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.

Marc. 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, 61 And buzz 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.

Marc. Pardon me, sir; it was a black illfavour'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:

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Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. Boy. Ay, when my father was in Rome she did. Marc. 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; 10
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.

Marc. 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,

20

| 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 aunt ;
And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go,

I will most willingly attend your ladyship.
Marc. Lucius, I will.

LAVINIA turns over the books which
LUCIUS had let fall.

30

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 damn'd contriver of this deed.
Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus?
Marc. 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. 40
Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so?
Boy. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses;
My mother gave it me.
Marc.
For love of her that 's gone,
Perhaps, she cull'd it from among the rest.

Tit. Soft! see how busily she turns the leaves ! 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.

Marc. See, brother, see! note how she quotes the leaves.

50

Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpris'd,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,
O had we never, never hunted there,
Pattern'd by that the poet here describes,
By nature made for murders and for rapes.

Marc. O! why should nature build so foul a den, Unless the gods delight in tragedies?

60

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?
Marc. 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.

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He writes his name with his staff, and guides it with feet and mouth. I have writ my name Without the help of any hand at all. 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! doye read, my lord, what she hath writ? Stuprum. Chiron. Demetrius.

Marc. What, what! the lustful sons of Tamora

Performers of this heinous, bloody deed? Tit. Magni dominator poli,

Tam lentus audis scelera? tam lentus vides!
Marc. 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 woeful fere
And father of that chaste dishonour'd dame, 90
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, an you knew how;
But if you hunt these bear-whelps, then beware:
The dam will wake, an 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. 100
You're a young huntsman, Marcus, let 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 Sibyl'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 bedchamber should not be safe For these bad bondmen to the yoke of Rome. Marc. Ay, that's my boy! thy father hath full oft

For his ungrateful country done the like.
Boy. And, uncle, so will I an it I live.

110

Tit. Come, go with me into mine armoury: Lucius, I'll fit thee; and withal my boy Shall carry from me to the empress' sons 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; 120
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.
Marc. O heavens! can you hear a good man
groan,

And not relent or not compassion him?
Marcus, attend him in his ecstacy,
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.
Revenge, ye heavens, for old Andronicus! Exit.

SCENE II.-The Same. A Room in the Palace. Enter from one side AARON, DEMETRIUS, and CHIRON; from the other side, young LUCIUS and an 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 us.

Aar. Ay, some mad message from his mad grandfather.

Boy. My lords, with all the humbleness I may,

Dem. Gramercy, lovely Lucius: what's the

news?

39

That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick:
But were our witty empress well afoot,
She would applaud Andronicus' conceit:
But let her rest in her unrest awhile.
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.
Dem. But me more good, to see so great a lord
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

Our empress' shame, and stately Rome's disgrace.
She is deliver'd, lords, she is deliver'd.

Aar. To whom?
Nurse.
I mean she's brought a-bed.
Aar. Well, God give her good rest! What
hath he sent her?
Nurse. A devil.
Aar.

Why, then she is the devil's dam: A joyful issue.

Nurse. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue.

Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad
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.

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Aar. 'Zounds, ye whore! is black so base a hue?

Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom, sure.
Dem. Villain, what hast thou done?
Aar. That which thou canst not undo.
Chi. Thou hast undone our mother.
Aar. Villain, I have done thy mother.
Dem. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast un-
done.

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.

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Nurse. 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?

90

Now, by the burning tapers of the sky,
That shone so brightly when this boy was got,
He dies upon my scimitar'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 the 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 ?

100

Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome.
Dem. By this our mother is for ever shamed.
Chi. Rome will despise her for this foul escape.
Nurse. The emperor in his rage will doom her
death,

Chi. I blush to think upon this ignomy.
Aar. Why, there's the privilege your beauty
bears.

Fie, treacherous hue! that will betray with blushing

120

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
Of that self blood that first gave life to you;
And from that womb where you imprison'd

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.

Dem. How many women saw this child of his ? Aar. Why, so, brave lords! when we 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?

140

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

'Weke, weke!'

Stabbing her.

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

150

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 Muli 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; you see I have given her physic, Pointing to the Nurse.

160

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. 170

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 would say, in Rome no justice were.
But if I live, his feigned ecstacies
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;

30

And rather comfort his distressed plight Than prosecute the meanest or the best

High-witted Tamora to gloze with all :
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. Enter Clown.

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Clo. How much money must I have?
Tam. Come, sirrah, you must be hanged.

Clo. Hanged! By 'r lady, then I have brought
up a neck to a fair end.
Exit, guarded.
Sat. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs!
Shall I endure this monstrous villany?

I know from whence this same device proceeds.
May this be borne? As if his traitorous sons,
That died by law for murder of our brother,
Have by my means been butcher'd wrongfully!
Go, drag the villain hither by the hair;
Nor age nor honour shall shape privilege.
For this proud mock I'll be thy slaughterman;
Sly frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me
great,

60

In hope thyself should govern Rome and me.

Enter EMILIUS. What news with thee, Æmilius?

Emil. Arm, my lords! Rome never had more

51

Sat. Is war-like Lucius general of the Goths? These tidings nip me, and I hang the head As flowers with frost or grass beat down with

71

storms.

Ay, now begin our sorrows to approach:
'Tis he the common people love so much;
Myself hath often heard them say,

When I have walked like a private man,
That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully,

And they have wish'd that Lucius were their

emperor.

Tam. Why should you fear? is not your city strong?

Sat. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius, 80 And will revolt from me to succour him.

Tam. King, be thy thoughts imperious, like thy name.

90

With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous, Than baits to fish, or honey-stalks to sheep,