Mar. Kinfmen, 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 masters, what? Have you met with her?

Pub. No, my good Lord, but Pluto fends you word, If you will have Revenge from hell, you

fhall:

Marry for Juftice, fhe is now 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,

And pull her out of Acheron by th' 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's no justice in earth or` hell,

We will follicit 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 my felf;

Here, boy, to Pallas-here to Mercury-
To Saturn and to Calus-not to Saturnine
You were as good to fhoot against the wind.
To it, boy, Marcus-7'loole thou when I bid:
8/O my word I have written to effect,
There's not a God left unfollicited.

Mar. Kinfmen, fhoot all your shafts into the Court,

We will afflict the Emperor in his pride.

[They fboot.

Tit. Now, mafters, draw; oh well faid, Lucius:
Good boy in Virgo's lap, give 9'it to Pallas.
Mar. My Lord, I am a mile beyond the moon;
Your letter is with Jupiter by this.

Tit.

Tit. 'Ha, Publius, Publius, ha! what haft thou done?
See, fee, thou'ft shot off one of Taurus' horns.

Mar. This was the fport, my Lord, when Publius fhot;
The bull being gall'd, gave Aries fuch 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 present.

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, what tidings? have you any letters?

Shall I have juftice, what fays Jupiter?

Clow. 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?
Clow. Alas, Sir, I know not Jupiter,
I never drank with him in all my life.

Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?
Clow. Ay, of my pigeons, Sir, nothing else.
Tit. Why, didst thou not come from heav'n?

Clow. From heav'n? alas, Sir, I never came there. God forbid I fhould be fo bold to press into heav'n in my young days. Why, I am going with my pigeons to the a tribunal plebs, to take 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?

life.

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

Tit. Sirrah, come hither, make no more ado, But give your pigeons to the Emperor.

(a) He means to fay tribunus plebis.

1 Ha, ha, Publius, Publius!

By

By me thou shalt have juftice at his hands.

Hold, hold-mean while here's mony for thy charges.
Give me a pen and ink.

Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a fupplication?
Clow. 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, see you do it bravely.

Clow. I warrant you, Sir, let me alone.

Tit. Sirrah, haft thou a knife? come, let me fee it.
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 fays.
Clow. God be with you, Sir, I will.
Tit. Come, Marcus, let us go.

Publius, follow me.

SCENE

The Palace.

[Exeunt.

ง.

Enter Emperor and Emprefs, and her two fons; the Em-
peror brings the arrows in his hand that Titus fhot.
Sat. WHY, Lords, what wrongs are these? was ever
An Emperor of Rome thus over-born,

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

Buz in the people's ears) there nought hath past,
But even with law against the willful fons
Of old Andronicus. And what an if
His forrows have fo over-whelm'd his wits.
Shall we be thus afflicted in his 'freaks,

2 wreaks,

[feen

His

His fits, his frenfie, and his bitterness?
And now he writes to heaven for his redrefs.
See, here's to Jove, and this to Mercury,
This to Apollo, this to the God of war:
Sweet fcrowls to fly about the streets of Rome.
What's this but libelling against the fenate,
And blazoning our injuftice ev'ry where?
A goodly humour, is it not, my Lords?
As who would fay, in Rome no juftice were.
But if I live, his feigned ecftafies
Shall be no fhelter to thefe outrages:
But he and his fhall know, that Juftice lives
In Saturninus' health, whom, if the fleep,
He'll fo awake, as fhe in fury fhall
Cut off the proud'ft confpirator that lives.

Tem. My gracious Lord, my 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,

Whofe lofs hath pierc'd him deep, and scarr'd his heart;
And rather comfort his diftreffed plight,

Than prosecute the meaneft or the best,

For thefe 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't thou fpeak with us?
Clow. Yea forfooth, an your Mifterfhip be Emperial.
Tam. Empress I am, but yonder fits the Emperor.
Clow. 'Tis he: God and St. Stephen give you good-e'en,
I have brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here.
[He reads the letter.
Sat. Go, take him away, and hang him prefently.
Clow. How much mony muft I have?
Tam. Come, firrah, thou must be hang'd.

Clow.

Clow. Hang'd! by'r lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair end.

Sat. Deipightful and intolerable wrongs!
Shall I endure this monftrous villainy?

I know from whence this fame device proceeds:
May this be born? as if his traiterous fons,
That dy'd by law for murther of our brother,
Have by my means been butcher'd wrongfully?
Go, drag the villain hither by the hair,
Nor age nor honour fhall 'fhare privilege.
For this proud mock I'll be thy flaughter-man;
Sly frantick wretch, that holp'ft to make me great,
In hope thy felf fhould govern Rome and me.

Enter Emilius.

Sat. What news with thee, Æmilius?

[Exit.

[more cause ;

Emil. Arm, my 4'Lords, arm; Rome never had

The Goths have gather'd head, and with a power

Of high-refolved men, bent to the spoil,

They hither march amain, under the conduct

Of Lucius, fon to old Andronicus:

Who threats in courfe of his revenge to do

As much as ever Coriolanus did.

Sat. Is warlike Lucius General of the Goths?
These tidings nip me, and I hang the head
As flowers with froft, or grafs beat down with ftorms.
Ay, now begin our forrows to approach;
'Tis he the common people love fo much;
My felf have often over-heard them fay,
(When I have walked like a private man)
That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully,

And they have wifh'd that Lucius were their Emperor.
Tam. Why fhould you fear? is not our city ftrong?
Sat. Ay, but the 'citizens do favour Lucius,
And will revolt from me, to fuccour him.

Tam. King, be thy thoughts imperious like thy name. Is the fun dim'd, that gnats do fly in it?

3 fhape

4 Lords; Rome 5 citizens favour

The