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SCENE V. The same.

For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd ;
Enter Demetrius and Chiron, with Lavinia, ravish- And for these bitter tears, which now you see

ed; her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out. Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks;
Dem. So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak, Be pitiful to my condemned sons,
Who 'twas that cut thy tongue, and ravish'd thee. Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought !
Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so; For two and twenty sons I never wept,
And, if thy stumps will let thee, play the scribe. Because they died in honour's lofty bed.
Dem. See, how with signs and tokens she can scowl. For these, these, tribunes, in the dust I write
Chi. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands!

[Throwing himself on the ground.
Dem. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash; My heart's deep languor, and my soul's sad tears.
And so let's leave her to her silent walks. Let my tears staunch the earth's dry appetite;
Chi. An 'twere my case, I should go hang myself. My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush!
Dem. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord.

(Exeunt Senators, Tribunes, etc. with (Exeunt Demetrius and Chiron.

the prisoners. Enter Marcus.

O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain, Mar. Who's this, – my piece, that flies away so fast? That-shall distil from these two ancient urns, Cousin, a word! where is your husband? – Than youthful April shall with all his showers; If I do dream, 'would all my wealth would wake me! In summer's drought, I'll drop upon thee still! If I do wake, some planet strike me down,

In winter, with warm tears I'll melt the snow, That I may slumber in eternal sleep!

And keep eternal spring-time on thy face,
Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands So thou refuse to driuk my dear son's blood !
Have lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare Enter Lecits, with his sword drawn.
Of her two branches? those sweet ornaments, 0, reverend tribunes! gentle aged men !
Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in; Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death!
And might not gain so great a happiness,

And let me say, that never wept before,
As half thy love? Why dost not speak to me? - My tears are now prevailing orators!
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,

Luc. O, noble father, you lament in vain!
Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind, The tribunes hear you not, no man is by,
Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips,

And you recount your sorrows to a stone!
Coming and going with thy honey breath.

Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead:
But, sure, some Tereus hath leflower'd thee; Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you !
And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue. Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak!
Ah! now thou turn'st away thy face for shame Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, man! if they did hear,
And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood, They would not mark me; or, if they did mark,
As from a conduit with three issuing spoats, - All bootless to them, they'd not pity me.
Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face, Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones ;
Blushing to be encounter'd with a cloud.

Who, though they cannot answer my distress,
Shall I speak for thee? shall I say, 'tis so? Yet, in some sort, they're better, than the tribuges,
0, that I knew thy heart: and knew the beast, For that they will not intercept my tale:
That I might rail at him to ease my mind!

When I do weep, they humbly at my feet
Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp’d,

Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me;
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. And, were they but attired in grave weeds,
Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue,

Rome could afford no tribune like to these.
And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind:

A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than stones!
But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee; A stone is sileut and offendeth not;
A craftier Tereus hast thou met withal,

And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death!
And he hath cut those pretty fingers off,

But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn? That better could have sew'd than Philomel. Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their death : 0, had the monster seen those lily hands

For which attempt, the judges have pronounc'd
Tremble, like aspen leaves, upon a lute,

My everlasting doom of banishment.
And make the silken strings delight to kiss them; Tit. O happy man! they have befriended thee!
He would not then have touch'd them for his life: Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive,
Or, had he heard the heavenly harmony,

That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers ?
Which that sweet tongue hath made,

Tigers must prey; and Rome affords no prey,
lle would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep, But me and mine. How happy art thou then,
As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet.

From these devourers to be banished?
Come, let us go, and make thy father blind: But who comes with our brother Marcus here?
For such a sight will blind a father's eye!

Enter Marcus and Lavinia.
One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads; Mar. Titus, prepare thy noble eyes to weep;
What will whole months of tears thy father's eges? Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break;
Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee; I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.
0, could our mourning ease thy misery! (Exeunt. Tit. Will it consume me? let me see it then !

Mar. This was thy daughter.
А ст III.

Tit. Why, Marcus, so she is.

Luc. Ah me! this object kills me!
SCENEJ.-Rome. A street.

Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her!
Enter Senators, Tribunes, and officers of Justice, Speak, my Lavinia, what accursed hand
with Martits and Quintus, bound, passing on to Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight?
the place of execution; Titus going before, pleading. What fool hath added water to the sea ?
Tit. Hear me, grave fathers! noble iribunes, stay! Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy?
For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent My grief was at the height before thou cam'st,
In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept; And now, like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds.
For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed; Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too;

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For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain; Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs:
And they have nursid this woe, in feeding life; Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say
In bootless

prayer have they been held up, That to her brother which I said to thee; And they have serv'd me to ellectless use: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Now, all the service I require of them

Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. Is, that the one will help to cut the other.

o, what a sympathy of woe is this? 'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands; As far from help as limbo is from bliss ! For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain !

Enter A ARON. Luc. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee? Aar. Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Mar. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts, Sends thee this word, - That if thou love thy sons, That blab'd them with such pleasing eloquence, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage; Or any one of you, chop off your hand, Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung And send it to the king: he for the same, Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear!

Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; Luc. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed? And that shall be the ransome for their fault. Mar. 0, thus I found her, straying in the park, Tit. O, gracious emperor! 0, gentle Aarou! Seeking to hide herself; as doth the deer,

Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound. That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise ? Tit. It was my deer; and he, that wounded her, With all my heart, I'll send the emperor Hath hurt me more, than had he kill'd me dead: My hand! For now I stand as one upon a rock,

Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? Environ'd with a wilderness of sea;

Luc. Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Expecting ever when some envious surge

Shall not be sent; my hand will serve the turn: Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.

My youth can better spare my blood than yon; This way to death iny wretched sons are gone! And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. Here stands my other son, a banislı'd man;

Mar. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And here my brother, weeping at my woes! And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, But that, which gives my soul the greatest spurn, Writing destruction on the enemics' castles ? Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul!

0, none of both but are of high desert; Had I but seen thy picture in this plight,

My hand hath been but idle; let it serve It would have madded me! What shall I do

To ransome my two nephews from their death; Now I behold thy lively body 30 ?

Then have I kept it to a worthy end. Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears ; Aar. Nay, come agree, whose hand shall go along, Nor tongue, to tell me who hath martyr'd thee; For fear they die before their pardon come. Thy husband he is dead; and, for his death, Mar. My hand shall go. Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this : Luc. By heaven, it shall not go! Look, Marcus! ah, son Lucius, look on her! Tit. Sirs, strive no more; such wither'd herbs as these When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. Stood on her cheeks; as doth the honey dew Luc. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd.

Let me redeem my brothers both from death. Mar. Perchance, she weeps because they kill'd her Mur. And, for our father's sake, and mother's care, husband :

Now let me show a brother's love to thee.
Perchance, becanse she knows them innocent. Tit. Agree between you; I will spare my

Tit. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful, Luc. Then I'll go fetch an axe.
Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. – Dlar. But I will use the axe.
No, no, they would not do so foul a deed ;

(Exeunt Lucius and Marcus. Witness the sorrow that their sister makes,

Tit. Come hither, Aaron! I'll deceive them both; Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips;

Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. Or make some signs how I may do thee ease! Aar. If that be call’d deceit, I will be honest, Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so;And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain; But I'll deceive you in another sort, Looking all downwards, to behold our cheeks And that you'll say, ere half an hoor can passo How they are stain'd; like meadows, yet not dry

(Aside. He cuts off Titus's hand. With miry slime lest on them by a ílood ?

Enter Lucius and Marcus. And in the fountain shall we gaze so long,

Tit. Now, stay your strife ; what shall be, is disa Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, patch'd! And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Good Aaron, give his majesty my baod: Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Tell him, it was a hand that warded him Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows From thousand dangers: bid him bury it; Pass the remainder of our hateful days?

More hath it merited, that let it have. What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, As for my sons, say, I 'account of them Plot some device of further misery,

As jewels purchas'd at an easy price;. To make us wonder'd at in time to come.

And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. Lucy Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your Aur. I go, Andronicus: and, for thy hand, grief,

Look by and by to have thy sons with thee:See, how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. Their lieads, I mean. Mar. Patience, dear niece! Good Titus, dry Doth fat me with the very thonght of it! thine eyes!

Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace, Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot, Aaron will have his soul black like his facr. (Exit. Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine,

Tit. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: Luc. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. If any power pities wretched tears,

hand!

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o, how this villainy (-Aside.

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set out.

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 !
Do then, dear heart! for heaven shall hear our prayers; And in this hand the other will I bear!
Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these things ;
And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds, Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth!
When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight!

Mar. 0 brother, speak with possibilities, Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay :
And do not break into these deep extremes. Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there:

Tit. Is hot my sorrow deep, having no bottom? And, if you love me, as I think you do,
Then be my passions bottomless with them. Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do!
Mar. But yet let reason govern thy lament.

(Exeunt Titus, Marcus and Lavinia.
Tit. If there were reason for these miseries, Luc. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father;
Then into limits could I bind my woes :

The woeful'st man that ever liv'd in Rome!
When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? Farewell! proud Rome! till Lucius come again,
If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, He leaves his pledges dearer, than his life.
Threat’ning the welkin with his big-swoln face? Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister!
And wilt thou have a reason for this coil?

0, 'would thou wert as thou 'tofore hast beep !
I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow! But now nor Lucius, nor Lavinia lives,
She is the weeping welkin ; I the earth:

But in oblivion, and hateful griefs.
Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs;
Then must my earth with her continual tears And make proud Saturninus and his empress
Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown’d: Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen.
For why? my bowels cannot hide her woes,

Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power,
But like a drunkard must I vomit them.

To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine! [Exit.
Then give me leave; for losers will have leave
To case their stomachs with their bitter tongues. SCENEII. A room in Titus's house. A banquet
Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand.
Mess. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid Enter Titus, Marcus, Lavinia, and young Lucius,
For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor.

a boy.
Here are the heads of thy two noble sons;

Tit. So, so! now sit! and look, you eat no more
And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Than will preserve just so much strength in us
Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd: As will revenge these bitter woes of ours.
That woe is me to think upon thy woes,

Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot;
More than remembrance of my father's death. [Exit. Thiy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands,
Mar. Now let hot Aetna cool in Sicily,

And cannot passionate our ten-fold grief
And be my heart an ever-burning hell!

With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine
These miseries are more than may be borne! Is left to tyrannize upon my breast;.
To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal, And when my heart, all mad with misery,
But sorrow flouted at is double death!

Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,
Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a Then thus I thump it down.
wound,

Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs!
And yet detested life not shrink thereat!

[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;
Mar. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless, Or get some little knife between thy teeth,
As frozen water to a starved snake.

And just against thy heart make thou a hole;
Tit. When will this fearful slumber have an end? That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall,
Mar. Now farewell flattery! Die, Andronicus; May run into that sink, and, soaking in,
Thou dost not slumber! see, tly two son's heads ! Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears.
Thy warlike hand; thy mangled daughter here! Mar. Fye, brother, fye! teach her not thus to lay
Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Such violent hands upon her tender life!
Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Tit. How now! has sorrow made thee dote already ?
Even like a stony image, cold and numb!

Why, Marcus, no man shonld be mad but I.
Ah! now no more will I control thy griefs!

What violent hands can she lay on her life?
Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand

Ah, wherefore dost thou urge thename of hands; –
Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight To bid Aeneas tell the tale twice o’er,
The closing up of our most wretched eyes! How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable ?
Now is a time to storm; why art thou still ? 0, handle not the theme, to talk of hands;
Tit. Ha, ha, ha!

Lest we remember still, that we have none. —
Mar. Why dost thou laugh ? it fits not with this hour. Fye, fye, how franticly I square my talk!
Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed: As if we should forget we had no hands,
Besides, this sorrow is an enemy,

Tf Marcus did not name the word of hands!
And would usurp upon my wat’ry eyes,

Come, let's fall to! and, gentle girl, eat this !
And make them blind with tributary tears ; Here is no drink! Hark, Marcus, what she says;
Then which way shall I find revenge's cave? I can interpret all her martyr'd signs;-
For these two heads do seem to speak to me; She says, she drinks no other drink but tears,
And threat me, I shall never come to bliss,

Brew'd with her sorrows, mesh'd upon her cheeks ;
Till all these mischiefs be return'd again,

Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought;
Even in their throats that have committed them. In thy dumb action will I be as perfect,
Come, let me see what task I have to dlo.

As begging hermits in their holy prayers :
You heavy people, circle me about;

Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven,
That I may turu me to each one of you,

Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a siga,

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But I, of these, will wrest an alphabet,

Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt
And, by still practice, learn to know thy meaning. Loves me as dear, as e'er my mother did,

Boy.Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments: And would not, but in fury, fright my youth:
Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. Which made me down to throw my books, and ly,
Mar. Sas the tender boy, in passion mov’d, Causeless, perhaps. But pardon me, sweet agut!
Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness. And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go,
Tit. Peace, tender sapling! thou art made of tears, I will most willingly attend your ladyship.
And tears will quichly melt thy life away.

Mar. Lucins, I will.
(Marcus strikes the dish with a knife.

(Lavinia turns over the books which LuWhat dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife?

cius has let fall.
Mar. At that that I have kill'd, my lord; a fly. Tit. How now, Lavinia ? —Marcus, what means this?
Tit. Out on thee, murderer! thou kill'st my heart! Some book there is that she desires to see:-
Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny: Which is it, girl, of these? -Open them, boy !–
A deed of death, done on the innocent,

But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd;
Becomes pot Titus' brother. Get thee gone; Come, and take choice of all my library,
I see, thou art not for my company!

And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens
Mar. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. Reveal the damu'd contriver of this deed.

Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and mother? Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus? How would he hang his slender gilded wings, Mar.I think, she means, that there was more than one And buz lamenting doings in the air ?

Confederate in the fact; — ay, more there was; – Poor harmless fly!

Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge, That with his pretty buzzing melody,

Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so? Came here to make us merry: and thou hast kill'd Boy. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphosis; him.

My mother gave't me.
Mar. Pardon me, sir, 'twas a black ill-favour'd fly, Mar. For love of her that's gone,
Like to the empréss' Moor; therefore I kill'd him. Perhaps she cu'lld it from among the rest.
Tit. 0, 0, 0!

Tit. Sost! see, how busily she turas the leaves! Then pardon me for reprehending thee,

Help her! For thou hast done a charitable deed.

What would she find? –Lavinia, shall I read? Give me thy knife, I will insult on him;

This is the tragic tale of Philomel, Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor,

And treats of Tereus' treason, and his rape; Come hither purposely to poison me.-

And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy. There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora. — Mar. See, brother, see! note, how she quotes the Ah, sirrah!

leaves. Yet I do think we are not brought so losv,

Tit. Lavinia, wert thoa thus surprised, sweet girl, But that, between us, we can kill a fly,

Ravish'd, and wrong'd, as Philomela was,
That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods?–

Mar. Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on him, See, see! -
He takes false shadows for true substances. Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt,

Tit. Come, take away!-Lavinia, go with me! (0, had we never, never hunted there!)
I'll to thy closet, and go read with thee

Pattern’d by that the poet here describes,
Sad stories, chanced in the times of old.--

By nature made for murders and for rapes. Come, boy, and go with me! thy sight is young, Mar. 0, why should nature build so foul a den, And thou shalt read, when mine begins to dazzle. Unless the gods delight in tragedies !

[Exeunt. Tit. Give sigos, sweet girl, --- for here are none but

friends,-ACT

What Roman lord it was durst do the deed : IV.

Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, SCENE I. — The same. Before Titus's house. That left the camp to sin in Lucreco bed? Enter Titus and Marces. T'hen enter young Lucius, Mar. Sit down, sweet niece! brother, sit down by Lavinia running after him.

me! Boy. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, Follows me every where, I know not why!

Inspire me, that I may this treason find! Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes ! My lord, look here! - look here, Lavinia! Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean. This sandy plot is plain; guide, it thou canst, Mar. Stand by me, Lucius! do not fear thine aunt. This after me, when I have writ my name Tic. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. Without the help of any hand at all. Boy. Ay, when my father was in Rome, she did.

(He writes his name with his staff, and Mar. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs? Tit. Fear her not, Lucius! - Somewhat doth she Curs'd be that heart, that forc'd us to this shili!

guides it with his feet and mouth.

Write thou, good niece; and here display, at last, See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee:

What God will have discover'd for revenge: Somewhither would she have thee go with her. Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain

, Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care

That we may know the traitors, and the truth! Read to her sons, than she hath read to thee,

[She takes the staff in her mouth, and Sweet poetry, and Tully's Orator.

guides it with her stumps, and writes

, Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus?

Tit. 0, do you read, my lord, what she hath writ? Boy. My lord, I know not, 1, nor can I

guess, Stuprum-Chirun-- Demetrius. Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her:

Mar. What, what!- the lustful sons of Tamora For I have heard my grandsire say full oft, Performers of this heinous, bloody deed ? Extremity of griefs would make men mad;

Tit. Magne Dominator poli, And I have read, that Hecuba of Troy

Tam lentus audis scelera tai lentus vides? Ran, mad through sorrow: that made me to sear; Mur. O, calm thee, gentle lord! althougla i kaos,

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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 Attendunt. And arm the minds of infants to exclaims.

Dem. What's here? a scroll; and written round
My lord, kneel down with me! Laviuia; kneel !

about?
And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope! Let's see!
And swear with me, - as with the woful feere, Integer vitae, scelerisque purus,
Aod father, of that chaste dishonour'd dame,

Non eget Mauri jaculis, nec arcu.
Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape, - Chi. 0, 'tis a verse in Horace; I know it well:
That we will prosecute, by good advice,

read it in the grammar long ago.
Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths,

Aar. Ay, just! - a verse in Horace; - right, you And see their blood, or die with this reproach.

have it.
Tit. 'Tis sure enough, and you knew how,

Now, what a thing it is to be an ass!
But if you hurt these bear-whelps, then beware: Here's no sound jest! the old man hath
The dam will wake ; and, if she wind you once, found their guilt ;
She's with the lion deeply still in league,

And sends the weapons wrapp'd about
And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back,

with lines,
And, when he sleeps, will she do what she list.

Aside

That wound, beyond their feeling, to
You're a young huntsman, Marcus; let it alone ! the quick.
And, come, I will go get a deaf of brass,

But were our witty empress well a-foot,
And, with a gad of steel, will write these words, She would applaud Andronicus'conceit.
And lay it by: the angry northern wind

But let her rest in her unrest a while.
Will blow these sands, like Sybil's leaves, abroad, And now, young lords, was't not a happy star
And where's your lesson then? ---Boy, what say you? Led us to Rome, strangers, and, more than so,

Boy. I say, my lord, that if I were a man, Captires, to be advanced to this height?
Their mother's bed-chamber should not be safe It did me good, before the palace gate,
For these bad-bondmen to the yoke of Rome. 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.

Basely insinuate, and send us gifts.
Boy. And, uucle, so will 1, an if I live.

Aar. Had he not reason, lord Demetrius?
Tić. Come, go with me into mine armoury; Did you not use his danghter very friendly?
Lucius, I'll fit thee; and withal, my boy

Dem. I would, we had a thousand Roman dames
Shall carry from me to the empress' sous

At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust.
Presents, that I intend to send them both:

Chi. A charitable wish, and full of love.
Come, come! thou'lt do thy message, wilt thou not? Aar. Here lacks but your mother for to say amen,
Boy. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire! Chi. And that would she for twenty thousand more.
Tit. No, boy, uot so! I'll teach thee another course. Dem. Come, let us go! and pray to all the gods
Lavinia, come!-- Marcus, look to my house; for our beloved mother in her pains.
Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court;

Aar. Pray to the devils; the gods have given us
Ay, marry, will we, sir; and we'll be waited on!

o'er.

[.4side. Flourisha [Exeunt Thus, Lavinia, and Boy. Dem. Why do the emperor's trumpets flourish Mar. O heavens, cau you hear a good man groan, thus? Aud not relent, or not compassion him?

Chi. Belike, for joy the emperor hath a son.
Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy,

Dem. Soft! who comes here?
That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart,

Enter a Nurse, with a black-a-moar child in her
Than foemen's marks upon his batter'd shield:
But yet so just, that he will not venge :

Nur. Good-morrow, lords !
Revenge the heavens for old Audronicus! [Exit. O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor?

Aar. Well, more, or less, or ne'er a whit at all,
SCENE II. – The sume. A room in the palace. Here Aaron is; and what with Aaron now?.
Enter Aaron, Chiron, and DEMETRIUS, at one door; Nur. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone!
at another door, young LUCI's, and un attendunt, Now help, or woe betide thee evermore!
with a bundle of weapons, 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 Lucius;

Nur. O, that which I would hide from heaven's Be huth some message to deliver to 118.

eye,
dur. Ay, some mad message from his mad grand-Our empress’ shame, and stately Rome's disgrace ; -
father.

She is deliver'd, lords, she is deliver'd!
Buy. My lords, with all the humbleuess I may, Aur. To whom?
I greet your honours from Andronicus;

Nur. I mean, she's brought to bed.
Aud
pray
the Roman gods evniound you

both! Aar. Well, God

[.4 side. Give her good rest! What hath le sent her? Dem. Gramercy, lovely Lucius! What's the news? Nur. A devil. Boy. Thut you are both decypher'd, that's the Aar. Why, then she's the devil's dam; a joyful news,

issue.
For villains, mark'd with rape. (Aside.] May it please Nur. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue!
you,

Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad
My grandsire, well-advis’d, hath sent by me Amongst the fairest breeders of our clime.
The goodliest weapons of his arīnoury,

The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy scal,
To gratify your honourable youth,

And bids three christen it with thy dagger's point. The hope of Rome; for so he bade me say, Aur. Out, out, you whore! is black so base a And so I do, and with his gists present

hue? Your lordships, that, whenever you liave need, Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom, sure! You may be armed and appoiuted welk:

Dem. Villain, what hast thou doue?

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