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

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

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

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

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

Chi.
An ^note 'twere my case ^note, I should go hang myself.

Dem.
If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord. [Exeunt ^note Demetrius and Chiron. Horns winded within. ^note Enter Marcus, from hunting. ^note

Mar.
Who is ^note this? my niece, that flies away so fast! ^note
Cousin, a word ^note; where is your husband? ^note
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 hands
Have ^note lopp'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 have ^note 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 rosed ^note lips,
Coming and going with thy honey breath.
But, sure, some Tereus hath deflowered thee,
And, lest thou shouldst detect him ^note, cut thy tongue.
Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame!
And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood,
As from a conduit with three ^note issuing spouts,
Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face
Blushing to be encounter'd with a cloud.
Shall I speak for thee? shall I say 'tis so? ^note

O, that I knew thy heart ^note; and knew the beast,
That I might rail at him, to ease my mind!
Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd,
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.
Fair Philomel, why she ^note but lost her tongue,
And in a tedious sampler sew'd ^note her mind:
But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee;
A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met, ^note
And he hath cut those pretty fingers off,
That could have better sew'd ^note than Philomel.
O, had the monster seen those lily hands
Tremble, like aspen-leaves, upon a lute,
And make the silken strings delight to kiss them,
He would not then have touch'd them for his life!
Or, had he heard the heavenly harmony
Which that sweet tongue hath made ^note,
He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell ^note asleep
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 ^note ease thy misery! [Exeunt.

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