תמונות בעמוד

Tam. Where is thy brother Basianus ?

Sat. Now to the bottom dostihou scarch my wound; Poor Baffianus here lies murdered.

Tam. Then all too late I bring this fatal Writ,
The complot of this timeless tragedy ;
And wonder greatly, that man's face can fold
In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny.

She giveth Saturninus a letter.

Saturninus reads the leiter.
And if we miss to nieet him handsomely,
Sweet huntsman, Bassianus 'tis we mean;
Do thou so much as dig the grave for him,
Thou know/t our meaning: look for thy reward
Among the nettles at the elder-tree,
Which over Shades the mouth of that same pit,
Where we decrued to bury Ballianus.
Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.

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 murder'd Basianus here.

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

How easily murder is discovered ?

T'it. 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 fault 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 murder'd body, some the murderers.
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 entreat the King; Fear not thy fons, they shall do well enough. Tit. Come, Lucius, come, stay not to talk with them.

[Exeunt severally.

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Enter Demetrius and Chiron, with Lavinia, ravish'd

her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out. Dem. O, now go tell (an if thy tongue can speak)

Who 'twas that cut thy tongue, and ra

vish'd thee. Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning fo; And (if thy stumps will let thee) play the scribe.

Dem. See how with signs and tokens she can scroll.
Chi. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands.

Dem. She has no tongue to call, or hands to wash ; And so let's leave her to her silent walks.

Chi. If 'twere my case, I should go hang myself. Dem. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord.

Exeunt Dem. and Chiron.



Enter Marcus to Lavinia
WH Ofishtais

, my Niece, that flies away so Cousin, a word: where is your husband ?


If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me!
If I do wake, some planet ftrike me down,
That I may slumber in eternal sleep!
Speak, gentle Niece, what ftern ungentle hands
Have lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare
Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments,
Whose circling shadows Kings have fought to sleep in?
And might not gain so great a happiness,
As have thy love! why doft not speak to me?
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,
Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind,
Doth rise and fall between thy rofy lips,
Coming and going with thy honey breath.
But, sure, some Tereus hath defloured thee ;
And, left thou should'st-detect him, cut thy tongue.
Ah, now thou turn' t away thy face for shame!
And, notwithstanding all ihis loss of blood,
(As from a conduit with their ifsuing spouts,)
Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face,
Blushing to be encounted with a cloud.
Shall I speak for thee? fhall I say, tis fo ?
O, 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,
Doch burn the heart to cinders where it is.
Fair Philomela, fhe but lost her tongue,
And in a tedious fampler few'd her mind.
But, lovely Niece, that Mean is cut from thee;
A craftier Tereus hast thou met withal,
And he hath cut those pretty fingers off,
That could have better sew'd than Philomel.
Oh, had the monster seen those lilly hands
Tremble, like aspen leaves, upon a lute,
And make the filken strings delight to kiss them;
He would not then have touch'd them for his life.
Or had he heard the heav'nly 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 fight will blind a father's eye.
One hour's itorm 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,



A Street in Rome. Enter the Judges and Senators, with Marcus and Quintus

bound, passing on the stage to the place of execution, and Titus going before, pleading.


EAR me, great fathers noble Tribunes stay,

For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent In dangerous wars, whilft you securely slept : For all my blood in Rone's great quarrel shed, For all the frosty nights that I have watcht, And for these bitter tears, which you now see Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks, Be pitiful to my condemned sons, Whose fouls are not corrupted, as 'tis thought. For two and twenty fons I never wept, Because they died in Honour's losty bed.

[Andronicus lieth down, and the Judges pass by him. For these, these, Tribunes, in the dust I write My heart's deep langour, and my soul's sad tears : Let my tears ftanch the earth's dry appetite, My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush: O earth! I will befriend thee more with rain,

Exeunt. That shall diftil from these two ancient urns, L 6


Than youthful April shall with all his showers;
In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee ftill;
In winter, with warm tears I'll melt the snow ;
And keep eternal spring-time on thy face,
So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood.

Enter Lucius with his sword drawn.
Oh, reverend Tribunes! gentle aged men !
Unbind my sens, reverse the doom of death :
And let me say, (that never wept before)
My tears are now prevailing orators.

Luc. Oh, noble father, you lament in vain;
The Tribunes hear you not, no man is by;
And you recount your sorrows to a stone.

Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead;Grave Tribunes, once niore I intreat of you

Luc. My gracious lord, no Tribune hears you speak.

Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, man; if they did hear, They would not mark me; or if they did mark, They would not pity me. Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones, Who, tho' they cannot answer my distress, Yet in some sort they're better than the Tribunes, For that they will not intercept my When I do weep, they humbly at my feet Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me; And were i hey but attired in grave weeds, Rome could afford no Tribune like to these. A stone is soft as wax, Tribunes inore hard than stones: A stone is filent, and offendeth noi, And Tribunes with their tongues doom men to death. But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn?

Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their death; For which attempt, the judges have pronounc'd My everlasting doom of banishment.

Tit. O happy man, they have befriended thee: Why, foolith Lucius, dost thou not perceive, That Rone is but a wilderness of Tygers ;


tale ;

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