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Which over-fbades the mouth of that fame pit,
Where we decreed to bury Ballianus.

Do this, and purchafe 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 murther'd Baffianus here.

[To Titus,

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 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?
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 fufpicion 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 foul, were there worse end than death, That end upon them should be executed.

Tam. Andronicus, I will entreat the King;

Fear not thy fons, they fhall do well enough.

Tit. Come, Lucius, come, ftay not to talk with them.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

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Enter Demetrius and Chiron, with Lavinia, her bands cut off, and her tongue cut out, and ravish'd.

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

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

Dem. See how with figns and tokens fhe can fcrowle. 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. If 'twere my cafe, I fhould go hang my self. Dem. If thou hadit hands to help thee knit the cord. [Exeunt.

SCENE

Enter Marcus to Lavinia.

6

X.

Mar. Who's this, my niece, that flies away fo faft?
Coufin, a word; where is your husband? fay:`
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 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,
Whole circling fhadows Kings have fought to fleep in,
And might not gain fo great a happiness,

As 'have thy love? why doft not speak to me?
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,
Like to a bubbling fountain ftirr'd with wind,
Doth rife and fall between thy rofie lips,
Coming and going with thy honey breath.
But fure fome Tereus hath defloured thee,

And left thou fhou'dft detect him, cut thy tongue.
Ah, now thou turn'ft away thy face for shame:

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And notwitftanding all this lofs of blood,
(As from a conduit with three iffuing fpouts)
Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face,
Blufhing to be encountred with a cloud.
Shall I fpeak for thee? fhall I fay, 'tis fo?
Oh that I knew thy heart, and knew the beat,
That I might rail at him to eafe my mind!
Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopt,
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.
Fair Philomela, fhe 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 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 ftrings delight to kiss them,
He would not then have touch'd them for his life.
Or had he heard the heav'nly harmony,

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Which that fweet tongue 9 of thine hath often made,`
He would have dropt his knife, and 'fall'n' afleep,
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 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.

8 their 9

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I fell

ACT

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A Street in Rome.

Enter the Judges and Senators, with Marcus and Quintus bound, paffing on the Stage to the place of Execution, and Titus going before, pleading.

TITUS.

HEAR 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 shed,
For all the frosty nights that I have watcht,
And for thefe bitter tears, which you now fee
Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks,
Be pitiful to my condemned fons,

Whole fouls are not corrupted, as 'tis thought.
For two and twenty fons I never wept,
Because they died in honour's lofty bed.

[Exeunt.

[Andronicus lyeth down, and the judges pafs by him. For thefe, thefe, Tribunes, in the duft I write My heart's deep languor, and my foul's fad tears : Let my tears flanch the earth's dry appetite, My fons fweet blood will make it shame and blush : O earth! I will befriend thee more with rain, That fhall diftil from these two ancient 'urns,` Than youthful April fhall with all his showers; In fummer's drought I'll drop upon thee ftill, In winter with warm tears I'll melt the fnow, And keep eternal fpring-time on thy face, So thou refuse to drink my dear fons blood.

2 ruins,

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Enter

Enter Lucius with his fword drawn.
Oh reverend Tribunes! gentle aged men!
Unbind my fons, reverse 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 forrows to a stone.

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: or if they did mark,
They would not pity me.

Therefore I tell my forrows to the ftones,
Who, tho' they cannot answer my distress,
Yet in fome fort 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 ftone is as foft wax, Tribunes more hard than stones:
A ftone is filent, and offendeth not,

And Tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.
But wherefore ftand'st 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 banithment.

Tit. O happy man, they have befriended thee:
Why, foolish Lucius, doft thou not perceive,
That Rome is but a wilderness of tygers?
Tygers must prey,, and Rome affords no prey
But me and mine; how happy art thou then,
From these devourers to be banished?

But who comes with our brother Marcus here?

3 they're

SCENE

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