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Quint. Åaron is gone, and my compassionate heart Will not permit mine eyes once to behold The thing whereat it trembles by surmise: O, tell me how it is, for ne'er till now Was I a child, to fear I know not what.

Mart. Lord Bassianus lies embrued here, All on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb, In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. Quint. If it be dark, how dost thou know 't is he? Mart. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear A precious ring, that lightens all the hole: Which, like a taper in some monument, Doth shine upon the dead man's earthly cheeks, And shows the ragged entrails of this pit: So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus, When he by night lay bath'd in maiden blood. O, brother, help me with thy fainting hand,— If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath,Out of this fell-devouring receptacle,

As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth.

Quint. Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out;

Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good,
I may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb
Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave.

I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink.

Mart. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help. Quint. Thy hand once more; I will not loose again, Till thou art here aloft, or I below:

Thou canst not come to me, I come to thee. [Falls in. Enter SATURNINUS and AARON.

Sat. Along with me:-I 'll see what hole is here, And what he is that now is leap'd into it.

Say, who art thou that lately didst descend

Into this gaping hollow of the earth?

Mart. The unhappy son of old Andronicus,

Brought hither in a most unlucky hour,
To find thy brother Bassianus dead.

Sat. My brother dead? I know thou dost but jest: He and his lady both are at the lodge,

Upon the north side of this pleasant chase;

'T is not an hour since I left him there.

Mart. 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 Bassianus ?

Sat. Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound; Poor Bassianus here lies murthered.

Tam. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ,

The complot of this timeless tragedy;

And wonder greatly that man's face can fold

In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny.

[She gives SATURNINE a letter.

SATURNINUS reads the letter.

"An if we miss to meet him handsomely,-
Sweet huntsman, Bassianus 't is we mean,-
Do thou so much as dig the grave for him;
Thou know'st our meaning: Look for thy reward
Among the nettles at the elder-tree,

Which overshades the mouth of that same pit,
Where we decreed to bury Bassianus.

Do this, and purchase us thy lasting 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 Bassianus here.

Aaron. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold. Sat. Two of thy whelps, [to TITUS] 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 easily murther is discovered!

Tit. High emperor, upon my feeble knee,
I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed,
That this fell fault of my accursed sons,
Accursed, if the fault be prov'd in them-
Sat. If it be prov'd! you see 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 reverent tomb I vow
They shall be ready at your highness' will,
To answer their suspicion with their lives.

Sat. Thou shalt not bail them, see thou follow me.
Some bring the murther'd body, some the murtherers :
Let them not speak a word, the guilt is plain;
For, by my soul, were there worse end than death,
That end upon them should be executed.

Tam. Andronicus, I will entreat the king:

Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough. Tit. Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with [Exeunt.

them.

SCENE V.-The Forest.

Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, with LAVINIA, her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out.

Demet. So now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak, Who 't was that cut thy tongue and ravish'd thee.

Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so, An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe.

Demet. See, how with signs and tokens she can scrowl.

Chi. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands.

Demet. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to

And

wash;

So, let's leave her to her silent walks. Chi. An 't were my cause, I should go hang myself. Demet. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord. [Exeunt DEMET. and CHI.

Enter MARCUS, from hunting.

Marc. Who is this? my niece, that flies away so fast? Cousin, a word; where is your husband?

If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me!
If I do wake, some planet strike me down,
That I may slumber in eternal sleep!

Speak, gentle niece; what stern ungentle hands
Have lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare
Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments

Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in,
And might not gain so great a happiness

As half thy love? why dost not speak to me?
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,

Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind,
Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips,
Coming and going with thy honey breath.
But sure some Tereus hath defloured thee,
And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue.
Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame!
And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood,
As from a conduit with their issuing spouts,
Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face,
Blushing to be encounter'd with a cloud.
Shall I speak for thee? shall I say, 't is so?
Oh that I knew thy heart, and knew the beast,
That I might rail at him to ease my mind!
Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd,
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.
Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue,
And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind.

But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee;
A craftier Tereus hast thou met withal,
And he hath cut those pretty fingers off,
That could have better sew'd than Philomel.
Oh! had the monster seen those lily hands
Tremble like aspen-leaves upon a lute,

And make the silken strings delight to kiss 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 dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep,
As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet.
Come, let us go, and make thy father blind;
For such a sight will blind a father's eye:
One hour's 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 ease thy misery!

[Exeunt.

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