Sat.
Why, lords, what wrongs are these? Was ever seen
An emperor of Rome thus over-borne,
Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent
Of egal justice, us'd in such contempt?
My lords, you know, as do the mightful gods,
However the disturbers of our peace
Buz in the people's ears, there nought hath past,
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^{1 note},
His fits, his phrenzy, 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 ecstasies
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, most 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;
And rather comfort his distressed plight,
Than prosecute the meanest, or the best,
For these contempts. Why, thus it shall become [Aside.
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.
How now, good fellow? wouldst thou speak with us?

Clown.
Yes, forsooth, an your mistership be emperial.

Tam.
Emperess I am, but yonder sits the emperor.

Clown.
'Tis he.—God and saint Stephen, give you good den:
I have brought you a letter, and a couple of pigeons here. [The Emperor reads the letter.

Sat.

Go, take him away, and hang him presently.

Clown.

How much money must I have?

Tam.

Come, sirrah, you must be hang'd.

Clown.

Hang'd! By'r lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair end.

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 traiterous sons,

That dy'd 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 slaughter-man;
Sly frantick wretch, that holp'st to make me great,
In hope thyself should govern Rome and me. ^{2 note}Enter Æmilius.

Sat.
What news with thee, Æmilius?

Æmil.
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 his 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 have 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 our 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 dimm'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 cheer 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 ^{3 note}honey-stalks to sheep;
When as the one is wounded with the bait,
The other rotted with delicious feed.

Sat.
But he will not entreat 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, be our embassador: [To Æmilius.
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.

Æmil.
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 succcessfully^{4 note}, and plead to him. [Exeunt.

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