Page images
PDF
EPUB

You, cousins, fhall go found the ocean,

And caft your nets; haply, you may find her in the.

fea;

Yet there's as little juftice as at land

No, Publius and Sempronius; you must do it,
'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 this petition,
Tell him it is for justice, and for aid;
And that it comes from old Andronicus,
Shaken with forrows in ungrateful Rome.
Ah, Rome!Well, well, I made thee miserable,
What time I threw the people's fuffrages
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 fhip'd her hence,
And, kinfmen, then we may go pipe for justice.
Mar. Oh Publius, is not this a heavy cafe,
To fee thy noble uncle thus diftract?

Pub. Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns,
By day and night t'attend him carefully:
And feed his humour kindly as we may,
'Till time beget fome careful remedy.

Mar. Kinfimen, his forrows are paft 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 mafters,
What, have you met with her?

Pub. No, my good lord, but Pluto fends you word, If you will have revenge from hell, you shall : Marry, for juftice, she is so employ'd,

He thinks, with Jove in heav'n, or fomewhere else; So that perforce you must needs ftay a time.

Tit. He doth me wrong to feed me with delays. I'll dive into the burning lake below,

M 5.

And

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' fize;
But metal, Marcus, fteel to th' very back;

Yet wrung with wrongs, more than our backs can bear.
And fith there is no juftice in earth or hell,
We will folicit heav'n, and move the Gods,
To fend down juftice for to wreak our wrongs:
Come, to this gear; you're a good 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 and to Calus- -not to Saturnine-
You were as good to shoot against the wind.
To it, boy; Marcus-loofe when I bid:
O' my word, I have written to effect.
There's not a God left unsolicited,

Mar. Kinfmen, shoot all your shafts into the Court. We will afflict the Emperor in his pride. [They Shoot. Tit. Now, mafters, draw; oh, well faid, 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, ha, Publius, Publius, what haft thou done? See, fee, thou'ft shot off one of Taurus' horns.

Mar. This was the sport, my lord; when Publius

fhot,

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 Emprefs' villain:
She laugh'd, and told the Moor, he fhould not chufe
But give them to his mafter for a prefent.

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,

Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters?
Shall I have juftice, what fays Jupiter?

Clown. Who? the gibbet-maker? he fays, that he hath taken them down again, for the man must not be hang'd 'till the next week.

Tit. Tut, what fays Jupiter, I ask thee? Clown. Alas, Sir, I know not Jupiter, I never drank with him in all my life. Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier? Clown. Ay, of my pigeons, Sir, nothing else. Tit. Why, didft thou not come from heav'n? Clown. 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 make up a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the Emperial's

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?

Clown. Nay, truly, Sir, I could never fay grace in all my life.

Tit. Sirrah, come hither, make no more ado,

But give your pigeons to the Emperor.

By me thou fhalt have justice at his hands.

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

Give me a pen and ink.

Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a fupplication? Clown. Ay, Sir.

Tit. Then, here is a fupplication for you: and when you come to him, at the firft approach you must 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.

Clown. I warrant you, Sir, let me alone.
M 64

Tit.

Tit. Sirrah, haft thou a knife? come, let me fee its Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration,

For thou haft made it like an humble fuppliant;
And when thou haft given it the Emperor,
Knock at my door, and tell me, what he says.
Clown. God be with you, Sir, I will.

Tit. Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follow me..

[blocks in formation]

[Exeunt.

Enter Emperor and Emprefs, and her two fons; the Enperor brings the arrows in his hand, that Titus fhot.

Sat.

WHY, lords, what wrongs are these? was

ever seen

An Emperor of Rome thus over-borne,

Troubled, confronted thus, and for th' extent
Of equal juftice, us'd in such contempt?
My lord, you know, as do the mightful Gods,
(However the difturbers of our peace

Buz in the people's ears) there nought hath past,
But even with law against the wilful fons
Of old Andronicus. And what an if
His forrows have so overwhelm'd his wits,
Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks,
His fits, his frenfy, 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 fcrolls, to fly about the streets of Rome!
What's this but libelling against the Senate,
And blazoning our injustice ev'ry where?
A goodly humour, is it not, my lords?
As who would fay, in Rome no justice were..
But if I live, his feigned ecftafies

Shall be no fhelter to thefe outrages:

But

But he and his fhall know, that Juftice lives.
In Saturninus' health; whom, if she sleep,
He'll fo awake, as fhe in fury fhall
Cut off the proud'ft conspirator that lives.
Tam. My gracious lord, most lovely Saturnine,
Lord of my life, commander of my thought,
Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age,
Th' effects of forrow for his valiant fons,
Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep, and fcarr'd his heart;
And rather comfort his diftreffed plight,
Than profecute the meaneft, or the beft,
For these contempts-Why, thus it fhall become
High-witted Tamora to glofe with all:
But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick,
Thy life-blood out: if Aaron now be wife,
Then is all fafe, the anchor's in the port.

Enter Clown.

[Afide.

How, now, good fellow, would'ft thou speak with us? Clo. Yea, forfooth, an your Mistership be Emperial. Tam. Emprefs I am, but yonder fits the Emperor. Clown. 'Tis he: God and St. Stephen give you good

Even:

here.

I have brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons [He reads the letter. Sta. Go, take him away, and hang him prefently. Clown. How much money must I have?

Tam. Come, firrah, thou must be hang'd.

Clown. 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 monftrous villany?

[Exit.

I know, from whence this fame device proceeds:
May this be borne? as if his traiterous fons,
That dy'd by law for murder of our brother,
Have by my means been butcher'd wrongfully?
Go, drag the villain hither by the hair,
Nor age nor honour shall shape privilege.

For

« PreviousContinue »