Quin. Thy hand once more, I will not lofe again, 'Till thou art here aloft, or I below:
Thou can't not come to me, I come to thee.
Enter the Emperor and Aaron.
Sat. Along with me, I'll fee what hole is here,
And what he is that now is leap'd into it.
Say, who art thou that lately didft defcend
Into this gaping Hollow of the Earth?
Mar. The unhappy Son of old Andronicus,
Brought hither in a moft unlucky hour,
To find thy Brother Baffianus dead.
Sat. My Brother dead? I know thou doft but jeft,
He and his Lady both are at the Lodge,
Upon the North-fide of this pleafant Chase, 'Tis not an hour fince I left him there.
Mar. We know not where you left him all alive, But out, alas, here have we found him dead.
Enter Tamora, Andronicus, and Lucius.
Tam. Where is my Lord, the King?
Sat. Here Tamora, though griev'd with killing Grief.
Tam. Where is thy Brother Baffianus ?
Sat. Now to the bottom doft thou fearch my
Poor Baffianus here lyes murthered.
Tam. Then all too late I bring this fatal Writ,
The complot of this timely Tragedy,
And wonder greatlefs that Man's Face can fold
In pleafing smiles fuch murderous Tyranny.
[She giveth Saturninus a Letter.
Saturninus reads the Letter.
And if we miss to meet him handfomly,
Sweet Huntfman, Baffianus, 'tis we mean,
Do thou fo much as dig the Grave for him,
Thou know'ft our meaning, look for thy reward
Among the Nettles at the Elder-tree:
Which over-fhades the mouth of that fame Pit,
Where we decreed to bury Baffianus ;
Do this, and purchase us thy lafting Friends.
Sat. Oh Tamora, was ever heard the like?
This is the Pit, and this the Elder-tree:
Look, Sirs, if you can find the Huntsman out,
. That should have murthered Bafiánus here.
Aar. My gracious Lord, here is the Bag of Gold.
Sat. Two of thy Whelps, fell Curs, of bloody kind
Have here bereft my Brother of his Life:
Sirs, drag them from the Pit unto the Prison,
There let them bide until we have devis'd
Some never heard-of torturing pain for them.
Tam. What are they in this Pit?
Oh wondrous thing!
How eafily Murder is discovered?
Tit. High Emperor, upon my feeble Knee,
I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed,
That this fell fault of my accurfed Sons,
Accurfed, if the faults 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 Sufpicion 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 Soul, were there worfe end than Death,
That end upon them fhould be executed.
Tam. Andronicus, I will intreat the King,
Fear not thy Sons, they fhall do well enough.
Tit. Come, Lucius, come,
Stay not to talk with them.
Enter Demetrius and Chiron, with Lavinia, her Hands cut off, and her Tongue cut out, and ravish'd. Dem. So now go tell, and if thy Tongue can fpeak, Who 'twas that cut thy Tongue and ravish'd thee. Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning for And, if thy Stumps will let thee, play the Scribe. Dem. See how with figns and tokens fhe can fcowl. Chi. Go home,
Call for fweet Water, wash thy hands.
Dem. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash; 'And fo let's leave her to her filent Walks.
Chi. And 'twere my Caufe, I fhould go hang my felf.
Dem. If thou had'ft Hands to help thee knit the Cord.
[Exeun.
Wind Horns. Enter Marcus from Hunting, to Lavinia.
Mar. Who is this, my Niece, that flies away fo faft?
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 I may flumber in eternal Sleep.
Speak, gentle Niece, what ftern ungentle Hands
Hath lop'd and hew'd, and made thy Body bare
Of her two Branches, thofe fweet Ornaments,
Whofe circling Shadows Kings have fought to fleep in,
And might not gain fo great a Happiness,
As half thy Love! Why do'ft not fpeak to me?
Alas, a crimson River of warm Blood,
Like to a bubling Fountain ftirr'd with Wind,
Doth rife and fall between thy rofy Lips,
Coming and going with thy Honey Breath.
But fure fome Tereus hath deflour'd thee,
And left thou fhould'ft detect him, cut thy Tongue,
Ah, now thou turn'ft away thy Face for Shame!
And notwithstanding all this lofs of Blood,
As from a Conduit with their iffuing Spouts,
Yet do thy Cheeks look red as Titan's Face,
Blushing to be encountred with a Cloud, -
Shall I fpeak for thee? Shall I fay, 'tis fo?
Oh that I knew thy Heart, and knew the Beaft,
That I might rail at him to eafe my mind.
Sorrow concealed, like an Oven stopt,
Doth burn the Heart to Cindars where it is.
Fair Philomela, fhe but loft her Tongue,
And in a tedious Sampler fevred her mind.
But lovely Niece, that mean is cut from thee,
A craftier Tereus haft thou met withall,
And he hath cut thofe pretty Fingers off
That could have better fewed than Philomel.
Oh had the Monster feen thofe Lilly Hands
Tremble like Afpen Leaves upon a Lute,
And make the filken Strings delight to kifs them,
He would not then have touch'd them for his Life.
Or had he heard the heavenly Harmony,
Which that sweet Tongue hath made;
He would have dropt 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 hours Storm will drown the fragrant Meads,
What will whole Months of Tears thy Father's Eyes?
Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee:
Oh could our mourning cafe thy Mifery.
Enter the Judges and Senators, with Marcus and Quintus bound, paffing on the Stage to the place of Execution, and Titus going before, pleading.
Ear me, grave Fathers, 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 frofty Nights that I have watcht,
And for these bitter Tears, which now you fee
Filling the aged wrinkles in my Cheeks,
Be pitiful to my condemned Sons,
Whofe Souls are not corrupted, as 'tis thought:
For two and twenty Sons I never wept,
Because they died in Honour's lofty Bed.
[Andronicus lieth down, and the Judges pass by him.
For thefe, thefe, Tribunes, in the Duft I write
My Heart's deep Languor, and my Soul's fad Tears:
Let my Tears ftanch the Earth's dry Appetite,
My Sons fweet Blood will make it fhame and blush:
O Earth! I will befriend thee more with Rain, [Exeunt.
That fhall diftil from thefe two ancient Ruins,
Than youthful April fhall with all her Showers
In Summer's drought: I'll drop upon thee ftill,
In Winter with warm Tears I'll melt the Snow,
And keep eternal Spring-time on thy Face,
So thou refuse to drink my dear Son's Blood.
VOL. IV.
Enter Lucius with his Sword drawn.
Oh Reverend Tribunes! gentle aged Men !.
Unbind my Sons, reverie 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 Tribunes hear you not, no. Man is by,
And you recount your Sorrows to a Stone.
Tit. AhLucius, for thy Brothers let me plead-
Grave Tribunes, once more I intreat of yoù-
Luc. My gracious Lord, no Tribune hears you fpeak.
Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, Man; if they did hear,
They would not mark me: Or if they did hear,
They would not pity me.
Therefore I tell my Sorrows bootless to the Stones,
Who, tho' they cannot answer my Diftrefs,
Yet in fome fort they are 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 Stone is as foft Wax,
Tribunes more hard than Stones :
A Stone is filent, and offendeth not,
And Tribunes with their Tongues doom Men to death.
But wherefore ftand'ft 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 Banifhment.
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 thefe Devourers to be banished?
But who comes with our Brother Marcus here?
Enter Marcus and Lavinia.
Mar. Titus, prepare thy Noble Eyes to weep,
Or if not fo, thy Noble Heart to break:
1 bring confuming Sorrow to thine Age.
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