'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 him 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 suffrages
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 shipp'd her hence,
And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.
Mar. O, Publius, is not this a heavy case,
To see thy noble uncle thus distract?

Pub. Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns, By day and night to attend him carefully;

And feed his humour kindly as we may,

Till time beget some careful remedy.

Mar. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past 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 Jove in heaven, 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 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 the very back;

Yet wrung with wrongs, more than our backs can bear:

And, sith there is no justice in earth nor hell,
We will solicit heaven; and move the gods,
To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs:
Come, to this gear. You are an archer, Marcus.
[He gives them the arrows.
Ad Jovem, that's for you:-Here, ad Apollinem :---
Ad Martem, that's for myself;-

Here, boy, to Pallas-Here, to Mercury:

To Saturn, Caius, 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.

Tit. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot.] O, 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! Publius, Publius, what hast thou done! See, see, thou hast 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 choose
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 heaven! Marcus, the post is come. Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters?

Shall I have justice? what says Jupiter?

Clo. Ho! the gibbet-maker? he says, that he hath taken them down again, for the man must not be hanged till the next week.

Tit. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee?

Clo. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank with him in all my life.

Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?

Clo. Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else. Tit. Why, didst thou not come from heaven? Clo. From heaven? alas, sir, I never came there: God forbid, I should be so bold to press to heaven in my young days. Why, I am going with my pigeons to the tribunal plebs, to take up a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the emperial's

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?

Clo. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life.

Tit. Sirrah, come hither; make no more ado, But give your pigeous to the emperor :

By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.

Hold, hold ;- -mean while, here's money for thy charges.

Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a supplication?
Clo. 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: I'll be at hand, sir; see you do it bravely.

Clo. I warrant you, sir; let me alone.

Tit. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come, let me see it. Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration;

For thou hast made it like an humble suppliant :-
And when thou hast given it to the emperor,
Knock at my door, and tell me what he says.
Clo. God be with you, sir; I will.

Tit. Come, Marcus, let's go :-Publius, follow me,

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. The same. Before the palace.

Enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, CHIRON, DEMETRIUS, Lords, and Others: SATURNINUS with the arrows in his hand, that TITUS shot.

Sat. Why, lords, what wrongs are these? Was ever

seen

An emperor of Rome thus overborne,

Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent
Of legal justice, us'd in such contempt?

My lords, you know, as do the mightful gods,
However these disturbers of our peace

Buz in the people's ears, there nought hath pass'd,
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 frenzy, and his bitterness?
And now he writes to heaven for his redress:
See, here's to Jove, and this to Mercury;
This to Apollo; this to the god of war :
Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome!

What's this, but libelling against the senate,
And blazoning our injustice every where?
A goodly humour, is it not, my lords?

As who should say, in Rome no justice were.
But, if I live, his feigned ecstasies

Shall be no shelter to these outrages:
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'st conspirator that lives.

Tam. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine, Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts, Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age, The effects 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 gloze 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.

Enter Clown.

[Aside.

How now, good fellow? would'st thou speak with us? Clo. Yes, forsooth, an your mistership be emperial.. Tam. Empress I am, but yonder sits the emperor. Clo. "Tis he. God, and saint Stephen, give you good den: I have brought you a letter, and a couple of pigeons here. [Saturninus reads the letter. Sat, Go, take him away, and hang him presently. Clo. How much money must I have?

Tam. Come, sirrah, you must be hang'd.

Clo. Hang'd! By'r lady, then I have brought up a

neck to a fair end.

[Exit, guarded.