Mar. My Lord, I am a mile beyond the Moon; Your Letter is with Jupiter by this.
Tit. Ha, ha, Publius, Publius, what haft thou done? See, fee, thou haft shot off one of Taurus's Horns.
Mar. This was the fport, my Lord, when Publius shot, The Bull being gall'd, gave Aries fuch a knock, That down fell both the Rams Horns in the Court, And who fhould find them but the Emprefs Villain: She laugh'd, and told the Moor he fhould not chufe But give them to his Mafter 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 Poft is come.
Sirrah, what Tydings? have you any Letters?
Shall I have Juftice, what fays Jupiter?
Clow. Who? the Gibbet-maker? he fays that he hath taken them down again, for the Man muft not be hang'd till the next Week.
Tit. Tut, what fays Jupiter, I ask thee? Clow. Alas, Sir, I know not Jupiter, I never drank with him in all my Life. Tit. Why Villain, art not thou the Carrier? Clow. Ay, of my Pigeons, Sir, nothing elfe. Tit. Why, didft thou not come from Heav'n? Clow. From Heav'n? Alas, Sir, I never came there. God forbid I should be fo bold to prefs into Heav'n 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 Emperials Men.
Mar. Why, Sir, that is as fit as can be to ferve 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?
Clow. Nay, truly, Sir, I could never fay Grace in all my
Tit. Sirrah, come hither, make no more ado,
But give your Pigeons to the Emperor.
By me thou shalt have Juftice at his Hands."
Hold, hold-mean while here's Mony for thy Charges.
Sirrah, can you with a Grace deliver a Supplication?
Tit. Then here is a Supplication for you: and when you come to him, at the first approach you muft kneel, then kifs his Foot, then deliver up your Pigeons, and then look for your Reward. I'll be at hand, Sir, fee you do it bravely.
Clow. I warrant you, Sir, let me alone.
Tit. Sirrah, haft thou a Knife? Come, let me fee it.
Here, Marcus, fold it in the Oration,
For thou haft made it like an humble Suppliant,
And when thou haft given it the Emperor,
Knock at my Door, and tell me what he says.
Clow. God be with you, Sir, I will.
Tit. Come, Marcus, let us go, Publius follow me.
[Exeunt. Enter Emperor and Empress, and her two Sons; the Emperor ·brings the Arrows in his Hand that Titus fhot.
What Wrongs are these? was ever seen
An Emperor of Rome thus over-born,
Troubled, confronted thus, and for the extent
Of equal Juftice, us'd in fuch Contempt?
My Lords, you know, as do the mightful Gods,
(However the disturbers of our Peace
Buz in the Peoples Ears) there nought hath paft,
But even with Law against the wilful Sons
Of old Andronicus. And what and if
His Sorrows have fo over-whelm'd his Wits,
Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks,
His fits, his frenfie, 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:
Sweet Scrowls to fly about the Streets of Rome.
What's this but Libelling against the Senate,
And blazoning our Injuftice every where?
A goodly humour, is it not, my Lords?
As who would fay, in Rome no Juftice were.
But if I live, his feigned Extafies
Shall be no shelter to thefe Outrages:
But he and his fhall know, that Justice lives
In Saturninus health, whom, if the fleep,
He'll fo awake, as fhe in fury shall
Cut off the proudeft Confpirator 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,
Th' effects of Sorrow for his valiant Sons,
Whose lofs hath pierc'd him deep, and fcarr'd his Heart;
And rather comfort his diftreffed plight,
Than profecute the meaneft or the beft,
For thefe 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 on't: If Aaron now be wife,
Then is all fafe, the Anchor's in the Port.
How now, good Fellow, wouldst thou speak with us?
Clow. Yea forfooth, and your Miftership be Emperial.
Tam. Emprefs I am, but yonder fits the Emperor.
Clow. 'Tis he: God and St. Stephen give you good-e'en,
I have brought you a Letter and a couple Pigeons here.
[He reads the Letter.
Sat. Go, take him away, and hang him presently.
Clow. How much Mony muft I have?
Tam. Come, Sirrah, thou must be hang'd.
Clow. Hang'd! by'r Lady, then I have brought up a Neck to a fair end.
Sat. Defpightful and intolerable Wrongs,
Shall I endure this monstrous Villany?
I know from whence this fame Device proceeds:
May this be born? As if his Traiterous Sons,
That dy'd by Law for Murther of our Brother,
Have by my means been butcher'd wrongfully?
Go, drag the Villain hither by the Hair,
Nor Age nor Honour fhall fhape Privilege.
For this proud mock I'll be thy Slaughter-man;
Sly frantick Wretch, that holp'ft to make me great,
In hope thy felf fhould govern Rome and me.
Enter Nuntius Emilius.
Sat. What News with thee, Æmilius?
Amil. Arm, my Lords, Rome never had more cause;
The Goths have gather'd head, and with a Power
Of high refolved Men, bent to the spoil,
They hither march amain, under the Condu&
Of Lucius, Son to old Andronicus:
Who threats in courfe of his revenge to do
As much as ever Coriolanus did.
Sat. Is warlike Lucius General of the Goths?
Thele Tydings nip me, and I hang the Head
As Flowers with Froft, or Grafs beat down with Storms.
Ay, now begin our Sorrows to approach,
'Tis he the Common People love fo much,
My felf hath often heard them fay,
(When I have walked like a private Man)
That Lucius Banifhment was wrongfully,
And they have wifh'd that Lucius were their Emperor.
Tam. Why should you fear? Is not our City ftrong?
Sat. Ay, but the Citizens favour Lucius,
And will revolt from me, to fuccour him.
Tam. King, be thy Thoughts imperious like thy Name.
Is the Sun dim'd, that Gnats do fly in it?
The Eagle fuffers little Birds to fing,
And is not careful what they mean thereby,
Knowing that with the Shadow of his Wings,
He can at pleasure ftint their melody;
Even fo may ft thou the giddy Men of Rome.
Then cheer thy Spirit, for know, thou Emperor,
I will enchant the old Andronicus,
With Words more fweet, and yet more dangerous
Than baits to Fish, or Honey-ftalks to Sheep,
When as the one is wounded with the bait,
The other rotted with delicious Food.
Sat. But he will not intreat his Son for us.
Tam. If Tamora intreat him, then he will,
For I can smooth, and fill his aged Ear
With golden Promifes, that were his Heart
Almoft impregnable, his old Ears deaf,
Yet fhould both Ear and Heart obey my Tongue.
Go thou before as our Ambaffador,
Say, that the Emperor requefts a Parley
Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting.
Sat. Æmilius, do this Meffage honourably,
And if he stand on Hoftage for his fafety,
Bid him demand what Pledge will please him beft.
Amil. Your bidding fhall I do effectually.
Tam. Now will I to that old Andronicus,
And temper him with all the Art I have,
To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths.
And now, fweet Emperor, be blith again,
And bury all thy Fear in my Devices.
Sat. Then go fuccefsfully and plead for me.
SCENE A Camp.
Enter Lucius with Goths, with Drum and Soldiers.
Luc. A Pproved Warriors, and my faithful Friends,
I have received Letters from great Rome,
Which fignifie what hate they bear their Emperor,
And how defirous of our fight they are,
Therefore, great Lords, be as your Titles witnefs,
Imperious and impatient of your Wrongs,
And wherein Rome hath done you any fcathe,
Let him make treble Satisfaction.
Goth. Brave Slip, fprung from the great Andronicus,
Whofe Name was once our Terror, now our Comfort,
Whofe high Exploits, and Honourable Deeds,
Ingrateful Rome requites with foul Contempt,
Be bold in us, we'll follow where thou lead'ft:
Like ftinging Bees in hotteft Summer's Day,
Led by their Mafter to the flower'd Fields,
And be aveng'd on curfed Tamora.
Omn. And as he faith, fo fay we all with him.
Luc. I humbly thank him, and I thank you all.
But who comes here led by a lufty Goth?
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