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:
Some whither 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 oratory.

Mar.
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,
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.

Mar.
Lucius, I will.

Tit.
How now, Lavinia?—Marcus, what means this? [seeing her turn over the Books Lucius has let fall.
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 Metamorphoses;
My mother gave it me.

Mar.
For love of her that's gone,
Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest.

Tit.
Soft, soft; how busily she turns the leaves!
Help her:
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.

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

Tit.
Lavinia, wert thou thus surpriz'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 murthers, and for rapes.

Mar.
O, 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 can'st,
This after me, when I have writ my name
Without the help of any hand at all.— [He takes his Staff in his Mouth, and writes, guiding it with his Arms.
Curst be that heart that forc'd us to this shift!—
Write thou, good niece; and here display at last,
What god* ^note will have discover'd for revenge:
Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain,
That we may know the traitors, and the truth! [Lavinia takes the Staff, and writes, using it as above

Tit.
O, do you read, my lord, what she hath writ!
Stuprum—Chiron—Demetrius.

Mar.
What, what! the lustful sons of Tamora
Performers of this heinous bloody deed?

&blquo;Tit.
&blquo;—Magne dominator poli,
&blquo;Tam lentus audis scelera? tam lentus vides† ^note?

&blquo;Mar.
&blquo;O, calm thee, gentle lord! although I know,
&blquo;There is enough written upon this earth,
&blquo;To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts,
&blquo;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; [all kneel.
And swear with me,—as with the woeful peer,
And father, of that chaste dishonour'd dame,
Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape,—
That we will prosecute, by good advice,
Mortal revenge upon these trait'rous 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; and 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.
You're a young huntsman, Marcus; let it 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 bed-chamber should not be safe
For these bad bondmen to the yoke of Rome.

Mar.
Ay, that's my boy! thy father hath full oft
For his ungrateful country done the like.

Boy.
And, uncle, so will I, an if I live.

Tit.
Come, go with me into mine armory;
Lucius, I'll fit thee: and, withal, my boy,
Shalt carry for 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:
Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court;
Ay, marry, will we, sir; and we'll be waited on. [Exeunt Boy, Titus, and Lavinia.

Mar.
O heavens, can you hear a good man groan,
And not relent, or not compassion him?
Marcus, attend him in his extasy;

That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart,
Than foe-men's marks upon his batter'd shield:
But yet so just that he will not revenge:
Revenge thee, heaven, for old Andronicus! [Exit. SCENE II. The same. A Room in the Palace. Enter Demetrius, and Aaron; Chiron meeting them; with him, 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,
I greet your honours from Andronicus;—
And pray the Roman gods, confound you both.

Dem.
Gramercy, lovely Lucius: What's the news?

Boy.
That you are both decipher'd, that's the news,
For villains mark'd with rape.—May it please you, lords,
My grandsire, well advis'd, hath sent by me
The goodliest weapons of his armory,
To gratify your honourable youth,
The hope of Rome; for so he bad me say,
And so I do; and with his gifts present
Your lordships, that, whenever you have need,
You may be armed and appointed well:
And so I leave you both,—like bloody villains. [Exeunt Boy, and Attendant.

Dem.
What's here? A scrowl; and written round about?
Let's see: [reads.

Integer vitæ, scelerisque purus,
Non eget Mauri jaculis nec arcu.

Chi.
O, 'tis a verse in Horace; I know it well;
I read it in the grammar long ago.

Aar.
Ay, just;—a verse in Horace;—right, you have it.
Now, what a thing it is, to be an ass!
Here's no fond jest: the old man hath found their guilt;
And sends the weapons wrapt about with lines,
That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick:
But, were our witty empress well a-foot,
She would applaud Andronicus' conceit.

But let her rest in her unrest a-while.—
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.

&blquo;Aar.
&blquo;Had he not reason, lord Demetrius?
&blquo;Did you not use his daughter very friendly?

&blquo;Dem.
&blquo;I would we had a thousand Roman dames
&blquo;At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust.

&blquo;Chi.
&blquo;A charitable wish, and full of love.

&blquo;Aar.
&blquo;Here's lack but of your mother, to say Amen.

&blquo;Chi.
&blquo;And that would she for twenty thousand more.

&blquo;Dem.
&blquo;Come, let us go; and pray to all the gods
&blquo;For our beloved mother in her pains.

&blquo;Aar.
Pray to the devils; the gods have given us over. [Trumpets within.

Dem.
Why do the emperor's trumpets flourish thus?

Chi.
Belike, for joy the emperor hath a son.

Dem.
Soft; who comes here? Enter a Nurse hastily, with a Child in her Arms.

Nur.
Good morrow, lords:
O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor?

Aar.
Well, more, or less, or ne'er a whit at all,
Here Aaron is; and what with Aaron now?

Nur.
O gentle Aaron, we are all undone!
Now help, or woe betide thee evermore!

Aar.
Why, what a caterwawling dost thou keep?
What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine arms?

Nur.
O, that which I would hide from heaven's eye,
Our empress' shame, and stately Rome's disgrace;—
She is deliver'd, lords, she is deliver'd!

Aar.
To whom?

Nur.
I mean, she is brought a-bed.

Aar.
Well, Heav'n* ^note
Give her good rest! What hath it sent her?

&blquo;Nur.
&blquo;A devil.

&blquo;Aar.
&blquo;Why, then she is the devil's dam; a joyful issue.

Nur.
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.

&blquo;Aar.
&blquo;Out on you, whore! is black so base a hue!—
&blquo;Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom, sure.

&blquo;Dem.
&blquo;Villain, what hast thou done?

&blquo;Aar.
&blquo;Done! that which thou
&blquo;Canst not undo.

&blquo;Chi.
&blquo;Thou hast undone our mother.

&blquo;Aar.
&blquo;Villain, I have done thy mother.

&blquo;Dem.
&blquo;And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone.
&blquo;Woe to her chance! and damn'd her loathed choice!
&blquo;Accurs'd the offspring of so foul a fiend!

&blquo;Chi.
&blquo;It shall not live.

&blquo;Aar.
&blquo;It shall not die.

&blquo;Nur.
&blquo;Aaron, it must; the mother wills it so.

&blquo;Aar.
&blquo;What, must it, nurse? then let no man, but I,
&blquo;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. [Taking the Child from the Nurse, and drawing.
Stay, murtherous villains! will you kill your brother?
Now, by the burning tapers of the sky,
That shone so brightly when this boy was got,
He dies upon my scymitar's sharp point,
That touches this my first-born son and heir!
&blquo;I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus,
&blquo;With all his threat'ning band of Typhon's brood,
&blquo;Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war,
&blquo;Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands.
&blquo;What, what; ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys!
&blquo;Ye white-lim'd walls! ye ale-house painted signs!
&blquo;Coal-black is better than another hue,
&blquo;In that it scorns to bear another hue:
&blquo;For all the water in the ocean
&blquo;Can never turn the swan's black legs to white,
&blquo;Although she lave them hourly in the flood.—

Tell the emperess from me, I am of age
To keep mine own; excuse it how she can* ^note.

Dem.
Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus!

Aar.
My mistress is my mistress; this, my self;
The vigour, and the picture of my youth:
This, before all the world do I prefer;
This, maugre all the world, will I keep safe,
Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome.

Dem.
By this our mother is for ever sham'd.

Chi.
Rome will despise her for this foul escape.

Nur.
The emperor, in his rage, will doom her death.

&blquo;Chi.
&blquo;I blush, to think upon this ignominy.

&blquo;Aar.
&blquo;Why, there's the privilege your beauty bears:
&blquo;Fie, treacherous hue! that will betray with blushing
&blquo;The close enacts and counsels of the heart.
&blquo;Here's a young lad fram'd of another leer:
&blquo;Look, how the black slave smiles upon the father;
&blquo;As who should say, Old lad, I am thine own.
&blquo;He is your brother, lords; sensibly fed
&blquo;Of that self blood that first gave life to you;
&blquo;And, from that womb, where you imprison'd were,
&blquo;He is enfranchised and come to light:
&blquo;Nay, he's your brother by the surer side,
&blquo;Although my seal be stamped in his face.

Nur.
Aaron, what shall I say unto the empress?

Dem.
Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done,
And we will all subscribe to thy advice:
Save thou the child, so we may all be safe.

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.

Dem.
How many women saw this child of his?

Aar.
Why, so, brave lords? When we all 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?

Nur.
Cornelia, the midwife, and myself;
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:— [kills her* ^note.
&blquo;Weke, weke!—so cries a pig, prepar'd to the spit.

Dem.
What mean'st thou, Aaron? Wherefore didst thou this?

Aar.
O lord, sir, 'tis a deed of policy:
Shall she live, to betray this guilt of ours,
A long-tongu'd babling gossip? no, lords, no.
And now be it known to you my full intent.
Not far, one Muliteus 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.
But, hark ye, lords; ye see, I have given her physic;
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.

Chi.
Aaron, I see, thou wilt not trust the air
With secrets.

Dem.
For this care of Tamora,
Herself, and hers, are highly bound to thee. [Exeunt Chi. and Dem. bearing off the Nurse.

Aar.
Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies;
There to dispose this treasure in mine arms,
And secretly to greet the empress' friends.—
Come on, you thick-lip'd slave, I'll bear you hence;
For it is you that puts us to our shifts:

I'll make you feed on berries and on roots,
And feast on curds and whey, and suck the goat,
And cabin in a cave; and bring you up,
To be a warrior, and command a camp. [Exit. &blquo;SCENE III. The same. A public Place. &blquo;Enter Titus, carrying arrows with letters on the ends of them; with him, certain Gentlemen of his kindred, Marcus, and young Lucius, bearing Bows.

&blquo;Tit.
&blquo;Come, Marcus, come;—kinsmen, this is the way.
&blquo;Sir boy, now let me see your archery;
&blquo;Look, ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight.
&blquo;—Terras Astræa reliquit:—
&blquo;Be you remember'd, Marcus; she's gone, she's fled.—
&blquo;Sirs, take you to your tools.—You, cousins, shall
&blquo;Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets;
&blquo;Haply, you may find her in the sea.
&blquo;Yet there's as little justice as at land:—
&blquo;No; Publius, and Sempronius, you must do it;
&blquo;'Tis you must dig with mattock, and with spade,
&blquo;And pierce the inmost centre of the earth:
&blquo;Then, when you come to Pluto's region,
&blquo;I pray you to deliver him this petition:
&blquo;Tell him, it is for justice, and for aid;
&blquo;And that it comes from old Andronicus,
&blquo;Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome.—
&blquo;Ah, Rome!—Well, well; I made thee miserable,
&blquo;What time I threw the people's suffrages
&blquo;On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me.—
&blquo;Go, get you gone; and pray be careful all,
&blquo;And leave you not a man of war unsearcht;
&blquo;This wicked emperor may have ship'd her hence,
&blquo;And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.

&blquo;Mar.
&blquo;O, Publius, is not this a heavy case,
&blquo;To see thy noble uncle thus distract.

&blquo;1. G.
&blquo;Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns,
&blquo;By day and night to attend him carefully;
&blquo;And feed his humour kindly as we may,
&blquo;'Till time beget some careful remedy.

&blquo;Mar.
&blquo;Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy.

&blquo;Join with the Goths; and, with revengeful war,
&blquo;Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude,
&blquo;And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.

&blquo;Tit.
&blquo;Publius, how now? how now, my masters? well;
&blquo;What, have you met with her?

&blquo;1. G.
&blquo;No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word,
&blquo;If you will have revenge from hell, you shall:
&blquo;Marry, for justice, she is so employ'd,
&blquo;He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else,
&blquo;So that perforce you must needs stay a time.

&blquo;Tit.
&blquo;He doth me wrong, to feed me with delays.
&blquo;I'll dive into the burning lake below,
&blquo;And pull her out of Acheron by the heels.—
&blquo;Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we;
&blquo;No big-bon'd men, fram'd of the Cyclops' size:
&blquo;But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back;
&blquo;Yet wrung with wrongs, more than our backs can bear:—
&blquo;And, sith there is no justice in earth nor hell;
&blquo;We will solicit heaven; and move the gods,
&blquo;To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs:
&blquo;Come, to this gear.—You're a good archer, Marcus; [Pulling out his Arrows.
&blquo;Ad Jovem, that's for you:—here, ad Apollinem:
&blquo;Ad Martem,—O, that's for myself:—
&blquo;Here, boy, to Pallas:—here, to Mercury:
&blquo;To Saturn, Caius; not to Saturnine,
&blquo;You were as good to shoot against the wind.—
&blquo;To it, my boys.—Marcus, loose when I bid.—
&blquo;Sirs, O'my word, I have written to effect;
&blquo;There's not a god left unsollicited.

&blquo;Mar.
&blquo;Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court;
&blquo;We will afflict the emperor in his pride.

&blquo;Tit.
&blquo;Now, masters, draw.—[They shoot] O, well said, Lucius!
&blquo;Good boy, in Virgo's lap, she'll give it Pallas!

&blquo;Mar.
&blquo;My lord, I am a mile beyond the moon;
&blquo;Your letter is with Jupiter by this.

&blquo;Tit.
&blquo;Ha! Publius, Publius, what hast thou done?
&blquo;See, see, thou'st shot off one of Taurus' horns.

&blquo;Mar.
&blquo;This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot,

&blquo;The bull, being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock,
&blquo;That down fell both the ram's horns in the court;
&blquo;And who should find them, but the empress' villain:
&blquo;She laugh'd, and told the Moor, he should not choose
&blquo;But give them to his master for a present.

&blquo;Tit.
&blquo;Why, there it goes: God give your lordship joy! &blquo;Enter Clown, with a Basket and two Pigeons.
&blquo;News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come.—
&blquo;Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters?
&blquo;Shall I have justice? what says Jupiter?

&blquo;Clo.

&blquo;Ho! the gibbet-maker? he says, that he hath taken them down again; for the man must not be hang'd 'till the next week.&brquo;

&blquo;Tit.

&blquo;But what says Jupiter, I ask thee?&brquo;

&blquo;Clo.

&blquo;Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank with him in all my life.&brquo;

&blquo;Tit.

&blquo;Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?&brquo;

&blquo;Clo.

&blquo;Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else.&brquo;

&blquo;Tit.

&blquo;Why, did'st not thou come from heaven?&brquo;

&blquo;Clo.

&blquo;From heaven? alas, sir, I never came there: Heav'n forbid, I should be so bold to press to heaven in my young days. Why, I am going with my pigeons to the tribunal plebs, to take up a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the emperial's men.&brquo;

&blquo;Mar.

&blquo;Why, sir, this is as fit as can be, to serve for your oration; and let him deliver the pigeons to the emperor from you.&brquo;

&blquo;Tit.

&blquo;Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the emperor with a grace?&brquo;

&blquo;Clo.

&blquo;nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life.&brquo;

&blquo;Tit.
&blquo;Sirrah, come hither; make no more ado,
&blquo;But give your pigeons to the emperor:
&blquo;By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.
&blquo;Hold, hold;—mean while here's money for thy charges.—
&blquo;Give me a pen and ink.—
&blquo;Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a supplication?

&blquo;Clo.

&blquo;Ay, sir.&brquo;

&blquo;Tit.

&blquo;Then here is a supplication for you. And,

when you come to him, at the first approach, you must kneel; then kiss his foot; then deliver up your pigeons; and then look for your reward. I'll be at hand, sir; see you do it bravely.&brquo;

&blquo;Clo.

&blquo;I warrant you, sir; let me alone.&brquo;

&blquo;Tit.
&blquo;Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come, let me see it.—
&blquo;Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration;
&blquo;For thou hast made it like an humble suppliant:—
&blquo;And when thou hast given it the emperor,
&blquo;Knock at my door, and tell me what he says.

&blquo;Clo.
&blquo;Heav'n be with you, Sir; I will.

&blquo;Tit.
&blquo;Come, Marcus, let us go:—Publius, follow me. &blquo;[Exeunt* ^note. SCENE IV. The same. Before the Palace. Enter Saturnine, and Tamora, attended; Saturnine with the Arrows in his Hand, that Titus shot.

Sat.
Why, lords, what wrongs are these? was ever seen
An emperor in Rome thus over-borne,
Troubl'd, confronted thus; and, for the extent
Of legal justice, us'd in such contempt?
My lords, you know, as do the mighty gods,
(However these disturbers of our peace
Buz in the people's ears) there nought hath pass'd,
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 freaks,
His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness?
&blquo;And now he writes to heaven for his redress:
&blquo;See, here's to Jove; and this to Mercury;
&blquo;This to Apollo; this to the god of war:
&blquo;Sweet scrowls, to fly about the streets of Rome!
&blquo;What's this, but libelling against the senate,
&blquo;And blazoning our injustice every where?
&blquo;A goodly humour, is it not, my lords?

&blquo;As who would say, in Rome no justice were.
&blquo;But, if I live, his feigned extasies
&blquo;Shall be no shelter to these outrages:
&blquo;But he and his shall know, that justice lives
&blquo;In Saturninus' health; who, if she sleep,
&blquo;He'll so awake, as she in fury shall
&blquo;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 scar'd his heart;
And rather pity his distressed plight,
Than prosecute the meanest, or the best,
For these contempts.—&blquo;Why, thus it shall become
&blquo;High-witted Tamora to gloze with all:
&blquo;But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick,
&blquo;Thy life-blood out: if Aaron now be wise,
&blquo;Then is all safe, the anchor's in the port.— [Aside. Enter Clown.
&blquo;How now, good fellow? would'st thou speak with us?

&blquo;Clo.

&blquo;Yea, forsooth, an your mistership be emperial.&brquo;

&blquo;Tam.

&blquo;Empress I am, but yonder sits the emperor.&brquo;

&blquo;Clo.

&blquo;'Tis he.—God, and saint Stephen, give you good den: I have brought you a letter, and a couple of pigeons here.&brquo;

&blquo;Sat.

&blquo;Go take him away, and hang him presently.&brquo;

&blquo;Clo.

&blquo;How much money must I have?&brquo;

&blquo;Tam.

&blquo;Come, sirrah, you must be hang'd.&brquo;

&blquo;Clo.

&blquo;Hang'd! by'r-lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair end.&brquo;

Sat.
Despightful and intolerable wrongs!
Shall I endure this monstrous villainy?
I know from whence this same device proceeds:—
May this be borne?—as if his trait'rous sons,
That dy'd by law for murther 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 slaughter-man,

Sly frantick wretch; that holp'st to make me great,
In hope thyself should govern Rome and me. Enter Æmilius.
What news with thee, Æmilius?

Æmi.
Arm, arm, my lords; Rome never had more cause!
The Goths have gather'd head; and with a power
Of high-resolved men, bent to the spoil,
They hither march amain, under conduct
Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus;
Who threats, in course of this revenge, to do
As much as ever Coriolanus did.

Sat.
Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths?
These tidings nip me; and I hang the head,
As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms.
Ay now begin our sorrows to approach:
'Tis he, the common people love so much;
Myself hath often over-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;
And will revolt from me to succour him.

Tam.
King, be thy thoughts imperious, like thy name.
Is the sun dim'd, that gnats do fly in it?
The eagle suffers little birds to sing,
And is not careful what they mean thereby;
Knowing, that, with the shadow of his wings,
He can at pleasure stint their melody:
Even so may'st thou the giddy men of Rome.
Then chear thy spirit: for know, thou emperor,
I will enchant the old Andronicus,
With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous,
Than baits to fish, or honey-stalks to sheep;
When as the one is wounded with the bait,
The other rotted with delicious feed.

Sat.
But he will not intreat his son for us.

Tam.
If Tamora entreat him, then he will:
For I can smooth, and fill his aged ear
With golden promises; that were his heart
Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf,

Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue.—
Go thou before [to Æmi.] be our embassador;
Say, that the emperor requests a parley
Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting.

Sat.
Æmilius, do this message honourably:
And if he stand on hostage for his safety,
Bid him demand what pledge will please him best.

Æmi.
Your bidding shall I do effectually. [Exit.

Tam.
Now will I to that old Andronicus;
And temper him with all the art I have,
To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths.
And now, sweet emperor, be blith again,
And bury all thy fear in my devices.

Sat.
Then go incessantly, and plead to him. [Exeunt* ^note.

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