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Charles Gildon [1709–1710], The works of Mr. William Shakespear; in six [seven] volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts. Revis'd and Corrected, with an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author. By N. Rowe ([Vol. 7] Printed for E. Curll... and E. Sanger [etc.], London) [word count] [S11401].
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SCENE II. A Forest. Enter Titus Andronicus and his three Sons, making a noise with Hounds and Horns, and Marcus.

Tit.
The hunt is up, the Morn is bright and gray,
The Fields are fragrant, and the Woods are green,
Uncouple here, and let us make a Bay,
And wake the Emperor and his lovely Bride,
And rouze the Prince, and ring a Hunter's Peal,
That all the Court may Eccho with the Noise.
Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours,
To attend the Emperor's Person carefully:
I have been troubled in my Sleep this Night,
But dawning Day new Comfort hath inspir'd.

-- 2023 --

Wind Horns. Here a cry of Hounds, and wind Horns in a Peal; then enter Saturninus, Tamora, Bassianus, Lavinia, Chiron, Demetrius, and their Attendants.

Tit.
Many good morrows to your Majesty,
Madam, to you as many and as good.
I promised your Grace a Hunter's Peal.

Sat.
And you have rung it lustily, my Lords,
Somewhat too early for new married Ladies.

Bas.
Lavinia, How say you?

Lav.
I say, No:
I have been awake two hours and more.

Sat.
Come on then, Horse and Chariots let us have,
And to our Sport: Madam, now shall ye see
Our Roman Hunting.

Mar.
I have Dogs, my Lord,
Will rouze the proudest Panther in the Chase,
And climb the highest Promontory top.

Tit.
And I have Horse will follow, where the Game
Makes away, and run like Swallows o'er the Plain.

Dem.
Chiron, we hunt not, we, with Horse nor Hound,
But hope to pluck a dainty Doe to Ground.
[Exeunt. Enter Aaron alone.

Aar.
He that had Wit, would think that I had none,
To bury so much Gold under a Tree,
And never after to inherit it.
Let him that thinks of me so abjectly,
Know that this Gold must coin a Stratagem,
Which cunningly effected, will beget
A very excellent piece of Villany;
And so repose sweet Gold for their unrest,
That have their Alms out of the Empress Chest.
Enter Tamora.

Tam.
My lovely Aaron,
Wherefore look'st thou so sad,
When every thing doth make a Gleeful boast?
The Birds chaunt melody on every Bush,
The Snake lies rolled in the chearful Sun,
The green Leaves quiver with the cooling Wind,
And make a chequer'd shadow on the Ground:
Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit,
And whilst the babling Eccho mocks the Hounds,

-- 2024 --


Replying shrilly to the well-tun'd Horns,
As if a double hunt were heard at once,
Let us sit down and mark their yelping noise:
And after conflict such as was suppos'd
The wandring Prince and Dido once enjoy'd,
When with a happy storm they were surpriz'd,
And curtain'd with a Counsel-keeping Cave,
We may each wreathed in the others Arms,
(Our Pastimes done) possess a Golden slumber,
Whilst Hounds and Horns, and sweet melodious Birds
Be unto us, as is a Nurse's Song
Of Lullaby, to bring her Babe asleep.

Aar.
Madam,
Though Venus govern your Desires,
Saturn is Dominator over mine:
What signifies my deadly standing Eye,
My Silence, and my cloudy Melancholy,
My Fleece of woolly Hair, that now uncurls,
Even as an Adder when she doth unrowl
To do some fatal Execution?
No, Madam, these are no Venereal signs,
Vengeance is in my Heart, Death in my Hand,
Blood and Revenge are hammering in my Head.
Hark, Tamora, the Empress of my Soul,
Which never hopes more Heaven than rests in thee,
This is the Day of Doom for Bassianus;
His Philomel must lose her Tongue to Day,
Thy Sons make Pillage of her Chastity,
And wash their Hands in Bassianus's Blood.
Seest thou this Letter, take it up I pray thee,
And give the King this fatal plotted Scrowl;
Now question me no more, we are espied,
Here comes a parcel of our hopeful Booty,
Which dreads not yet their Lives destruction.
Enter Bassianus and Lavinia.

Tam.
Ah, my sweet Moor,
Sweeter to me than Life.

Aar.
No more, great Empress, Bassianus comes,
Be cross with him, and I'll go fetch thy Sons
To back thy Quarrels, whatsoe'er they be.
[Exit.

-- 2025 --

Bas.
Whom have we here?
Rome's Royal Empress!
Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming Troop?
Or is it Dian habited like her,
Who hath abandoned her holy Groves,
To see the general Hunting in this Forest?

Tam.
Sawcy Controller of our private Steps:
Had I the Power that some say Dian had,
Thy Temples should be planted presently
With Horns, as was Acteon's, and the Hounds
Should drive upon thy new transformed Limbs,
Unmannerly Intruder as thou art.

Lav.
Under your Patience, gentle Empress,
'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in Horning,
And to be doubted, that your Moor and you
Are singled forth to try Experiments:
Jove shield your Husband from his Hounds to Day,
Tis pity they should take him for a Stag.

Bas.
Believe me, Queen, your swarth Cymmerian
Doth make your Honour of his Body's hue,
Spotted, detested and abominable.
Why are you sequestred from all your Train?
Dismounted from your Snow-white goodly Steed,
And wandred hither to an obscure plot,
Accompanied with a barbarous Moor,
If foul desire had not conducted you?

Lav.
And being interrupted in your sport,
Great reason that my Noble Lord be rated
For Sauciness; I pray you let us hence,
And let her joy her Raven-coloured Love,
This Valley fits the purpose passing well.

Bas.
The King my Brother shall have notice of this.

Lav.
Ay, for these slips have made him noted long,
Good King, to be so mightily abused.

Tam.
Why have I patience to endure all this?
Enter Chiron and Demetrius.

Dem.
How now, dear Sovereign
And our gracious Mother,
Why does your Highness look so pale and wan?

Tam.
Have I not reason, think you, to look pale?
These two have tic'd me hither to this place,

-- 2026 --


A barren and detested Vale you see it is.
The Trees, tho' Summer, yet forlorn and lean,
O'ercome with Moss, and baleful Misselto.
Here never shines the Sun, here nothing breeds,
Unless the nighly Owl, or fatal Raven.
And when they shew'd me this abhorred Pit,
They told me, here at dead time of the Night,
A thousand Fiends, a thousand hissing Snakes,
Ten thousand swelling Toads, as many Urchins,
Would make such fearful and confused Cries,
As any mortal Body hearing it,
Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly.
No sooner had they told this hellish Tale,
But streight they told me they would bind me here,
Unto the Body of a dismal Yew,
And leave me to this miserable Death.
And then they call'd me foul Adulteress,
Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms
That ever Ears did hear to such effect.
And had you not by wondrous fortune come,
This Vengeance on me had they executed:
Revenge it, as you love your Mother's Life,
Or be ye not henceforth call'd my Children.

Dem.
This is a witness that I am thy Son.
[Stabs Bas.

Chi.
And this for me,
Struck home to shew my Strength.

Lav.
I come, Semiramis, nay barbarous Tamora,
For no Name fits thy Nature but thy own.

Tam.
Give me thy Poinard; you shall know, my Boys,
Your Mother's Hand shall right your Mother's wrong.

Dem.
Stay, Madam, here is more belongs to her,
First, thrash the Corn, then after burn the Straw:
This Minion stood upon her Chastity,
Upon her Nuptial Vow, her Loyalty,
And with that painted hope she braves your Mightiness;
And shall she carry this unto her Grave?

Chi.
And if she do,
I would I were an Eunuch.
Drag hence her Husband to some secret Hole,
And make his dead Trunk Pillow to our Lust.

-- 2027 --

Tam.
But when you have the Honey you desire,
Let not this Wasp out-live us both to sting.

Chi.
I warrant you, Madam, we will make that sure;
Come Mistress, now per force we will enjoy,
That nice-preserved honesty of yours.

Lav.
O Tamora, thou bear'st a Woman's Face—

Tam.
I will not hear her speak; away with her.

Lav.
Sweet Lords, intreat her hear me but a word—

Dem.
Listen, fair Madam, let it be your glory
To see her Tears; but be your Heart to them,
As unrelenting Flints to drops of Rain.

Lav.
When did the Tygers young-ones teach the Dam?
O do not learn her wrath, she taught it thee,
The Milk thou suck'st from her did turn to Marble;
Even at thy Teat thou hadst thy Tyranny:
Yet every Mother breeds not Sons alike;
Do thou intreat her, shew a Woman pity.

Chi.
What!
Wouldst thou have me prove my self a Bastard?

Lav.
'Tis true,
The Raven doth not hatch a Lark:
Yet have I heard, O could I find it now,
The Lion mov'd with pity, did endure
To have his Princely Paws par'd all away.
Some say, that Ravens foster forlorn Children,
The whilst their own Birds famish in their Nests:
Oh be to me, tho' thy hard Heart say no,
Nothing so kind, but something pitiful.

Tam.
I know not what it means; away with her.

Lav.
Oh let me teach thee for my Father's sake,
That gave thee Life, when well he might have slain thee:
Be not obdurate, open thy deaf Ears.

Tam.
Hadst thou in Person ne'er offended me,
Even for his sake am I now pitiless:
Remember, Boys, I pour'd forth Tears in vain,
To save your Brother from the Sacrifice;
But fierce Andronicus would not relent:
Therefore away with her, and use her as you will,
The worse to her, the better lov'd of me.

Lav.
O Tamora,
Be call'd a gentle Queen,

-- 2028 --


And with thine own Hands kill me in this Place;
For 'tis not Life that I have begg'd so long;
Poor I was slain when Bassianus dy'd.

Tam.
What begg'st thou then? Fond Woman, let me go.

Lav.
'Tis present Death I beg, and one thing more,
That Womanhood denies my Tongue to tell:
O keep me from their worse than killing Lust,
And tumble me into some loathsom Pit,
Where never Man's Eye may behold my Body:
Do this, and be a charitable Murderer.

Tam.
So should I rob my sweet Sons of their Fee,
No, let them satisfie their Lust on thee.

Dem.
Away.
For thou hast staid us here too long.

Lav.
No Grace?
No Woman-hood? Ah beastly Creature,
The blot and Enemy of our general Name;
Confusion all—

Chi.
Nay, then I'll stop your Mouth—
Bring thou her Husband: [Dragging off Lavinia.
This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him.
[Exeunt.

Tam.
Farewel, my Sons, see that ye make her sure;
Ne'er let my Heart know merry Cheer indeed,
Till all the Andronici be made away:
Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor,
And let my spleenful Sons this Trull deflour.
[Exit. Enter Aaron, with Quintus and Marcus.

Aaron.
Come on, my Lords, the better Foot before,
Strait will I bring you to the loathsom Pit,
Where I espied the Panther fast asleep.

Quin.
My sight is very dull, what e'er it bodes.

Mar.
And mine, I promise you; were it not for shame,
Well could I leave our Sport to sleep a while.
[Marcus falls into the Pit.

Quin.
What art thou fallen?
What subtle Hole is this,
Whose Mouth is covered with rude growing Briars?
Upon whose Leaves are drops of new-shed Blood,
As fresh as Morning-Dew distill'd on Flowers?
A very fatal Place it seems to me:
Speak, Brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall?

Mar.
O Brother,

-- 2029 --


With the dismal'st Object
That ever Eye, with sight, made Heart lament.

Aar.
Now will I fetch the King to find them here,
That he thereby may have a likely guess,
How these were they that made away his Brother. [Exit Aaron.

Mar.
Why dost not comfort me, and help me out,
From this unhallow'd and blood-stained Hole?

Quin.
I am surprized with an uncouth fear;
A killing Sweat o'er-runs my trembling Joints;
My Heart suspects more than mine Eye can see.

Mar
To prove thou hast a true divining Heart,
Aaron and thou, look down into the Den,
And see a fearful sight of Blood and Death.

Quin.
Aaron is gone,
And my compassionate Heart
Will not permit mine eyes once to behold
The thing whereat it trembles by surmise:
O tell me how it is; for ne'er till now,
Was I a Child, to fear I know not what.

Mar.
Lord Bassianus lyes embrewed here,
All on a heap, like to the slaughter'd Lamb,
In this detested, dark, blood-drinking Pit.

Quin.
If it be dark, how do'st thou know 'tis he?

Mar.
Upon his bloody finger he doth wear
A precious Ring, that lightens all the Hole:
Which like a Taper in some Monument,
Doth shine upon the dead Man's earthly Cheeks,
And shews the ragged intrails of the Pit.
So pale did shine the Moon on Pyramus,
When he by night lay bath'd in Maiden-blood.
O Brother help me, with thy fainting Hand;
If Fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath,
Out of this fell devouring Receptacle,
As hateful as Cocytus misty Mouth.

Quin.
Reach me thy Hand, that I may help thee out,
Or wanting strength, to do thee so much good,
I may be pluck'd into the swallowing Womb
Of this deep Pit, poor Bassianus Grave:
I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink.

Mar.
Nor I no strength to climb without thy help.

-- 2030 --

Quin.
Thy hand once more, I will not lose again,
'Till thou art here aloft, or I below:
Thou can'st not come to me, I come to thee.
[Both fall in. Enter the Emperor and Aaron.

Sat.
Along with me, I'll see what hole is here,
And what he is that now is leap'd into it.
Say, who art thou that lately didst descend
Into this gaping Hollow of the Earth?

Mar.
The unhappy Son of old Andronicus,
Brought hither in a most unlucky hour,
To find thy Brother Bassianus dead.

Sat.
My Brother dead? I know thou dost but jest,
He and his Lady both are at the Lodge,
Upon the North-side of this pleasant Chase,
'Tis not an hour since I left him there.

Mar.
We know not where you left him all alive,
But out, alas, here have we found him dead.
Enter Tamora, Andronicus, and Lucius.

Tam.
Where is my Lord, the King?

Sat.
Here Tamora, though griev'd with killing Grief.

Tam.
Where is thy Brother Bassianus?

Sat.
Now to the bottom dost thou search my Wound,
Poor Bassianus here lyes murthered.

Tam.
Then all too late I bring this fatal Writ,
The complot of this timely Tragedy,
And wonder greatless that Man's Face can fold
In pleasing smiles such murderous Tyranny.
[She giveth Saturninus a Letter. Saturninus reads the Letter.
And if we miss to meet him handsomly,
Sweet Huntsman, Bassianus, 'tis we mean,
Do thou so much as dig the Grave for him,
Thou know'st our meaning, look for thy reward
Among the Nettles at the Elder-tree:
Which over-shades the mouth of that same Pit,
Where we decreed to bury Bassianus;
Do this, and purchase us thy lasting Friends.

Sat.
Oh Tamora, was ever heard the like?
This is the Pit, and this the Elder-tree:
Look, Sirs, if you can find the Huntsman out,
That should have murthered Bassianus here.

-- 2031 --

Aar.
My gracious Lord, here is the Bag of Gold.

Sat.
Two of thy Whelps, fell Curs, of bloody kind
Have here bereft my Brother of his Life: [To Titus.
Sirs, drag them from the Pit unto the Prison,
There let them bide until we have devis'd
Some never heard-of torturing pain for them.

Tam.
What are they in this Pit?
Oh wondrous thing!
How easily Murder is discovered?

Tit.
High Emperor, upon my feeble Knee,
I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed,
That this fell fault of my accursed Sons,
Accursed, if the faults be prov'd in them—

Sat.
If it be prov'd? you see it is apparent.
Who found this Letter, Tamora, was it you?

Tam.
Andronicus himself did take it up.

Tit.
I did, my Lord,
Yet let me be their Bail.
For by my Father's reverend Tomb I vow
They shall be ready at your Highness Will,
To answer their Suspicion with their lives.

Sat.
Thou shalt not bail them, see thou follow me:
Some bring the murther'd Body, some the Murtherers,
Let them not speak a word, the Guilt is plain,
For by my Soul, were there worse end than Death,
That end upon them should be executed.

Tam.
Andronicus, I will intreat the King,
Fear not thy Sons, they shall do well enough.

Tit.
Come, Lucius, come,
Stay not to talk with them.
[Exeunt. Enter Demetrius and Chiron, with Lavinia, her Hands cut off, and her Tongue cut out, and ravish'd.

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

Chi.
Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so,
And, if thy Stumps will let thee, play the Scribe.

Dem.
See how with signs and tokens she can scowl.

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.

-- 2032 --

Chi.
And 'twere my Cause, I should go hang my self.

Dem.
If thou had'st Hands to help thee knit the Cord.
[Exeunt. Wind Horns. Enter Marcus from Hunting, to Lavinia.

Mar.
Who is 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 Hands
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 do'st not speak to me?
Alas, a crimson River of warm Blood,
Like to a bubling 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 deflour'd thee,
And lest thou should'st detect him, 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 their issuing Spouts,
Yet do thy Cheeks look red as Titan's Face,
Blushing to be encountred with a Cloud,—
Shall I speak for thee? Shall I say, 'tis so?
Oh 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 Cindars where it is.
Fair Philomela, she but lost her Tongue,
And in a tedious Sampler sewed her mind.
But lovely Niece, that mean is cut from thee,
A craftier Tereus hast thou met withall,
And he hath cut those pretty Fingers off
That could have better sewed than Philomel.
Oh had the Monster seen those Lilly 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.

-- 2033 --


Or had he heard the heavenly Harmony,
Which that sweet Tongue hath made;
He would have dropt his Knife and fell 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 hours 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:
Oh could our mourning ease thy Misery. [Exeunt.
Previous section


Charles Gildon [1709–1710], The works of Mr. William Shakespear; in six [seven] volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts. Revis'd and Corrected, with an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author. By N. Rowe ([Vol. 7] Printed for E. Curll... and E. Sanger [etc.], London) [word count] [S11401].
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