Luc.
Approved Warriors, and my faithful Friends,
I have received Letters from great Rome,
Which signifie what hate they bear their Emperor,
And how desirous of our sight they are.
Therefore, great Lords, be as your Titles witness,
Imperious and impatient of your Wrongs,
And wherein Rome hath done you any scathe,
Let him make treble Satisfaction.

Goth.
Brave Slip, sprung from the great Andronicus,
Whose Name was once our Terror, now our Comfort,
Whose high Exploits, and Honourable Deeds,
Ingrateful Rome requites with foul Contempt,
Be bold in us, we'll follow where thou lead'st:
Like stinging Bees in hottest Summer's Day,
Led by their Master to the flower'd Fields,
And be aveng'd on cursed Tamora.

Omn.
And as he saith, so say we all with him.

Luc.
I humbly thank him, and I thank you all.
But who comes here led by a lusty Goth?

Enter a Goth leading Aaron with his Child in his Arms.

Goth.
Renowned Lucius, from our Troops I straid
To gaze upon a ruinous Monastery,
And as I earnestly did fix mine Eye
Upon the wasted Building, suddenly
I heard a Child cry underneath a Wall;
I made unto the Noise, when soon I heard,
The crying Babe control'd with this Discourse:
Peace, Tawny Slave, half me, and half thy Dam,
Did not thy Hue bewray whose Brat thou art,
Had Nature lent thee but thy Mothers's look,
Villain, thou might'st have been an Emperor:
But where the Bull and Cow are both Milk-white,
They never do beget a Cole-black Calf;
Peace, Villain, Peace, (even thus he rates the Babe)
For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth,
Who when he knows thou art the Empress Babe,
Will hold thee dearly for thy Mother's sake.
With this, my Weapon drawn I rush'd upon him,
Surpriz'd him suddenly, and brought him hither,
To use, as you think needful of the Man.

Luc.
Oh worthy Goth, this is the incarnate Devil,
That robb'd Andronicus of his good Hand;
This is the Pearl that pleas'd your Empress's Eye,
And here's the base Fruit of his burning Lust.
Say, wall-ey'd Slave, whither would'st thou convey
This growing Image of thy Fiend-like Face?
Why dost not speak? what deaf? no! Not a word?
A Halter, Soldiers hang him on this Tree,
And by his side his Fruit of Bastardy.

Aar.
Touch not the Boy, he is of Royal Blood,

Luc.
Too like the Syre for ever being good.
First hang the Child, that he may see it sprall,
A sight to vex the Father's Soul withal.

Aar.
Get me a Ladder, Lucius, save the Child,
And bear it from me to the Empress;
If thou do this, I'll shew thee wondrous things,
That highly may advantage thee to hear;
If thou wilt not, befall what may befall,
I'll speak no more; but Vengeance rot you all.

Luc.
Say on, and if it please me, which thou speak'st

Thy Child shall live, and I will see it Nourish'd.

Aar.
And if it please thee? why assure thee, Lucius,
'Twill vex thy Soul to hear what I shall speak:
For I must talk of Murthers, Rapes, and Massacres,
Acts of black Night, abominable Deeds,
Complots of Mischief, Treason, Villanies,
Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform'd,
And this shall all be buried by my Death,
Unless thou swear to me my Child shall live.

Luc.
Tell on thy mind,
I say thy Child shall live.

Aar.
Swear that he shall, and then I will begin.

Luc.
Who should I swear by?
Thou believest no God,
That granted, how can'st thou believe an Oath?

Aar.
What if I do not, as indeed I do not,
Yet for I know thou art Religious,
And hast a thing within thee called Conscience,
With twenty Popish Tricks and Ceremonie
Which I have seen thee careful to observe:
Therefore I urge thy Oath, for that I know
An Idiot holds his Bauble for a God,
And keeps the Oath, which by that God he swears,
To that I'll urge him;—therefore thou shalt vow
By that same God, what God so e'er it be
That thou adorest and hast in reverence,
To save my Boy, nourish and bring him up,
Or else I will discover nought to thee.

Luc.
Even by my God I swear to thee, I will.

Aar.
First know thou,
I begot him on thy Emperess.

Luc.
O most insatiate luxurious Woman!

Aar.
Tut, Lucius, this was but a Deed of Charity,
To that which thou shalt hear of me anon.
'Twas her two Sons that murdered Bassianus,
They cut thy Sister's Tongue, and Ravish'd her,
And cut her Hands off, and trimm'd her as thou saw'st.

Luc.
Oh detestable Villain!
Call'st thou that trimming?

Aar.
Why she was wash'd, and cut, and trimm'd;
And 'twas trim sport for them that had the doing of it.

Luc.
Oh barbarous beastly Villains, like thy self!

Aar.
Indeed, I was their Tutor to instruct them,
That codding Spirit had they from their Mother,
As sure a Card, as ever won the Set;
That bloody mind I think they learn'd of me,
As true a Dog as ever fought at Head;
Well, let my Deeds be Witness of my Worth.
I train'd thy Brethren to that guileful hole,
Where the dead Corps of Bassianus lay:
I wrote the Letter that thy Father found,
And hid the Gold within the Letter mention'd,
Confederate with the Queen and her two Sons.
And what not done that thou hast cause to rue,
Wherein I had no stroke of Mischief in it?
I plaid the Cheater for thy Father's Hand,
And when I had it, drew my self apart,
And almost broke my Heart with extream Laughter.
I pried me through the Crevice of a Wall,
When for his Hand, he had his two Sons Heads,
Beheld his Tears, and laugh'd so heartily,
That both mine Eyes were rainy like to his:
And when I told the Empress of this Sport,
She swooned almost at my pleasing Tale,
And for my Tidings, gave me twenty Kisses.

Goth.
What can'st thou say all this, and never blush?

Aar.
Ay, like a black Dog, as the saying is.

Luc.
Art thou not sorry for these hainous Deeds?

Aar.
Ay, that I had not done a thousand more.
Even now I curse the Day, and yet I think
Few come within the Compass of my Curse,
Wherein I did not some notorious Ill,
As kill a Man, or else devise his Death,
Ravish a Maid, or plot the way to do it,
Accuse some Innocent, and forswear my self,
Set deadly Enmity between two Friends,
Make poor Mens Cattle break their Necks,
Set Fire on Barns and Hay-stacks in the Night,
And bid the Owners quench them with their Tears;
Oft have I digg'd up dead Men from their Graves,
And set them upright at their dear Friends Doors,
Even when their Sorrow almost was forgot,

And on their Skins, as on the Bark of Trees,
Have with my Knife carved in Roman Letters,
Let not your Sorrow die, though I am Dead.
Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things,
As willingly as one would kill a Fly,
And nothing grieves me heartily indeed,
But that I cannot do ten thousand more.

Luc.
Bring down the Devil, for he must not die
So sweet a Death, as Hanging presently.

Aar.
If there be Devils, would I were a Devil,
To live and burn in everlasting Fire,
So I might have your Company in Hell,
But to torment you with my bitter Tongue.

Luc.
Sirs, stop his Mouth, and let him speak no more. Enter Æmilius.

Goth.
My Lord, there is a Messenger from Rome
Desires to be admitted to your Presence.

Luc.
Let him come near.—
Welcome, Æmilius, what's the News from Rome?

Æmi.
Lord Lucius, and you Princes of the Goths,
The Roman Emperor greets you all by me,
And, for he understands you are in Arms,
He craves a Parley at your Father's House,
Willing you to demand your Hostages,
And they shall be immediately delivered.

Goth.
What says our General?

Luc.
Æmilius, let the Emperor give his Pledges
Unto my Father, and my Uncle Marcus,
And we will come: March away. [Exeunt.

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