Lucius, and other
Gentlemen, with Bows.
Tit.
Come, Marcus, come.—Kinsmen, this is the way.—
Sir boy, now6 note let me see your archery:
Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight.
Terras Astræa reliquit:
Be you remember'd Marcus, she's gone, she's fled.
Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall
Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets;
Happily you may catch her in the sea7 note,
-- 336 --
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 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.
Mar.
O, Publius! is not this a heavy case,
To see thy noble uncle thus distract?
Pub.
Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns,
By day and night t' attend him carefully;
And feed his humour kindly as we may,
Till time beget some careful remedy.
Mar.
Kinsmen, 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 you met with her?
Pub.
No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word,
If you will have revenge from hell, you shall.
Marry, for Justice, she is so 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 by the heels.—
-- 337 --
Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we;
No big-bon'd men, fram'd of the Cyclops' size,
But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back;
Yet wrung with wrongs, more than our backs can bear:
And, sith there's no justice in earth nor hell,
We will solicit heaven, and move the gods,
To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs.
Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus.
[He gives them the Arrows.
Ad Jovem, that's for you:—here, ad Apollinem:—
Ad Martem, that's for myself:—
Here, boy, to Pallas:—here, to Mercury:
To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine4 note;
You were as good to shoot against the wind.—
To it, boy: Marcus, loose, when I bid.
Of my word, I have written to effect;
There's not a god left unsolicited.
Mar.
Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court:
We will afflict the emperor in his pride.
Tit.
Now, masters, draw. [They shoot.] O, well said, Lucius5 note!
Good boy, in Virgo's lap: give it Pallas.
Mar.
My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon:
Your letter is with Jupiter by this.
Tit.
Ha! Publius, Publius, what hast thou done?
See, see! thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns.
Mar.
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.
She laugh'd, and told the Moor, he should not choose
-- 338 --
But give them to his master for a present.
Tit.
Why, there it goes: God give his lordship joy6 note.
Enter the Clown, with a Basket and Two Pigeons.
News! news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come.
Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters?
Shall I have justice? what says Jupiter?
Clo.
Ho! the gibbet-maker? he says, that he hath
taken them down again, for the man must not be
hanged till the next week.
Tit.
But what says Jupiter, I ask thee?
Clo.
Alas, sir! I know not Jupiter: I never drank
with him in all my life.
Tit.
Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?
Clo.
Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else.
Tit.
Why, didst thou not come from heaven?
Clo.
From heaven? alas, sir! I never came there.
God forbid, I should be so bold to press to heaven in
my young days. Why, I am going with my pigeons to
the tribunal plebs7 note, to take up a matter of brawl betwixt
my uncle and one of the emperial's men.
Mar.
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:
-- 339 --
By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.
Hold, hold:—mean while, here's money for thy charges.
Give me pen 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 the emperor,
Knock at my door, and tell me what he says.
Clo.
God be with you, sir: I will.
Tit.
Come, Marcus, let us go.—Publius, follow me.
[Exeunt.
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
