Dem.
So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak,
Who 'twas, that cut thy tongue, and ravish'd thee.

Chi.
Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so,
An if thy stumps will let thee, play the scribe.

Dem.
See, how with signs and tokens she can scrowl.

Chi.
Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands.

Dem.
She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash:
And so let's leave her to her silent walks.

Chi.
An 'twere my cause, I should go hang myself.

Dem.
If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord. [Exeunt Chiron and Demetrius. Horns within: Lavinia starts, and is making from them; Enter Marcus.

Mar.
Who's this,—my niece?—that flies away so fast?
Cousin, a word; where is your husband?—
If I do dream, 'would all my wealth would wake me!
If I do wake, some planet strike me down,
That I may slumber in eternal sleep!—
Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hand
Hath lop'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare
Of her two branches? those sweet ornaments,
Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in;
And might not gain so great a happiness,
As half thy love? Why dost not speak to me?
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,
Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind,
Doth rise and fall between thy rosy lips,
Coming and going with thy honey breath.
But, sure, some Tereus hath defloured thee;
And, lest thou should'st detect him, cut thy tongue.
Ah now thou turn'st away thy face for shame;
&blquo;And notwithstanding all this loss of blood,—
&blquo;As from a conduit, with three issuing spouts,—

&blquo;Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face,
&blquo;Blushing to be encounter'd with a cloud† ^note.
&blquo;Shall I speak for thee? shall I say, 'tis so?
O, that I knew thy heart; and knew the beast,
That I might rail at him to ease my mind!
Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopt,
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.
&blquo;Fair Philomela she but lost her tongue,
&blquo;And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind:
&blquo;But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee;
&blquo;A craftier Tereus hast thou met withal;
&blquo;And he hath cut those pretty fingers off,
&blquo;That could have better sew'd than Philomel.
&blquo;O, had the monster seen those lilly hands
&blquo;Tremble, like aspen leaves, upon a lute,
&blquo;And make the silken strings delight to kiss them,
&blquo;He would not then have touch'd them for his life.
&blquo;Or, had he heard the heavenly harmony,
&blquo;Which that sweet tongue hath made;
&blquo;He would have dropt his knife, and fell asleep,
&blquo;As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet.
Come, let us go, and make thy father blind;
For such a sight will blind a father's eye:
One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads;
What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes?
Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee;
O, could our mourning ease thy misery‡ ^note! [Exit, with Lavinia.

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