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To that I call. – What, wilt thou kneel with me? And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs.
[To Lavinia. The vow is made! - Come, brother, take a head!
Thou art an exile, and thon must not stay:
[Exeunt Titus, Marcus and Lavinia.
The woeful'st man that ever liv'd in Rome!
0, 'would thou wert as thou 'tofore hast beep!
But in oblivion, and hateful griefs.
Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen.
To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine!
Tit. So, so! now sit! and look, you eat no more
Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot;
And cannot passionate our ten-fold grief
With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine
Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,
Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs!
[To Lavinia. That ever death should let life bear his name, When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still.
(Lavinia kisses him. Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans;
And just against thy heart make thou a hole;
Why, Marcus, no man shonld be mad but I.
Ah, wherefore dost thou urge thename of hands; –
Lest we remember still, that we have none. -
TC Marcus did not name the word of hands!
Come, let's fall to! and, gentle girl, eat this !
Brew'd with her sorrows, mesh'd upon her cheeks ;-
Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought;
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 sigo,
Forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloom
Mar. 0, why should natare build so fou's de (Exeunt. Tit. Give sigos, sweet girl, - for here are Dede
That left the camp to sin in Lucrecobra Enter Titus and Marcos. Then enter young LUCTUS,! Mar. Sit down, sweet niece! brother, se inah
This sandy plot is plain; guide, il' thoa ciasto
(He writes his name with his song,
guides it with his feet and more Tit. Fear her not, Lucius! - Somewhat doth she Cars'd be that heart, that forc'd us to this shiel
Write thon, good niece; and here displap, at his
[She takes the staff in her mouth, a
Mar, 0, calm thee, gentle lord! although I door
But I, of these, will wrest an alphabet,
Although, my lord, I know my sie aut
Boy.Good grandsire,leave these bitter deep laments: And would not, but in fary, frightend:
Mar. as the tender boy, in passion mov'd, Causeless, perhaps. But pardon me, we ut!
And, madam, if my uncle Marcas ga
, Tit. Peace, tender sapling! thou art made of tears, I will most willingly attend your lips And tears will quickly melt thy life away.
Mar. Lucius, I will. (Marcus strikes the dish with a knife.
(Lavinia turns over the boots viale What dost thou strike at, Marcos, with thy knife?
cius has let fall. Mar. At that that I have kill'd, my lord; a fly. Tit. How now, Lavinia ?--Marcus
But thou art deeper read, and better b]t,
And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens
* sequence tia? How would he hang his slender gilded wings, Mar.I think, she means, that there was partec And buz lamenting doings in the air?
Coufederate in the fact; - ay, more there rePoor harmless fly!
Or else to heaven she heaves them for metali That with his pretty buzzing melody,
Tit. Lucius, what book is that she troet zi? Came here to make us merry: and thou hast kill'd Boy. Crandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphosis; him.
My mother gave't me.
Tit. Soft! see, how busily she tures the best
What would she find? –Lavinia, shall is"
This is the tragic tale of Philomel, Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor, And treats of Tereus' treason, and his soni Come hither purposely to poison me.
And rape, I fear, was root of thine ands There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora.- Mar. See, brother, see! note, how she gener Ah, sirrah!
leaves. Yet I do think we are not brought so low,
Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surprised
, sest But that, between us, we can kill a fly,
Ravish'd, and wrong'd, as Philomela was,
Ay, such a place there is, where we did beh
(0, had we never, never hunted there!
Pattern’d by that the poet here describes,
By nature made for murders and for rapese
What Roman lord it was durst do the deeds
Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquio erst;
SCENE I. -- The same. Before Titos's house.
A pollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,
Inspire me, that I
My lord, look here ! --- look here, Lavinia!
. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. Without the help of any hand at all.
What God will have discover'd for revenge..
Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrons plus
Tit. Magne Dominator poli,
this treason find!
There is enough written upon this earth,
| And so I leave you both, [ Aside.)like bloody villains. To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts,
[Exeunt Boy and attendant. And arm the minds of infants to exclaims.
Dem. What's here? a scroll; and written round My lord, kneel down with me! Lavinia; kneel !
Integer vitae, scelerisque purus,
Non eget Mauri jaculis, nec arcu.
I read it in the grammar long ago.
Aar. Ay, just !- a verse in Horace; right, you
found their guilt;
And sends the weapons wrapp'd about
But were our witty empress well a-foot,
But let her rest in her uprest a while.-
Basely insinuate, and send us gifts.
Aar. Had he not reason, lord Demetrius?
Dem. I would, we had a thousand Romani dames
At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust.
Chi. A charitable wish, and full of love.
Tit. No, boy, uot su! I'll teach thee another course. Dem. Come, let us go! and pray to all the gods
Aar. Pray to the devils; the gods have given us
[ 14 side. Flourish.
Chi. Belike, for joy the emperor hath a son.
Dem. Soft! who comes here?
Nur. Good-morrow, lords !
Aar. Well, more, or less, or ne'er a whit at all,
and verses writ upon Aar. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep? them.
What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine arms? Chi. Demetrius, here's the son of Lacilis;
Nur. O, that which I would hide from heaven's He hath some message to deliver to us.
She is deliver’d, lords, she is deliver'd!
Nur. I mean, she's brought to bed.
[.1 side. Give her good rest! What hath he sent her?
Here is the babe, as loathsome as a trad
The emprese sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal,
And bids tlree christen it with thy dagger's point. The hope of Rome; for so he bade me say,
dar. Out, out, you whore! is black so base a And so I do, and with his gists present
hue? Your lordships, that, whenever you have need, Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom, sure! You may be armed and appoiuted well:
Den. Villain, what hast thou done?
dar, Done! that which thon
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 ! -
Dem. What mean'st thou, Aaron? Wherefore
didst thou this?
Aar. O lord, sir, 'tis a deed of policy:
And now be it known to you my full intent.
[Takes the child from the Nurse, and draws. Go pack with him, and give the mother gold, Stay, murderous villains! will you kill your brother? And tell them both the circumstance of all; Now, by the burning tapers of the sky,
And how by this their child shall be advanc'd,
And substituted in the place of mine,
And let the emperor dandle him for his owa.
, Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war,
[Pointing to the Nurse.
But send the midwife presently to me.
The midwile, and the nurse, well made away,
Then let the ladies tattle what they please.
Dem. For this care of Tamora,
And secretly to greet the empress’ friends. -. This, maugre all the world, will I keep safe,
Come on, you thick-lipp'd slave, I'll bear you heace! Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome.
For it is you that puts us to our shifts:
I'll make you feed on berries, and on roots,
To be a warrior, and command a camp.
ends of them; with him Marcus, young Lucies, Here's a young lad fram’d of another leer:
and other Gentlemen, with bows. Look, how the black slave smiles upon the father; Tit. Come, Marcus, come! - Kinsmen, this is the As who should say, Old lad, I am thine own.
way! He is your brother, lords! sensibly fed
Sir buy, now let me see your archery; Of that self-blood that first gave life to you; Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight
: Aud, from that womb, where you imprison'd were, Terras Astraea reliquit: He is enfranchised and come to light:
Be you remember'd, Marcus, she's gone, she's sled! Nav, he's your brother by the surer side,
Sirs, take you to your tools! You, cousins, shall
Go sound the ocean, and cast your bets :
Bappily you may find her in the sea;
No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it; Save thou the child, so we may all be safe.
you must dig with mattock, and with spade, Aar. Then sit we down, and let us all consult!
And pierce the inmost centre of the earth; My son and I will have the wind of you :
Then, when you come to Pluto's region,
pray you, deliver him this petition;
Ah, Rome ! - Well, well; I made thee miserable, I am a lamb: but if yon brave the Moor,
What time I threw the people's suffrages The chafed boar, the mountain lioness,
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 ansearch'd;
And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice. Mar. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be, to serve
Mar. 0, Publius, is not this a heavy case, for your oration; and let him deliver the pigeons
to the emperor from you.
Clo. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all
Mar. Kiosmen, his sorrows are past remedy, Tit. Sirrah, come hither! make no more ado,
By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.
Hold, hold; mean while, here's money for thy
Give me a pen and ink!--
Tit. Then here is a supplication for you. And when
Tit. He doth me wrong, to feed me with delays. 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!
Lords, and Others: SATURNINUS with the arrows Here, boy, to Pallas ! – Here, to Mercury:
in his hand, that Titus shot.
Sat. Why, lords, what wrongs are these? Was
An emperor of Rome thus overborne,
Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent
Of legal justice, us'd in such contempt?
However these disturbers of our peace
But even with law, against the wilful sons
Of old Andronicus. And what an if
Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks,
This to Apollo: this to the god of war:
Tit. Why, there it goes: God give your lordship joy! But, if I live, his feigned ecstasies
He'll so awake, as she in fury shall
Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts,
Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age,
Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep, and scarr'd his
heart; Clo. Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else. And rather comfort his distressed plight, Tit. Why, didst not thou come from heaven? Than prosecute the meanest, or the best, Clo. From heaven? alas, sir, I never came there : For these contempts. - Why, thus it shall become God forbid, I should be so bold to press to heaven High-witted Tamora to glose with all: [4s.de. in my young days. Why, I am going with my pigeons But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick, to the tribunal plebs, to take up a matter of brawl Thy life-blood out: if Aaron now be wise, betwixt my uncle and one of the emperial's mon,
Then is all safe, the anchor's in the port.