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Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness.
[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.
Mar. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly.
him. Mar. Pardon me, sir; 'twas a black ill-favour'd
fly, Like to the empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him.
Tit. O, O, O,
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.
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
[Lavinia turns over the books which Lucius
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 damn'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;
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!
Mar. 0, 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.