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Mar. Lord Baffianus lies em brewed here, All on a heap, like to a faughter'd lamb. In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit.

Quin. If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he?

Mar. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear
A precious ring, that lightens all the hole :
Which, like a taper in some monument,
Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks ;
And shews the ragged entrails of this pit.
So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus,
When he by night lay bath'd in maiden blood.
O brother, help me with thy fainting hand,
(If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath)
Out of this fell devouring receptacle,
As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth.

Quin. Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out,
Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good,
I may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb.
Of this deep pit, poor Bafianus' grave.
I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink.

Mar. And I no ftrength to climb without thy help.

Quin. Thy hand once more; I will not loose again, 'Till thou art here aloft, or I below. Thou canst not come to me, I come to thee. [Fall ir.

Enter the Emperor, and Aaron.
Sat. Along, with me ;--I'll see what hole is here,
And what he is, that now is leap'd into't.
Say, who art thou, that lately didft descend
Into this gaping hollow of the earth?

Mar. Th' unhappy fon of old Andronicus.
Brought hither in a most unlucky hour,
To find thy brother Bafianus dead.

Sat. My brother dead? I know thou doft but jest:
He and his Lady both are at the lodge,
Upon the north fide of this pleasant chase;
'Tis not an hour fince I left him there.

Mar. We know not where you left him all alive. But out, alas ! here have we found him dead.


Enter Tamora zuith Attendants; Andronicus, and Lucius.

Tam. Where is my Lord the King ?
Sat. Here, T'amora; though griev'd with killing grief.
Tom. Where is thy brother Belianus?

Sat. Now to the bottom dolt thou search my wound; Poor Bafianus 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 gives Saturninus a letter.

Saturninus reads the letter,
And if we miss to meet him handfomely,
Sweet huntsman, Baffianus 'tis we mean :
Do thou so much as dig the grave for him,
Thou knowst our meaning : look for thy reward
Among the nettles of the elder tree,
Which over-shades the mouth of that fame pit,
Where we decreed to bury Balianus.
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 hunsman 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 easily murder is discovered ?

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


Sar. If it be prov'd ? you fee, 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 : 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 soul, were there worse end than death,
That end upon them should be executed.

Tam. Andronicus, I will intreat the King; Fear not thy fons, they shall do well enough. Tit. Come, Lucius, come, stay not to talk with them.

[Exeunt severally. Enter Demetrius and Chiron, with Lavinia, ravishda

her bands.cut off, and her tongue cut out. Dem. So, now go tell (an if thy tongue can speak) Who 'twas that cut thy tongue, and ravish'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 the can scrowle.
Chi. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands.

Dem. She has no tongue call, nor hands to wash ; And so let's leave her to her filent walks.

Chi. If 'twere my case, I hould go hang myself.
Demn. If thou hadft hands to help thee knit the cord.

[Exeunt Dem, and Chiron.
Enter Marcus to Lavinia.
Mar. Who's this, my niece, that flies away so faft?
Cousin, a word ; where is


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 stern ungentle hands Have lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare


Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments, (14)
Whose circling fhadows Kings have fought to sleep in?
And might not gain so great a happiness,
As kave thy love ! why dost not speak to me?
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,
Like to a bubling fountain itirr'd with wind,
Doth rise and fall between thy rofy lips,
Coming and going with thy honey breath.
But, fure, fome Tereus hath defloured thee;
And, left thou shou’dft detect him, cut thy tongue.
Ah, now thou turn'ít away thy face for shame!
And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood,
(As from a conduit with their issuing spouts,)
Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face,
Blushing to be encountred with a cloud.
Shall I Tpeak for thee? shall I say, 'tis so?
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,
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.
Fair Philomela, she 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 haft thou met withal,
And he hath cut those pretty fingers off,
That could have better few'd than Philomel.
Oh, had the monster feen those lilly hands
Tremble, like aspen leaves, upon a lute,
And make the filken strings delight to kiss them;

those Sweet ornaments, Whose circling shadows Kings bave sought to feep in, And might not gain so great

an bappines, As half thy love! ] As balf her love ? But might they gain any part of her love? or would the not consent to embrace 'em so much as with one arm? The poet had no fuch stuff in his thoughts. My 'correction restores the true meaning; that tho' Princes languish'd to Neep in her arms, they could not obtain their fuit, or have her love.. The very same corruption has obtain'd in our author's tale of Cepbalus and Procris :

And looks, as do the trees by winter nipt,
Whom frost and cold of fruit and leaves balf Aript.
For grammar hews, that we must likewise read here--have fript.


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 sight will blind a father's eye.
One hour's storm 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.


SCENE, a Street in Rome.

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Enter the Judges and Senators, with Marcus and Quintus

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

Ear me, grave fathers; noble tribunes, stay,

For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent
In dangerous wars, whilīt you securely slept:
For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed,
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,
Whose souls are not corrupted, as 'tis thought,
For two and twenty sons I never wept,
Because they died in honour's lofty bed.

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


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