Tit.
Come, Marcus, come; kinsmen, ^note this is the way.
Sir boy, let ^note me see your archery;
Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight.
Terras Astræa reliquit:
Be you ^note remember'd, Marcus, she's gone, she's fled.
Sirs ^note, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall
Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets;
Happily ^note you may catch ^note her in the sea ^note;
Yet there's as little justice as at land:
No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it;
'Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade,
And pierce the inmost centre of the earth:
Then, when you come to Pluto's region,
I pray you, deliver him ^note this petition;
Tell him, it is for justice and for aid,
And that it comes from old Andronicus,
Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome.
Ah, Rome! Well, well; I made thee miserable

What time I threw the people's suffrages
On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me.
Go, get you gone; and pray be careful all,
And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch'd:
This wicked emperor may have shipp'd her hence;
And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.

Marc.
O Publius, is not this a heavy case,
To see thy noble uncle thus distract?

Pub. ^note
Therefore, my lord ^note, it highly us concerns
By day and night to attend him carefully,
And feed his humour kindly as we may,
Till time beget some careful remedy.

Marc.
Kinsmen ^note, his sorrows are past remedy.
Join with the Goths, and with revengeful war
Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude
And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.

Tit.
Publius, how now! how now, my masters!
What, have ^note you met with her?

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

Tit.
He doth me wrong to feed me with delays.
I'll dive into the burning lake below,
And pull her out of Acheron ^note by the heels.
Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we,
No big-boned men framed of the Cyclops' size;
But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back,
Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs ^note can bear:
And sith there's no justice ^note in earth nor ^note hell,
We will solicit heaven, and move the gods

To send down Justice for to wreak our wrongs.
Come, to ^note this gear. You are ^note a good archer, Marcus; [He gives them the arrows.
‘Ad Jovem,’ that's for you: here, ‘Ad Apollinem ^note:’
‘Ad Martem,’ that's ^note for myself:
Here, boy, to Pallas: here, to Mercury:
To Saturn, Caius ^note, not to Saturnine;
You were as good to shoot against the wind.
To it, boy ^note! Marcus, loose ^note when I bid.
Of my ^note word, I have written to effect;
There's not a god left unsolicited.

Marc.
Kinsmen ^note, shoot all your shafts into the court:
We will afflict the emperor in his pride.

Tit.
Now, masters, draw. [They shoot. ^note] O, well said, Lucius!
Good boy, in ^note Virgo's lap; give it ^note Pallas ^note.

Marc.
My lord, I aim ^note a mile beyond the moon;
Your letter is with Jupiter by this.

Tit.
Ha, ha!
Publius, Publius ^note, what hast thou done?
See, see, thou hast ^note shot off one of Taurus' horns.

Marc.
This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot,
The Bull, being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock
That down fell both the Ram's horns in the court;
And who should find them but the empress' villain ^note? ^note

She laugh'd, and told the Moor he should not choose
But give them to his master for a present.

Tit.
Why, there it goes: God give his ^note lordship joy! Enter a Clown ^note, with a basket, and two pigeons in it ^note.
News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come. ^note
Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters?
Shall I have justice? what says Jupiter?

Clo.

O, ^note the gibbet-maker ^note! he says that he hath ^note taken them down again, for the man must not be hanged till the next week.

Tit.

But ^note what says Jupiter, I ask thee?

Clo.

Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter ^note; I never drank with him in all my life. ^note

Tit.

Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?

Clo.

Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing ^note else.

Tit.

Why, didst thou not come from heaven?

Clo.

From heaven! alas, sir, I never came there: ^note God forbid I should be so bold to press to heaven ^note 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.

Marc.

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

Tit.

Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the emperor with a grace?

Clo.

Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life.

Tit.
Sirrah, come hither: make no more ado,
But give your pigeons to the emperor:

By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.
Hold, hold; meanwhile here's ^note money for thy charges.
Give me pen ^note and ink.
Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a supplication?

Clo.

Ay, sir.

Tit.

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.

Clo.
I warrant you, sir, let me alone.

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

Clo.
God be with you, sir; I will. [Exit. ^note

Tit.
Come, Marcus, let us ^note go. Publius, follow me. [Exeunt. ^note

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