Upon the north-fide of this pleafant chafe ;
'Tis not an hour fince I left him there.

Mar. We know not where you left him ail alive,
But out, alas! here have we found him dead.

Enter Tamora with Attendants ; Andronicus, and
Lucius.

Yarn. Where is my lord, the King ?

T 2 Sat.



TITUS ANDRONICUS.

Sat. Here, famora-, though griev'd with killing

grief.

yam. Where is thy brother BaJJianus ?
Sat. Now to the bottom doft thou fearch my

wound ;
Poor Ba/ianus here lies murthered.

fam. Then all too late I bring this fatal Writ,
The complot of this timelefs tragedy ;
And wonder greatly, that man's face can fold
In pleafing fmiles fuch murderous tyranny.

[She givetb Saturninus a letter.

Saturninus reads the letter.

And if we mifs to meet him handfomly,

Sweet huntfman t Baflianus 'tis we mean ;

Do thou fo much as dig the grave for him,

Ihou know*ft our meaning: look for thy reward

Among the nettles at the elder-tree^

Which over-fades the mouth of that fame pit,

Where we decreed to bury Baflianus.

Do this, and pur chafe us thy lajling friends.

Oh, Camera! was ever heard the like?
This is the pit, and this the elder-tree:
Look, Sirs, if you can find the hunt/man out,
That mould have murther'd BaJJianus 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. [_To Tifus.
Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prifon,
There Jet them bide, until we have devis'd
Some nevcr-heard-of torturing pain for them.

Tarn. What, are they in this pit? oh wondrous

thing!
How eaiily murder is difcovered?

Tit. High Emperor, upon my feeble knee
1 beg this boon, with tears not lightly med,

That



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 277

That this fell fault of my accurfed fons,,

( Accurfed, if the fault be prov'd in them )

Sat. If it be prov'd! you fee, it is apparent.
Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you?

Tarn. Andromcus himfelf 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 mall be ready at your Highnefs* will,
To anfwer their fufpicion with their lives.

Sat. Thou (halt not bail them : fee, thou follow me:
Some bring the murder'd body, fome the murtherers.
Let them not fpeak a word, the guilt is plain ;
For by my foul, were there worfe end than death,
That end upon them mould be executed.

'Tarn. AndronicuSy I will entreat the King ;
Fear not thy fons, they mall do well enough.

Tit. Come, Lucius^ come, (lay not to talk with
them , [ Exeunt federally.

SCENE IX.

Enter Demetrius and Chiron, with Lavinia, rawjh*d\
her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out.

Dem. So, now go tell (an if thy tongue can fpeak)
Who 'twas that cut thy tongue, and ravifh'd thee.

Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning fo ;
And. (if thy flumps will let thee) play the fcribe.

Dem. See how with figns and tokens me can fcrowle*

Chi. Go home, call for fweet water, warn thy hands.

Dem. She has no tongue to call, or hands to wafh *
And fo Jet's leave her to her filent walks.

Chi. If 'twere my cafe, I mould go hang myfelf.

Dem. If thou hadft hands to help thee knit the cord.
[Exeunt Dem. and Chiron*



T 3 - SCENE



278 TITUS ANDRONICUS.

SCENE X.

Enter Marcus to Lavinia.
Mar. Who's this, my Niece, that flies away fo

faft?

Coufin, a word ; where is your husband ?
If 1 do dream, would all my wealth would wake me!
If I do wake, fome planet ftrike me down,
That 1 may (lumber in eternal fleep !
Speak, gentle Niece, what ftern ungentle hands
Have lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare
Of her two branches, thofe fweet ornaments,
Whofe circling fhadows Kings have fought to fleep in ?
And might not gain fo great a happinefs,
As have thy love ! why doft not fpeak to me ?

* Alas, a crimfon river of warm blood,

* Like to a bubbling fountain ftirr'd with wind,
4 Doth rife and fall between thy rofie lips,

' Coming and going with thy honey breath.
Bur, fure, fome Tereus hath defloured thee i
And, left thou fhould'ft detecl: him, cut thy tongue.
Ah, now thou turn'ft away thy face for fhame !
And, notwithstanding all this lofs of blood,
(As from a conduit with their iffuing fpouts,)
Yet do thy cheeks look red as tftan's face,

Blulhing to be encountred with a cloud.

Shall I fpeak for thee? (hall I fay, 'tis fo ?
O, that I knew thy heart, and knew the beaft,
That I might rail at him to eafe my mind !
Sorrow concealed, like an oven ftopt,
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.
Fair Philomela^ Hie but loft her tongue,
And in a tedious fampler few'd her mind.
But, lovely Niece, that Mean is cut from thee *
A craftier Tereus haft thou met withal,
And he hath cut thofe pretty fingers off,

That



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 279

That could have better few'd than Philomel.

Oh, had the monfter feen thofe lilly hands

Tremble, like afpen leaves, upon a lute,

And make the filken firings delight to kifs them ;

He would not then have touch'd them for his life.

Or had he heard the heav'nly harmony,

Which that fweet tongue hath made ;

He would have dropt his knife, and fell afleep,

As Cerberus at the fhradan Poet's feet.
Come, let us go, and make thy father blind ;
For fuch a fight will blind a father's eye.
One hour's ftorm 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 eafe thy mifery ! [Exeunt.



ACT III. SCENE I.

A Street In ROME.

Enter the Judges and Senator s> with Marcus and
Quintus bound, faffing on the Jlage to the place of
execution, and Titus going before^ pleading.

TITUS.

HEAR me, great fathers ; noble Tribunes, flay,
For pity of mine age, whofe youth was fpent
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 thefe bitter tears, which you now fee
Filling the aged wrinkles in my checks,
Be pitiful to my condemned fons,
Whofe fouls are not corrupted, as 'tis thought.
For two and twenty fons I never wept,

T 4 Becaufe



280, TITUS ANDRONICUS.

Becaufe they died in Honour's lofty bed.

[Andronicus lietb down, and the Judges pafs by him,
For thefe, thefe, Tribunes, in the duft 1 write
My heart's deep languor, and my fours fad tears:
Let my tears ftanch the earth's dry appetite,
My ions' fweet blood will make it (name and bluih :
O earth! I will befriend thee more with rain,

[Exatx(.

That fhall diftil from thefe (a) two antient urns,
Than youthful April fhall with all his mowers;
In fummer's drought I'll drop upon thee ftill ;
In winter, with warm tears I'll melt the fnow j
And keep eternal fpring-time on thy face,
So thou refufe to drink my dear fons' blood.

Enter Lucius with bisfword drawn.

Oh, reverend Tribunes ! gentle aged men !
Unbind my fons, reverfe the doom of death :
And Jet me fay, (that never wept before)
My tears are now prevailing orators.

Luc. Oh, noble father, you lament in vain ;
The Tribunes hear you nor, no man is by ;
And you recount your forrows to a ftone.

Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead ;
Grave Tribunes, once more I intreat of you

Luc. My gracious lord, no Tribune hears you fpeak,

Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, man ; if they did hear,
They would not mark me j or if they did mark,

They would not pity me.

Therefore I tell my forrows to the ftanes,
Who, tho* they cannot anfwer my diftrefs,
Yet in fome fort they're 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 ;

[(a] tweestieaturaj. Oxford Editor. Valg. (wo antient ruins.}

And



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 281

And were they but attired in grave weeds,

Rome could afford no Tribune like to thefe.

A ftone is foft as wax, Tribunes more hard than ftones :

A ftone is filent, and offendeth nor,

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 everlafting doom of banifhment.

Tit. O happy man, they have befriended thee :
Why, foolifh Lucius, doit thou not perceive,
That Rome is but a wildernefs of Tygers ;
Tygers muft prey, and Rome affords no prey
But me and mine ; how happy art thou then,
From thefe devourers to be banimed ?
Bat who comes with our brother Marcus here?

SCENE II.

Enter Marcus, and Lavinia.

Mar. Titus, prepare thy noble eyes to weep,
Or, if not fo, thy noble heart to break :
I bring confuming forrow to thine age.

'Tit. Will it con fume me ? let me fee it then.

Mar. This was thy daughter.

Tit. Why, Marcus, fo me is.

Luc. Ah me ! this object kills me.

Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arife and look upon her;
Speak, my Lavinia, what accurfed hand
J-Iath made thee handlefs, * in thy father's Ipight?
What fool hath 'added water to the fea?
Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy ?
My grief was at the height before thou cam'ft,
And now, like Nilus, it difdaineth bounds:



in tfyfatlers fight?] We ftipuld read,

Give



a.8.2 TITUS ANDRONICUS.

Give me a fword, I'll chop off my hands too,
For they have fought for Rome^ and all in vain :
And they have nurs*d this woe, in feeding life :
In bootlefs prayer have they been held up,
And they have ferv'd me to effectlefs ufe.
Now all the fervice I require of them,
Is that the one will help to cut the other :
'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou haft no hands,
For hands to do Rome fervice are but vain.

Luc. Speak, gentle fifter, who hath martyr'd thee?

Mar. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts,
That blab'd them with fuch fileafing eloquence,
Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage,
"Where, like a fweet melodious bird, it fung
Sweet various notes, inchanting every ear!

Luc. O, fay thou for her, who hath done this deed ?

Mar. O, thus I found her ftraying in the park,
Seeking to hide herfelf ; as doth the deer,
That hath receiv'd fome unrecuring wound.

Tit. It was my Deer; and he, that wounded her,
Hath hurt me more than had he kill'd me dead ;

* For now I ftand, as one upon a rock,

* Environ'd with a wildernefs of fea,

Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave ;
.. ' Expecting ever when fome envious furge

* Will in his brinilh bowels fwallow him.
This way to death my wretched fons are gone:
Here ftands my other fon, a banifh'd man ;
And here my brother, weeping at my woes.
But that, which gives my foul the greateft fpurn,
Is dear Lavima, dearer than my foul.

** Had I but feen thy picture in this plight,
*' It would have madded me. What mail I do,
Now I behold thy lovely body fo ?
Thou haft no hands to wipe away thy tears,
Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee ;
Thy husband he is dead 5 and for his death

Thy



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 283

Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this.
Look, Marcus! ah, fon Lucius, look on her:
" When I did name her brothers, then frefli tears
" Stood on her cheeks; as doth the honey-dew
" Upon a gather'd lilly almoft wither'd.

Mar. Perchance, Ihe weeps becaufe they kill*d her

husband.
Perchance, becaufe (he knows them innocent.

Til. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful,
Becaufe the law hath ta'en revenge on them.
No, no, they would not do fo foul a deed -,
Witnefs the forrow, that their fifter makes.
Gentle Lavinia, let me kifs thy lips,
Or make fome figns how I may do thee eafe :
Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius,
And thou, and I, fit round about fome fountain,
Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks,
How they are ftain'd like meadows yet not dry
With mirey flime left on them by a flood?
And in the fountain (hall we gaze fo long,
'Till the frem tafte be taken from that clearnefs,
And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears ?
Or mail we cut away our hands like thine ?
Or mall we bite our tongues, and in dumb {hows
Pafs the remainder of our hateful days ?
What mall we do? let us, that have our tongues,
Plot fome device of further mifery,
To make us wondred at in time to come.

Luc. Sweet father, ceafe your tears 5 for, at your

grief,

See, how my wretched fifter fobs and weeps.
Mar. Patience, dear niece ; good Titus, dry thine

eyes.

Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcus ! brother, well I wot,
Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine,
For thou, poor man, haft drown'd it with thine own.
Luc. Ah, my Lavima, I will wipe thy cheeks.

Tit.



284 TITUS ANDRONICUS.

Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark ; I underftand her figns j
Had fhe a tongue to fpeak, now would (he lay
That to her brother which I faid to thee.
His napkin, with his true tears all bewet,
Can do no fervice on her forrowful cheeks.
Oh what a fympathy of woe is this !
As far from help as Limbo is from blifs.

SCENE III.

Enter Aaron.

Aar. Tit us Andronicus, my lord the Emperor
Sends thee this word ; that if thou love thy fons,
Let Marcus* Lucius, or thyfelf, old Titus*
Or any one of you, chop off your hand,
And fend it to the King ; he for the fame
Will fend thee hither both thy fons alive,
And that (hall be the ranfom for their fault.

fit. Oh, gracious Emperor! oh, gentle Aaron f
Did ever raven fing fo like a lark,
That gives fweet tidings of the Sun's uprife?
With all my heart, I'll fend the Emperor my hand j
Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off?

Luc. Stay, father, for that noble hand of thine,
That hath thrown down fo many enemies,
Shall not be fent ; my hand will ferve the turn.
My youth can better fpare my blood than you,
And therefore mine fhall fave my brothers' lives,

Mar. Which of your hands hath not defended Romt^
And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-ax,
* Writing Deftru&ion on the enemies' Caflle?

Oh,

^ 2 V/ritixg Dejlrua'ion OH the enemies'' Caflle ?] Thus all the edi-
tions. But Mr. Theobald, after ridiculing the lagacity of the for-
mer Editors at the expence of a great deal of aukward mirth,
corrects it to Cafque-, and this, he fays, he'll ftand by : And the
Oxford Editor ', taking his fecurity, will ftand by it too. But what



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 285

Oh, none of Both but are of high deferc :
My hand hath been but idle, let it ferve
To ranfom my two Nephews from their death ;
Then have I kept it to a worthy end.

Aar. Nay, come, agree, whole hand mall go along,
For fear they die before their Pardon come.

Mar. My hand fhall go.

Luc. By heav*n, it (hall not go.

27/. Sirs, drive no more, fuch wither'd herbs as

thefe
Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.

Luc. Sweet father, if I fhall be thought thy fon,
Let me redeem my brothers Both from death.

Mar. And for our father's fake, and mother's care,
Now let me mew a brother's love to thee.

Tit. Agree between you, I will fpare my hand.

Luc. Then I'll go fetch an ax.

Mar. But I will ufe the ax.

[Exeunt Lucius and Marcus.

Tit. Come hither, Aarcn I'll deceive them both,
Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.

Aar. If that be call'd deceit, I will be honeft,
And never, whilft I live, deceive men fo.
But I'll deceive you in another fort,
And that, you'll fay, ere half an hour pafs. \Afids
[He cuts off Titus' j hand.

a flippery ground is critical confidence ! Nothing could bid fairer
for a right conje&urej yet 'tis all imaginary. A clofe Helmet which
covered the whole head, was called a Ca/f/e, and, I fuppofe, for
that very reafon. Don Quixote's barber, at leaft as good a critick
as thefe Editors, fays, (in She/ton's tranflation of 1612,) / know
ivhat is a helmet, and ivhat a morrion, and what a clofe CASTLE,
and other things touching warfare, lib. 4. cap. 18. And the origi-
nal, celada de encaxe, has fomething of the fame fignification.
Shakefpear ufes the word again in Troilui and Crtjfida',

n and Diomede
Stand fa/I, and wear a CaftJe on thy bead.

Enter



TITUS ANDRONICUS.

Enter Lucius and Marcus again.

5l/. Now flay your ftrife ; what fhall be, is dif-

patch'd :

Good Aaron, give his Majefty my hand :
Tell him it was a hand that warded him
From thoufand dangers, bid him bury it :
More hath it merited , that let it have.
As for my fons, fay, I account of them
As jewels purchas'd at an eafy price j
And yet dear too, becaufe I bought mine own.

Aar. I go, Andronicus ; and for thy hand
Look by and by to have thy fons with thee :
Their heads, I mean. Oh, how this villany {Afide.
Doth fat me with the very thought of it !
Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace,
Aaron will have his foul black like his face. {Exit,

SCENE IV.

TV/. O hear ! I lift this one hand up to heav'n,
And bow this feeble ruin to the earth ;
If any Power pities wretched tears,
To that I call : What, wilt thou kneel with me?
Do then, dear heart, for heav'n fhall hear our prayers,
Or with our fighs we'll breathe the welkin dim,
And ftain the fun with fogs, as fometime clouds,
When they do hug him in their melting bofoms.

Mar. Oh ! brother, fpeak with poflibilities,
3 And do not break into thefe woe-extremes.

7/f . Is not my forrow deep, having no bottom ?
Then be my paffions bottomlefs with them.

Mar. But yet let reafon govern thy Lament.

3 And do not break into tlefe TWO extremes."] We (hould read,

inftead of this nonfenfe, woE-extremes.

i. e. extremes ciufed by excefiive forrow. But Mr. Theobald, on
his own authority, alters it to deep, without notice given.

ST/7.



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 287

Tit. If there were reafon for thefe miferies,
Then into limits could I bind my woes.
When heav'n doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow ?
If the winds rage, doth not the fea wax mad,
Threatning the welkin with his big-fwol'n face?
And wilt thou have a reafon for this coil ?
I am the fea ; hark, how her fighs do blow ;
She is the weeping welkin, I the earth :
Then mud my fea be moved with her fighs,
Then muft my earth with her continual tears
Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd :
For why, my bowels cannot hide her woes,
But, like a drunkard, muft I vomit them ;
Then give me leave, for lofers will have leave
To eale their ftomachs with their bitter tongues.

Enter a Meffenger^ bringing in two beads and a hand.

Mef. Worthy Andronicus^ ill art thou repay M
For that good hand thou fent'ft the Emperor j
Here are the heads of thy two noble fons,
And here's thy hand in fcorn to thee fent back ;
Thy grief's their fport, thy refolution mockt :
That woe is me to think upon thy woes,
More than remembrance of my father's death. [Exit.

Mar. Now let hot Mtna cool in Sicily ',
And be my heart an ever-burning hell ;
Thefe miferies are more than may be borne !
To weep with them that weep doth eafe 4 fome deal,
But forrow flouted at is double death.

Luc. Ah, that this fight Ihould make fo deep a

wound,

And yet detefted life not ftirink thereat ;
That ever death mould let life bear his name,
Where life hath no more intereft but to breathe.

Mar. Alas, poor heart, that kifs is comfortlefs,

4 _ _>__ _ f ome foal,"} i. e. in fome mcafurc.

As



288 TITUS ANDRONIGUS.

As frozen water to a fiarved fnake.

Tit. When will this fearful (lumber have an end?

Mar. Now, farewel, flattery! die, Andronicus ;
Thou doft not (lumber ; fee, thy two fons' heads,
Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here ;
Thy other banifh'd fon 5 with this dear fight
Struck pale and bloodlefs j and thy brother I,
Even like a ftony image, cold and numb.
Ah ! now no more will I controul thy griefs ;
Rend off thy filver hair, thy other hand
Gnawing with thy teeth, and be this difmal fight
The clofing up of your moft wretched eyes !
Now is a time to dorm, why art thou Hill?

fit. Ha, ha, ha!

Mar. Why doft thou laugh? it fits riot with this
hour.

Tit. Why, I have not another tear to {bed ;
Befides, this forrow is an enemy,
And would ufurp upon my watry eyes*
And make them blind with tributary tears ;
Then which way (hall I find Revenge's Cave ?
For thefe two heads do feem to fpeak to me,
And threat me, I (hall never come to blifs,
'Till all thefe mifchiefs be return'd again,
Even in their throats that have commited them.
Come, let me fee, what task I have to do
You heavy people, circle me about ;
That I may turn me to each one of you,
And fwear unto my foul to right your wrongs.
The vow is made ; come, brother, take a head,
And in this hand the other will I bear ;
Lavinia, thou (halt be employ 'd in thefe things ;
Bear thou my hand, fweet wench, between thy teeth ;
As for thee, boy, go get thee from my fight,

5 iuitb this dear fight} The Oxford Editar reads dirtjigkt.
He did not know that dear bore at that time the fignification of
dirt.

Thou



TITUS ANDRONIGUS. 289

Thou art an Exile, and thou mud not ftay.

Hie to the Goths, and raife an army there ;

And if you love me, as I think you do,

Let's kifs and part, for we have much to do. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Manet Lucius.

Luc. Farewel, Andromcus, my noble father,
The woful'fl man that ever liv'd in Rome j
Farewel, proud Rome ; 'till Lucius come again,
He leaves his pledges dearer than his life ;
Farewel, Lavinia, my noble fitter,
O, 'would thou wert as thou tofore haft been !
But now nor Lucius nor Lavima lives,
But in oblivion and hateful griefs ;
If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs,
And make proud Saturmnus and his Emprefs
Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his Queen,
Now will I to the Golhs> and raife a Power,
To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine. [Exit Lucius.

6 S C E N E VI,

An Apartment in Titus'.* Houje.
A B A N QJJ E T.

Enter Titus, Marcus, Lavinia, and young Lucius,
a Boy.

Tit. CO, fo, now fit ; and look, you eat no more

O Than will preferve juft fo much ftrength in us,
As will revenge thefe bitter woes of ours.
Marcus, unknit that forrow-wreathen knot ;

6 Scene v i ] Thi* fcene is not in the old edition. Mr. Pope.

VOL. VI. U Thy



290 TITUS ANDRONICUS.

Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands,

And cannot paffionate our ten-fold grief

With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine

Is left to tyrannize upon my breaft ;

And when my heart, all mad with mifery,

Beats in this hollow prifon of my flefh,

Then thus I thump it down.'

Thou map of woe, that thus doth talk in figns!

When thy poor heart beats with outragious beating,

Thou canft not ftrike it thus to make it ftill ;

Wound it with fighing, girl, kill it with groans i

Or get fome little knife between thy teeth,

Andjuft againft thy heart make thou a hole,

That all the tears, that thy poor eyes let fall,

May run into that fink, and foaking in,

Drown the lamenting fool in fea-falt tears.

Mar. Fie, brother, fie, teach her not thus to lay
Such violent hands upon her tender life.

Tit. How now ! has forrow made thee doat already ?
Why, Marcus, no man mould be mad but I ;
What violent hands can me lay on her life ?
Ah, wherefore doft thou urge the name of hands,
To bid jEncas tell the tale twice o'er,
How Troy was burnt, and he made miferable ?

handle not the theam ; no talk of hands,
Left we remember ftill, that we have none.

Fie, fie, how frantickly I fquare my talk,
As if we mould 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 me fays,

1 can interpret all her martyr'd figns ;

She fays, me drinks no other drink but tears,
Brew'd with her forrows, mefh'd upon her cheeks :
Speechlefs complaint ! O, I will learn thy thought 5
In thy dumb action will I be as perfect,
As begging hermits in their holy prayers.

Thou



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 291

Thou malt not figh, nor hold thy flumps to heav'n,
Nor wink, nor nod, nor knee], nor make a iign,
But I, of thefe, will reft an alphabet,
And by ftill practice learn to know thy meaning.

Boy. Good grandfire, leave thefe bitter, deep, la-
ments ;
Make my Aunt merry with fome pleafing tale.

Mar. Alas, the tender boy, in paffion mov'd,
Doth weep to fee his grandfire's heavinefs.

Tit. Peace, tender fapling -, thou art made of tears,
And tears will quickly melt thy life away.

[Marcos jlrifa the difhwltb a knife.
What dofl 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 (lender gilded wings,

And buz lamenting Doings in the air ?

Poor harmlefs 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