. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs?
Tit. Fear her not, Lucius! - Somewhat doth she

mean:

See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee:
Somewhither would she have thee go with her.
Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care
Read to her sons, than she hath read to thee,
Sweet poetry, and Tully's Orator.
Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus?
Boy. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I
guess,
Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her:
For I have heard my grandsire say full oft,
Extremity of griefs would make men mad;
And I have read, that Hecuba of Troy

Ran mad through sorrow: that made me to fear;

Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt
Loves me as dear, as e'er my mother did,
And would not, but in fury, fright my youth:
Which made me down to throw my books, and fly,
Causeless, perhaps. But pardon me, sweet auut!
And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go,
I will most willingly attend your ladyship.
Mar. Lucius, I will.

[Lavinia turns over the books which La-
cius has let fall.

Tit. How now, Lavinia ?-Marcus, what means this?
Some book there is that she desires to see:-
Which is it, girl, of these?-Open them, boy!-
But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd;
Come, and take choice of all my library,
And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens
Reveal the dama'd contriver of this deed.-
Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus?

Mar.I think, she means, that there was more than one
Confederate in the fact; - ay, more there was;-
Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge.
Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so?
Boy. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphosis;
My mother gave't me.

Mar. For love of her that's gone,
Perhaps she cu'lld it from among the rest.
Tit. Soft! see, how busily she turns the leaves!
Help her!
What would she find?-Lavinia, shall I read?
This is the tragic tale of Philomel,

And treats of Tereus' treason, and his rape;
And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy.
Mar. See, brother, see! note, how she quotes the
leaves.

Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surprised, sweet girl,
Ravish'd, and wrong'd, as Philomela was,
Forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods?-
See, see!

Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt,
(0, had we never, never hunted there!)
Pattern'd by that the poet here describes,
By nature made for murders and for rapes.
Mar. O, why should nature build so foul a den,
Unless the gods delight in tragedies!
Tit. Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none but

friends,

What Roman lord it was durst do the deed:
Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst,
That left the camp to sin in Lucrece bed?
Mar. Sit down, sweet niece! brother, sit down by

me!

Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,
Inspire me, that I may this treason find!-
My lord, look here! look here, Lavinia!
This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst,
This after me, when I have writ my name
Without the help of any hand at all.

[He writes his name with his staff, and
guides it with his feet and mouth.
Curs'd be that heart, that forc'd us to this shift!
Write thou, good niece; and here display,
at last,
What God will have discover'd for revenge:
Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain,
That we may know the traitors, and the truth!
[She takes the staff in her mouth, and
guides it with her stumps, and writes.
Tit. O; do you read, my lord, what she hath writ?
Stuprum-Chiron-Demetrius.

Mar. What, what!-the lustful sons of Tamora
Performers of this heinous, bloody deed?
Tit. Magne Dominator poli,

Tam lentus audis scelera? tam lentus vides?
Mur. O, calm thee, gentle lord! although I know,

There is enough written upon this earth,
To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts,
And arm the minds of infants to exclaims.
My lord, kneel down with me! Lavinia, kneel!
And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope!
And swear with me, as with the woful feere,
And father, of that chaste dishonour'd dame,
Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape,-
That we will prosecute, by good advice,
Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths,
And see their blood, or die with this reproach.
Tit. 'Tis sure enough, and you knew how,
But if you hurt these bear-whelps, then beware:
The dam will wake; and, if she wind you once,
She's with the lion deeply still in league,
And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back,
And, when he sleeps, will she do what she list.
You're a young huntsman, Marcus; let it alone!
And, come, I will go get a leaf of brass,
And, with a gad of steel, will write these words,
And lay it by: the angry northern wind
Will blow these sands, like Sybil's leaves, abroad,
And where's your lesson then?-Boy, what say you?
Boy. I say, my lord, that if I were a man,
Their mother's bed-chamber should not be safe
For these bad-bondmen to the yoke of Rome.

But were our witty empress well a-foot,
She would applaud Andronicus' conceit.
But let her rest in her unrest a while.-
And now, young lords, was't not a happy star
Led us to Rome, strangers, and, more than so,
Captives, to be advanced to this height?
It did me good, before the palace gate,
To brave the tribune in his brother's hearing.

Mar. Ay, that's my boy! thy father hath full oft Dem. But me more good, to see so great a lord

For this ungrateful country done the like.
Boy. And, uncle, so will 1, an if I live.
Tit. Come, go with me into mine armoury;
Lucius, I'll fit thee; and withal, my boy
Shall carry from me to the empress' sous
Presents, that I intend to send them both:
Come, come! thou'lt do thy message, wilt thou not?
Boy. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire!
Tit. No, boy, not so! I'll teach thee another course.
Lavinia, come!-Marcus, look to my house;
Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court;
Ay, marry, will we, sir; and we'll be waited on!

[Exeunt Titus, Lavinia, and Boy.
Mar. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan,
Aud not relent, or not compassion him?
Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy,

That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart,
Than foemen's marks upon his batter'd shield:
But yet so just, that he will not
Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus!

venge:

[Exit.

SCENE II. - The same. A room in the palace. Enter AARON, CHIRON, and DEMETRIUS, at one door; at another door, young Lucius, and un Attendant, with a bundle of weapons, and verses writ upon them.

Chi. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius; He hath some message to deliver to us.

dur. Ay, some mad message from his mad grand

father.

Boy. My lords, with all the humbleness I may,
I greet your honours from Andronicus;
And pray the Roman gods confound you both!

Aside.

Dem. Gramercy, lovely Lucius! What's the news? Boy. That you are both decypher'd, that's the news,

For villains, mark'd with rape. [Aside.] May it please
you,

My grandsire, well-advis'd, hath sent by me
The goodliest weapons of his armoury,
To gratify your honourable youth,

The hope of Rome; for so he bade me say,
And so I do, and with his gifts present

Your lordships, that, whenever you have need,
You may be armed and appointed well:

Basely insinuate, and send us gifts.

Aar. Had he not reason, lord Demetrius?
Did you not use his daughter very friendly?
Dem. I would, we had a thousand Roman dames
At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust.
Chi. A charitable wish, and full of love.
Aar. Here lacks but your mother for to say amen.
Chi. And that would she for twenty thousand more.
Dem. Come, let us go! and pray to all the gods
For our beloved mother in her pains.
Aar. Pray to the devils; the gods have given us
[Aside. Flourish.
Dem. Why do the emperor's trumpets flourish

o'er.

thus?

Chi. Belike, for joy the emperor hath a son.
Dem. Soft! who comes here?

Enter a Nurse, with a black-a-moor child in her

arms.

Nur. Good-morrow, lords!

O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor?
Aar. Well, more, or less, or ne'er a whit at all,
Here Aaron is; and what with Aaron now?
Nur. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone!
Now help, or woe betide thee evermore!
Aar. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep?
What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine arms?
Nur. O, that which I would hide from heaven's

eye,

Our empress' shame, and stately Rome's disgrace; -
She is deliver'd, lords, she is deliver'd!
Aar. To whom?

Nur. I mean, she's brought to bed.

Aar. Well, God

Give her good rest! What hath he sent her?
Nur. A devil.

Aar. Why, then she's the devil's dam; a joyful
issue.

Nur. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue!
Here is the babe, as loathsome as a tead
Amongst the fairest breeders of our clime.
The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal,
And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point.
Aar. Out, out, you whore! is black so base a
hue?-

Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom,
Dem. Villain, what hast thou done?

sure!

Aar. Done! that which thou Caust not undo.

Chi. Thou hast undone our mother. Aur. Villain, I have done thy mother. Dem. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone! Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choice! Accurs'd the offspring of so foul a fiend!

Chi. It shall not live.

Aar. It shall not die.

Nur. Aaron, it must! the mother wills it so! Aar. What, must it, nurse? then let no man, but I, Do execution on my flesh and blood.

Dem. I'll broach the tadpole on my rapier's point:
Nurse, give it me; my sword shall soon dispatch it!
Aar. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up!
[Takes the child from the Nurse, and draws.
Stay, murderous villains! will you kill your brother?
Now, by the burning tapers of the sky,
That shone so brightly when this boy was got,
He dies upon my scymitar's sharp point,
That touches this my first-born son and heir!
I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus,
With all his threatening band of Typhon's brood,
Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war,
Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands.
What, what, ye sanguine shallow-hearted boys!
Ye white-lim'd walls! ye alehouse painted signs!
Coal-black is better, than another hue,
In that it scorns to bear another hue:
For all the water in the ocean

Can never turn a swan's black legs to white,
Although she lave them hourly in the flood."
Tell the empress from me, I am of age
To keep mine own; excuse it how she can.
Dem. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus?
Aar. My mistress is my mistress; this, myself;
The vigour, and the picture of my youth;
This, before all the world do I prefer;
This, maugre all the world, will I keep safe,
Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome.
Dem. By this our mother is for ever sham'd.
Chi. Rome will despise her for this foul escape.
Nur. The emperor, in his rage, will doom her

death.

Chi. I blush to think upon this ignominy.

And no one else, but the deliver'd empress.
Aar. The emperess, the midwife, and yourself:
Two may keep counsel, when the third's away:
Go to the empress; tell her, this I said!—

Aar. Why, there's the privilege your beauty bears:
Fy, treacherous hue! that will betray with blushing

The close enacts and counsels of the heart!
Here's a young lad fram'd of another leer:
Look, how the black slave smiles upon the father;
As who should say, Old lad, I am thine own.
He is your brother, lords! sensibly fed

[Stabbing her.

Weke, weke! So cries a pig prepared to the spit.
Dem. What mean'st thou, Aaron? Wherefore
didst thou this?

Of that self-blood that first gave life to you;
And, from that womb, where you imprison'd were,
He is enfranchised and come to light:
Nay, he's your brother by the surer side,
Although my seal be stamped in his face.

Aar. O lord, sir, 'tis a deed of policy:
Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours?
A long-tongu'd babbling gossip? no, lords, no!
And now be it known to you my full intent.
Not far, one Muliteus lives, my countryman,
His wife but yesternight was brought to bed;
His child is like to her, fair as you are:
Go pack with him, and give the mother gold,
And tell them both the circumstance of all;
And how by this their child shall be advanc'd,
And be received for the emperor's heir,
And substituted in the place of mine,
To calm this tempest whirling in the court;
And let the emperor dandle him for his own.
Hark ye, lords! ye see that I have given her physic,
[Pointing to the Nurse.

Nur. Aaron, what shall I say unto the empress?
Dem. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done,
And we will all subscribe to thy advice;
Save thou the child, so we may all be safe.
Aar. Then sit we down, and let us all consult!
My son and I will have the wind of you:
Keep there! Now talk at pleasure of your safety!
[They sit on the ground.
Dem. How many women saw this child of his?
Aar. Why, so, brave lords! When we all join in
league,

I am a lamb but if you brave the Moor,
The chafed boar, the mountain lioness,
The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms.-
But, say again, how many saw the child?
Nur. Cornelia the midwife and myself,

And you must needs bestow her funeral;
The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms:
This done, see that you take no longer days,
But send the midwife presently to me.
The midwife, and the nurse, well made away,
Then let the ladies tattle what they please.

Chi. Aaron, I see, thou wilt not trust the air
With secrets.

Dem. For this care of Tamora,
Herself, and hers, are highly bound to thee.

[Exeunt Dem. and Chi. bearing off the Nurse.
Aar. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies!
There to dispose this treasure in mine arms,
And secretly to greet the empress' friends.-
Come on, you thick-lipp'd slave, I'll bear you hence!
For it is you that puts us to our shifts:
I'll make you feed on berries, and on roots,
And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat,
And cabin in a cave; and bring you up
To be a warrior, and command a camp.

[Exit.

SCENE III.--The same. A public place. Enter TITUS, bearing arrows, with letters at the ends of them; with him MARCUS, young Lvcws, and other Gentlemen, with bows.

Tit. Come, Marcus, come!-Kinsmen, this is the way!

Sir boy, now let me see your archery;
Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight:
Terras Astraea reliquit:

Be you remember'd, Marcus, she's gone, she's fled!
Sirs, take you to your tools! You, cousins, shall
Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets:
Happily you may find her in the sea;
Yet there's as little justice as at land :-
No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it;
'Tis you must dig with mattock, and with spade,
And pierce the inmost centre of the earth;
Then, when you come to Pluto's region,

pray you, deliver him this petition; Tell him, it is for justice, and for aid; And that it comes from old Andronicus, Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome.Ah, Rome! Well, well; I made thee miserable, What time I threw the people's suffrages On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me.Go, get you gone! and pray be careful all, And leave you not a man of war unsearch'd; This wick'd emperor may have shipp'd her hence,

And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.
Mar. O, Publius, is not this a heavy case,
To see thy noble uncle thus distract?

Pub. Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns,
By day and night to attend him carefully;
And feed his humour kindly as we may,
Till time beget some careful remedy.

Mar. Kiusmen, his sorrows are past remedy.
Join with the Goths; and with revengeful war
Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude,
And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.

Tit. Publius, how now? how now, my masters? What, have you met with her?

Pub. No, my good lord! but Pluto sends you word, If you will have revenge from hell, you shall: Marry, for Justice, she is so employ'd,

He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else,
So that perforce you must needs stay a time.
Tit. He doth me wrong, to feed me with delays.
I'll dive into the burning lake below,

And pull her out of Acheron by the heels.-
Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we;
No big-bon'd men, fram'd of the Cyclops' size:
But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back;
Yet wrung with wrongs, more than our backs can bear:
And, sith there is no justice in earth nor hell,
We will solicit heaven; and move the gods,
To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs:
Come, to this gear! You are an archer, Marcus.
[He give them the arrows.
Ad Jovem, that's for you!-Here, ad Apollinem :·
Ad Martem, that's for myself! —
Here, boy, to Pallas! - Here, to Mercury:
To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine,—

You were as good to shoot against the wind. -
To it, boy! Marcus, loose when I bid:
O' my word, I have written to effect:
There's not a god left unsolicited.

Mar. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court: We will afflict the emperor in his pride.

Tit. Now, masters, draw! [They shoot.] O, well said, Lucius!

Good boy, in Virgo's lap; give it Pallas!

Mar. My lord, I am a mile beyond the moon ; Your letter is with Jupiter by this.

Tit. Ha! Publius, Publius, what hast thou done? See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns. Mar. This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot,

The bull being gall'd gave Aries such a knock,
That down fell both the ram's horns in the court;
And who should find them but the empress' villain?
She laugh'd, and told the Moor, he should not choose
But give them to his master for a present.
Tit. Why, there it goes: God give your lordship joy!
Enter a Clown, with a basket and two pigeons.
News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come!
Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters?
Shall I have justice? what says Jupiter?

Clo. Ho! the gibbet-maker? he says, that he hath taken them down again, for the man must not be hanged till the next week.

Ti. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee? Clo. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank with him in all my life.

Tit. Why, villain, art thou not the carrier? Clo. Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else. Tit. Why, didst not thou come from heaven? Clo. From heaven? alas, sir, I never came there: God forbid, I should be so bold to press to heaven in my young days. Why, I am going with my pigeons to the tribunal plebs, to take up a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the emperial's men.

Mar. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be, to serve for your oration; and let him deliver the pigeons to the emperor from you.

Tit. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the emperor with a grace?

Clo. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life.

Tit. Sirrah, come hither! make no more ado, But give your pigeons to the emperor:

By me thou shalt have justice at his hands. Hold, hold; mean while, here's money for thy charges.

Give me a pen and ink!-
Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a supplication?
Clo. Ay, sir!

Tit. Then here is a supplication for you. And when you come to him, at the first approach, you must kneel; then kiss his foot; then deliver up your pigeons; and then look for your reward; I'll be at hand, sir; see you do it bravely.

Clo. I warrant you, sir; let me alone!

Tit. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come, let me see it! Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration;

For thou hast made it like an humble suppliant :-
And when thou hast given it to the emperor,
Knock at my door, and tell me what he says.
Clo. God be with you, sir! I will.

Tit. Come, Marcus, let's go:-Publius, follow me! [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. The same. Before the palace. Enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, CHIRON, DEMETRIUS, Lords, and Others: SATURNINUS with the arrows in his hand, that TITUS shot."

Sat. Why, lords, what wrongs are these? Was

ever seen

An emperor of Rome thus overborne,
Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent
Of legal justice, us'd in such contempt?
My lords, you know, as do the mightful gods,
However these disturbers of our peace
Buz in the people's ears, there nought hath pass'd,
But even with law, against the wilful sons
Of old Andronicus. And what an if
His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits,
Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks,
His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness?
And now he writes to heaven for his redress:
See, here's to Jove, and this to Mercury;
This to Apollo: this to the god of war:
Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome!
What's this, but libelling against the senate,
And blazoning our injustice every where?
A goodly humour, is it not, my lords?
As who should say, in Rome no justice were.
But, if I live, his feigned ecstasies
Shall be no shelter to these outrages:
But he and his shall know, that justice lives
In Saturninus' health; whom, if she sleep,
He'll so awake, as she in fury shall
Cut off the proud'st conspirator that lives.
Tam. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine,
Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts,
Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age,
The effects of sorrow for his valiant sons,
Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep, and scarr'd his
heart;

And rather comfort his distressed plight,
Than prosecute the meanest, or the best,
For these contempts. Why, thus it shall become
High-witted Tamora to glose with all: [Aside.
But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick,
Thy life-blood out: if Aaron now be wise,
Then is all safe, the anchor's in the port.-

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