SCENE VI. An apartment in Titus's houfe. Enter Titus, Marcus, Lavinia, and young Lucius, a boy. Tit. So, fo, now fit; and look you eat no more With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine And when my heart, all mad with misery, Then thus I thump it down. Thou map of woe, that thus doft talk in figns! Mar. Fie, brother, fie, teach her not thus to lay Tit. How now! has forrow made thee doat already? Why, Marcus, no man fhould be mad but I; What violent hands can fhe lay on her life? Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands,— How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable? Brew'd Brew'd with her forrows, mesh'd upon her cheeks: Speechlefs complaint !—O, I will learn thy thought; In thy dumb action will I be as perfect, As begging hermits in their holy prayers. Thou shalt not figh, nor hold thy ftumps to heav'n, And by ftill practice learn to know thy meaning. Tit. Peace, tender fapling; thou art made of tears, And tears will quickly melt thy life away. [Marcus ftrikes the dish with a knife. What doft thou ftrike at, Marcus, with thy knife? Mar. At that that I have kill'd, my Lord, a fly. Tit. Out on thee, murderer; thou kill'ft my heart; Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny: A deed of death done on the innocent Becomes not Titus' brother; get thee gone, I fee thou art not for my company. Mar. Alas, my Lord, I have but kill'd a fly. Tit. But?-how if that fly had a father and mother? 'How would he hang his flender gilded wings, ‘And buzz laments and dolings in the air? 'Poor harmless fly, 'That with his pretty buzzing melody, Came here to make us merry ; 'And thou haft kill'd him.' Mar. Pardon me, Sir; it was a black ill-favour'd fly, Like to the Emprefs' Moor; therefore I kill'd him. Tit. 0, 0, 0, Then pardon me for reprehending thee, For thou haft done a charitable deed. That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. Mar, Mar. Alas, poor man, grief has fo wrought on him, Come, take away; Lavinia, go with me; And thou shalt read, when mine begins to dazzle. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I. Titus's houfe. Enter young Lucius, and Lavinia running after him; and the boy flies from her, with his books under his arm. Enter Titus and Marcus. Boy. Help, grandfire, help; my aunt Lavinia Cant thou not guefs wherefore fhe plies thee thus? And # And, Madam, if my uncle Marcus go, I will most willingly attend your Ladyship. Tit. How now, Lavinia? Marcus, what means this? Why lifts the up her arms in fequence thus ? Var. I think the means that there was more than one Mar. For love of her that's gone, Perhaps the cull'd it from among the reft. Tit. Soft fee how bufly fhe turns the leaves ! : Help her what would fhe find? Lavinia, fhall I read? And treats of Tereus' treafon, and his rape; [leaves. Mar. See, brother, see; note how the quotes the Ay, fuch a place there is where we did hunt, Tit. Give figns, fweet girl, for here are none but That left the camp to fin in Lucrece' bed? Mar. Sit down, fweet niece; brother, fit down by Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, [me. Infpire Infpire me, that I may this treafon find. [He writes his name with his staff, and guides it This fandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst, Curs'd be that heart that forc'd us to this shift! [She takes the staff in her mouth, and guides it Tit. Oh, do you read, my Lord what she hath writ ?` Stuprum, Chiron, Demetrius. Mar. What, what!—the luftful fons of Tamora Performers of this hateful bloody deed? Tit. Magne Regnator poli, Tam lentus audis fcelera ! tam lentus vides! Mar. Oh, calm thee, gentle Lord; although I know There is enough written upon this earth To ftir a mutiny in the mildeft thoughts, And arm the minds of infants to exclaims. My Lord, kneel down with me: Lavinia, kneel; And kneel, fweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope, And fwear with me, (as with the woful peer, And father of that chafte dishonour'd dame, Lord Junius Brutus fware for Lucrece' rape), That we will profecute (by good advice) Mortal revenge upon thefe traiterous Goths; And fee their blood, or die with this reproach. Tit. 'Tis fure enough, if you knew how. But if you hurt these bear-whelps, then beware,. The dam will wake; and if fhe wind you once, She's with the lion deeply ftill in league; And lulls him whilft fhe playeth on her back, And, when he fleeps, will the do what she lift. You're a young huntsman, Marcus, let it alone ; And come, and I will go get a leaf of brafs, And with a gad of steel will write thefe words, And |