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Tit. High Emperor, upon my feeble knee
I beg this boon, with tears not lightly fhed,
That this fell fault of my accursed fons,
(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?
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 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 murther'd body, fome the murtherers. Let them not speak a word, the guilt is plain: For, by my foul, were there worfe end than death, That end upon them fhould be executed.

Tam. Andronicus, I will intreat the King;

Fear not thy fons, they fhall do well enough.

Tit. Come, Lucius, come, ftay not to talk with them. [Exeunt feverally.

SCENE IX.

Enter Demetrius and Chiron, with Lavinia, ravis'd; her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out.

Dem. So, now go tell (and 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 ftumps will let thee) play the fcribe. Dem. See how with figns and tokens fhe can ferowl. Chi. Go home, call for fweet 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 hadft hands to help thee knit the cord. [Exeunt Dem. and Chiron.

SCENE X.

Enter Marcus to Lavina.

Mar. Who's this, my niece, that flies away so fast? 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

That I may lumber 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,

Whofe circling fhadows Kings have fought to fleep in! And might not gain fo great a happiness,

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As have thy love! why doft not speak to me?

Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,

'Like to a babbling fountain stirr'd with wind,
• Doth rife and fall between thy rofy lips,
'Coming and going with thy honey-breath.
But, fure, some Tereus hath deflowered thee :
And, left thou should'ft detect him, cut thy tongue.
Ah, now thou turn'ft away thy face for fhame!
And, notwithstanding all this lofs of blood,
(As from a conduit with three iffuing spouts),
Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face,
Blufhing to be encountred with a cloud.-
Shall I fpeak for thee? fhall I say, '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 flopt,

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 those lily hands

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Tremble, like afpen leaves, upon a lute,

'And make the filken ftrings delight to kifs 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 dropp'd 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

Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee:
Oh, could our mourning eafe thy mifery!

ACT III.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.

A freet in Rome.

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

Tit. HEAR me, great father; noble Tribunes, stay,

For pity of mine age, whofe 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 watch'd,
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 these, thefe, Tribunes, in the duft I write
My heart's deep languor, and my foul's fad tears:
Let my tears itanch the earth's dry appetite,
My fons' fweet blood will make it shame and blush :
O earth! I will befriend thee more with rain, [Exeunt.
That shall diftil from thefe two ancient urns,
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 fon, reverfe 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

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 Fears you fpeak.
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 answer my distress,
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 refcue 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, foolish Lucius, doft thou not perceive,
That Rome is but a wilderness of tygers?
Tygers muft prey, and Rome affords no prey
But me and mine; how happy art thou then,
From these devourers to be banished ?
But who comes with our brother Marcus here?

SCENE II.

Enter Marcus and Lavinia

Mar. Titus, prepare thy noble eyes to weep, Or, if not fo, thy noble heart to break :

I bring confuming forrow to thine age.

Tit. Will it confume me? let me fee it then.
Mar. This was thy daughter.

Tit. Why, Marcus, fo fhe is.

Luc. Ah me! this object kills me.

Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arise and look

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Speak, my Lavinia; what accurfed hand
Hath made thee handless, in thy father's spight?
What fool hath added water to the fea?

Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy?
My grief was at the height before thou cam'ft,
And now, like Nilus, it difdaineth bounds.
Give me a fword, I'll chop off my hands too,
For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain :
And they have nurs'd this woe, in feeding life :
In bootlefs prayer have they been held up,
And they have ferv'd me to effectless use.
Now all the fervice I require of them,
Is, that the one will help to cut the other.
'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands,
For hands to do Rome fervice are but vain.

Luc. Speak, gentle fifter, who hath martyr'd thee? Mar. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts, That blabb'd them with fuch pleafing eloquence, Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage, Where, like a fweet melodious bird, it fung Sweet various notes, inchanting every ear!

Luc. O, fay thou for her, who hath done this deed? Mar. O, thus I found her ftraying in the park, Seeking to hide herself; as doth the deer, That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound.

Tit. It was my deer; and he that wounded her, Hath hurt me more than had he kill'd me dead. For now I ftand, as one upon a rock,

Inviron'd with a wildernefs of fea,

< Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave Expecting ever when fome envious furge

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Will in his brinifh bowels fwallow him.

This way to death my wretched fons are gone;
Here ftands my other fon, a banish'd man;
And here my brother, weeping at my woes.
But that which gives my foul the greateft fpurn,
Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my foul-
"Had I but feen thy picture in this plight,
"It would have madded me. What fhall I do,
Now I behold thy lovely body fo?

Thou haft no hands to wipe away thy tears,
Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee;

Thy

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