Tam. Where is thy brother Baffianus?

Sat. Now to the bottom doft thou search 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 pleafing fmiles fuch murderous tyranny.

[She giveth Saturninus a letter.

Saturninus reads the letter.

And if we mifs to meet him handsomely,
Sweet huntfman, Baffianus 'tis we mean;
Do thou fo much as dig the grave for him,
Thou know'ft our meaning: look for thy reward
Among the nettles at the elder-tree,

Which over fhades the mouth of that fame pit,
Where we decreed to bury Baffianus.
Do this, and purchafe us thy lafting 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 fhould have murder'd Baffianus 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
thing!

How eafily murder is difcovered?

Tit. High Emperor, upon my feeble knee
I beg this boon, with tears not lightly fhed,
That this fell fault of my accursed sons,
(Accurfed, if the fault be prov'd in them)

Sat. If it be prov'd! you fee, it is apparent.
Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you?

Тавь.

Tam. Andronicus himfelf 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 fhall be ready at your Highness' will,
To answer their fufpicion with their lives.

Sat. Thou shalt not bail them: fee, thou follow me: Some bring the murder'd body, fome the murderers. Let them not speak a word, the guilt is plain'; For by my foul, were there worse end than death, That end upon them fhould be executed.

Tam. Andronicus, I will entreat the King;

Fear not thy fons, they fhall do well enough. Tit. Come, Lucius, come, ftay not to talk with [Exeunt feverally.

them.

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-

vifh'd thee.

Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so;
And (if thy ftumps will let thee) play the fcribe.
Dem. See how with figns and tokens fhe can fcroll.
Chi. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands.
Dem. She has no tongue to call, or hands to wash;
And fo let's leave her to her filent walks.

Chi. If 'twere my cafe, I fhould go hang myself.
Dem. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the
cord.
[Exeunt Dem. and Chiron.

Mar.

WHO's this, my Niece, that flies away so

Coufin, a word: where is your husband?

If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me! If I do wake, fome planet ftrike me down,

That I may lumber in eternal fleep!

Speak, gentle Niece, what ftern ungentle hands
Have lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare
Of her two branches, thofe fweet ornaments,
Whofe circling fhadows Kings have fought to fleep in?
And might not gain fo 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 firr'd with wind,
Doth rife and fall between thy rofy lips,
Coming and going with thy honey breath.
But, fure, fome Tereus hath defloured thee;
And, left thou fhould'ft detect him, cut thy tongue.
Ah, now thou turn'ft away thy face for shame!
And, notwithstanding all this lofs of blood,
(As from a conduit with their iffuing fpouts.)
Yet do thy checks look red as Titan's face,
Blushing to be encountred with a cloud.
Shall I fpeak for thee? fhall I fay, tis fo?
O, that I knew thy heart, and knew the beast,
That I might rail at him to eafe my mind!
Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopt,

Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.
Fair Philomela, fhe but loft her tongue,
And in a tedious fampler few'd her mind.
But, lovely Niece, that Mean is cut from thee;
A craftier Tereus haft thou met withal,
And he hath cut thofe pretty fingers off,
That could have better few'd than Philomel.
Oh, had the monfter feen thofe lilly hands
Tremble, like afpen leaves, upon a lute,

And make the filken ftrings 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 fweet tongue hath made;

He

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 fuch a fight will blind a father's eye.
One hour's ftorm 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 mifery!

ACT III.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.

A Street in ROME.

Enter the Judges and Senators, with Marcus and Quintus bound, paffing on the stage to the place of execution, and Titus going before, pleading.

H

TITUS.

EAR me, great fathers noble Tribunes stay,
For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent
In dangerous wars, whilft you fecurely flept:
For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel fhed,
For all the frosty nights that I have watcht,
And for these bitter tears, which you now fee
Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks,
Be pitiful to my condemned fons,

Whofe fouls are not corrupted, as 'tis thought.
For two and twenty fons I never wept,
Because they died in Honour's lofty bed.

[Andronicus lieth down, and the Judges pafs by him.
For thefe, these, Tribunes, in the duft I write
My heart's deep langour, and my foul's fad tears:
Let my tears flanch the earth's dry appetite,
My fons' fweet blood will make it shame and blush :
O'earth! I will befriend thee more with rain,

That shall diftil from these two ancient urns,

L 6

[Exeunt.

Than

Than youthful April fhall with all his showers;
In fummer's drought I'll drop upon thee ftill;
In winter, with warm tears I'll melt the fnow;
And keep eternal fpring-time on thy face,
So thou refufe to drink my dear fons' blood.

Enter Lucius with his fword drawn.

Oh, reverend Tribunes! gentle aged men!
Unbind my fons, reverse the doom of death:
And let me fay, (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 forrows to a stone.

Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead ;Grave Tribunes, once more 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 forrows to the ftones,
Who, tho' they cannot anfwer my diftrefs,
Yet in fome fort they're better than the Tribunes,
For that they will not intercept my tale;
When I do weep, they humbly at my feet
Receive my tears, and feem to weep with me;
And were they but attired in grave weeds,
Rome could afford no Tribune like to these.

A ftone is foft as wax, Tribunes more hard than ftones:
A ftone is filent, and offendeth not,

And Tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.
But wherefore ftand'st thou with thy weapon drawn?
Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their death';
For which attempt, the judges have pronounc'd
My everlafting doom of banifhment."

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

Tygers