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You, cousins, shall go found the ocean,
And cast your nets ; haply, you may find her in the

fea;
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 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 fuffrages
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 ship'd her hence,
And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.

Mar. Oh Publius, is not this a heavy case, To fee 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 fome careful remedy.

Mar. Kinsinen, his sorrows are paft 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 fove in heav'n, 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

M 5.

And pull her out of Acheron by the heels.
Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we,
No big bon’d men, fram'd of the Cyclops size ;
But metal, Marcus, steel to th' very back;
Yet wrung with wrongs, more than our backs can bear.
And fith there is no justice in earth or hell,
We will solicit heav'n, and move the Gods,
To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs :
Come, to this gear; you're a good archer, Marcus.

.[He gives them the arrows..
Ad Joven, that's for you here, ad Apollinem-
Ad Martem, that's for myself;
Here, boy, to Pallas-here, to Mercury-
To Saturn and to Cælus -not to Saturnine-
You were as good to shoot against the wind.
To it, boy; Marcus-loose when I bid :
O’ 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. (They shoot.

Tit. Now, masters, draw; oh, well said, Lucius: Good boy, in Virgo's lap, give it Pallas.

Mar. My lord, I am a mile beyond the moon; Your letter is with Jupiter by this.

Tit. Ha, ha, Publius, Publius, what hast thou done ? See, fee, thou'st 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 chuse But give them to his master for a present.

Tit. Why, there it goes.. God give your lordship

joy!

Enter a Clown with a basket and two pigeons. News, news from heav'n; Marcus, the post is come.

Sirrah,

Sirrah, what tidings ? have you any letters ?
Shall I have justice, what fays Jupiter?

Clown. Who? the gibbet-maker ? he says, that he hath taken them down again, for the man must not be hang'd 'till the next week.

Tit. Tut, what says Jupiter, I ask thee?

Clown. Alas, Sir, I know not Jupiter,
I never drank with him in all

my

life.
Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier ?
Clown. Ay, of my pigeons, Sir, nothing else.
Tit. Why, didst thou not come from heav'n?

Clown. From heav'n? alas, Sir, I never came there. God forbid I should be so bold to press into heav'n in my young days. Why, I am going with my pigeons to the tribunal plebs, to make 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?

Clown. 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.
By me thou Malt have justice at his hands.
Hold, hold-mean while, here's money for thy .

charges.
Give me a pen and ink.
Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a supplication ?

Clown 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. Til be at hand, Sir; see you do it bravely. Clown. I warrant you, Sir, let me alone. M 6

Tit.

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Tit. Sirrah, haft thou a knife.? come, let me fee its
Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration,
For ihou hast made it like an humble suppliant;
And when thou hast given it the Emperor,
Knock at my door, and tell me, what he says.

Clown. God be with you, Sir, I will.
Tit. Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follow me..

[ Exeunt.

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,

Enter Emperor and Empress, and her two sons; the Ene

peror brings the arrows in his hand, that Titus shot. Sat. HY, lords, what wrongs are these? was

ever seen
An Emperor of Rome thus over-borne,
Troubled, confronted thus, and for th' extent
Of equal justice, usd in such contempt?
My lord, you know, as do the mightful Gods,
(However the disturbers of our peace
Buz in the people's ears) there nought hath past,
But even with law against the wilful sons
Of old Andronicus. And what an if
His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits,
Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks,
His fits, his frensy, and his bitterness?
And now he writes to heav'n for his redrefs.
See, here's to Jove, and this to Mercury,
This to. Apollo, this to the God of war:
Sweer scrolls, to fly about the streets of Rome!
What's this but libelling against the Senate,
And blazoning our injuitice ev'ry where?
A goodly humour, is it not, my lords?
As who would say, in Rome no justice were..
But if I live, his feigned ecstasies
Shall be no shelter to these outrages :

But

But he and his shall know, that Justice lives
In Saturninus' health ; whom, if she sleep,
He'll so awake, as she in fury shall
Cut off the proud'ft conspirator that lives.

Tam. My gracious lord, most lovely Saturniae,
Lord of my life, commander of my thought,
Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age,
Th' effe&s of sorrow for his valiant sons,
Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep, and scarr'd his heart;
And rather comfort his distressed plight,
Than prosecute the meanest, or the best,
For these contempts Why, thus it shall become
High-witted Tamora to glofe with all:
But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick,
Thy life-blood out: if Aaron now be wise,
Then is all safe, the anchor's in the port. (Afde.

Enter Clown. How, now, good fellow, would'st thou speak with us ?

Clo. Yea, forsooth, an your Misership be Emperial. Tam. Empress I am, but yonder fits the Emperor. Clown. 'Tis he: God and St. Stephen give you good

Even: I have brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here.

(He reads the letter.
Sta. Go, take him away, and hang him presently.
Clown. How much money must I have ?
Tam. Come, firrah, thou must be hang'd.

Clown. Hang'd! by'r lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair end.

(Exit. Sat. Despightful and intolerable wrongs! Shall I endure this monstrous villany? I know, from whence this same device proceeds : May this be borne ? as if his traiterous sons, That dy'd by law for murder of our brother, Have by my means been butcher'd wrongfully? Go, drag the villain hither by the hair, Nor age nor honour shall shape privilege.

For

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