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Manet Lucius. Luc. Farewel, Andronicus, my noble father, The woeful'st man that ever liv'd in Rome; Farewel, proud Rome ; 'till Lucius come again, He leaves his pledges dearer than his life; Farewel, Lavinia, my noble fifter, O, would thou wert as thou tofore haft been? But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives, But in oblivion and hateful griefs; If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs, And make proud Saturninus and his Empress Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his Queen. Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power, To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine. [Exit Lucius.
SCENE, an Apartment in Titus's House.
A Banquet. Enter Titus, Marcus, Lavinia, and young Lucius,' a Boy.
Than will preserve just so much strength in us, As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. Marcus, unknit that forrow-wreathen knot ; Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands, And cannot passionate our ten-fold grief With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine Is left to tyrannize upon my breast; And when my heart, all mad with misery, Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, 'Then thus I thump it down.Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs ! When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating, 'Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still ; Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans ; Or get some little knife between thy teeth, And just against thy heart make thou a hole, That all the tears, that thy poor eyes let fall, May run into that sink, and soaking in,
Drown the lamenting fool in sea-falt tears.
- Mar. Fie, brother, fie, teach her not thus to lay Such violent hands upon her tender life.
Tit. How now! has sorrow made thee doat already? Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I; What violent hands can fhe lay on her life? Ah, wherefore doft thou urge the name of hands, To bid Æneas tell the tale twice o'er, How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable ? O, handle not the theam; no talk of hands, Left we remember still, that we have none. Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk, As if we should forget we had no hands, If Marcus did not name the word of hands? Come, let's fall to, and, gentle girl, eat this. Here is no drink: hark, Marcus, what she says, I can interpret all her martyr'd signs; She says, the drinks no other drink but tears, Brew'd with her sorrows, melh'd upon her cheeks. Speechless complaint!-0, I will learn thy thought, In thy dumb action will I be as perfect, As begging hermits in their holy prayers. Thou halt not figh, nor hold thy stumps to heav'n, Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign, But 1, of these will wrest an alphabet, And by ftill practice learn to know thy meaning.
Boy. Good grandfire, leave these bitter deep laments; Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale.
Mar. "Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov’d, Doth weep to see his grandfire's heaviness.
Tit. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears, And tears will quickly melt thy life away.
[Marcus ftrikes the dish with a knife.
eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny:
Mar. Alas, my Lord, I have but kill'd a fly:
Tit. Butt-how if that fly had a father and mother
Mar. Pardon me, Sir, it was a black ill-favour'd fly,
Tit. 0, 0, 0,
Mar. Alas, poor man, grief has so wrought on him,
(19) And buz lamenting doings in tbe air.) Lamenting doings is a very idle expression, and conveys no idea. The alteration, which I have made, tho' it is but the addition of a single letter, is a great increase to the sense : and tho', indeed, there is somewhat of a taua tology in the epithet and fubftantive annext to it, yet that's no new thing with our author. I remember one of the very same kind in his Locrine.
And gnalh your teeth with dolorous laments,
A C T IV.
SCENE, Titus's House,
the boy flies from her, with his books under bis arn,
Follows me every where, I know not why,
Mar. Stand by me, Lucius, do not fear thy aunt.
Tit. Fear thou not, Lucius, somewhat doth the mean:
Boy. My Lord, I know not I, nor can I guess,
uncle Marcus go,
Mar. Lucius, I will.
Tit. How now, Lavinia ? Marcus, what means this? Some book there is, that the desires to see. Which is it, girl, of these ? open them, boy. But thou art deeper read, and better skilld: Come and make choice of all my library, And so beguile thy forrow, 'till the heav'ns Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed : Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus ?
Mar. I think, the means, that there was more than one Confederate in the fact. Ay, more there was: Or else to heav'n fhe heaves them, for
Boy. Grandfire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses;
gone, , Perhaps, the cull'd it from among the rest.
Tit. Soft! see, how busily she turns the leaves ! Help her: what would he find? Lavinia, fhall I read? This is the tragick tale of Philomel, And treats of Tereus' treason and his rape; And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy.
Mar. See, brother, see; note, how she quotes the leaves.
Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpriz'd, sweet girl,
Mar. O, why should nature build fo foul a den,
Tit. Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none but friends, What Roman Lord it was durst do the deed ; Or flunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, Thar left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed?
Mar. Sit down, sweet niece; brother, sit down by me. Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, Inspire me, that I may this treason find.