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Tit. How now! has sorrow made thee doat al,
ready? Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I. What violent hands can she lay on her life? Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands; To bid Æneas tell the tale twice o'er, How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable ? O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands;
330 Lest we remember still, that we have none.-Fye, fye, how frantickly I square my talk ! As if we should forget we had no hands, If Marcus did not name the word of hands! Come, let's fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this :Here is no drink! Hark, Marcus, what she says; I can interpret all her martyr'd signs ;She says, she drinks no other drink but tears, Brew'd with her sorrows, mesh'd upon her cheeks: Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought; 340 In thy dumb action will I be as perfect, As begging hermits in their holy prayers : Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven, Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign, But I, of these, will wrest an alphabet, And, by still practice, learn to know the meaning. Boy. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep la
mients; Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale.
Mar. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov’d, Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness. 350 Tit. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears, F
And tears will quickly melt thy life away.
[Marcus strikes the Dish with a knife. What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife?
Mar. At that that I have kill'd, my lord ; a fly.
Tit. Out on thee, murderer! thou kill'st my heart;
Mar. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. 360
Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and mother?
Tit. O, O, O,
Mar. Alas, poor man! grief bas so wrought on
Tit. Come, take away.-Lavinia, go with me :
ACV IV. SCENE I.
Titus's House. Enter young LUCIUS, and LAVINIA
running after him; and the Boy flies from her, with his Books under his Arm. Enter Titus and MARCUS.
Tit. Fear her not, Lucius :-Somewhat doth she
See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee:
Boy. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess,
Mar. Lucius, I will.
Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus ?
Mar. I think, she means, that there was more than
Confederate in the fact ;-Ay, more there was:-
Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so?
Boy. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphosis; My mother gave it me.
Mar. For love of her that's gone, Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest.
Tit. Soft! soft, how busily she turns the leaves ! Help her: What would she find ? Lavinia, shall I
read? This is the tragic tale of Philomel, And treats of Tereus' treason, and his rape; And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy. 50 Mar. See, brother see ; note, how she quotes the
leaves. Tit. Lavinia, were't thou thus surpriz'd sweet girl, Ravish'd, and wrong'd, as Philomela was, Forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods ? See, see!Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt, (0, had we never, never, hunted there !) Pattern’d by that the poet here describes, By nature made for murders, and for rapes.
Mar. 0, why should nature build so foul a den, 60 Unless the gods delight in tragedies ! Tit. Give signs, sweet girl,-for here are none but friends, Fiij