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SCENE V.

The same.

Enter Demetrius and Chiron, with Lavinia, ra.

cished; her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out.

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

so; And, if thy stumps will let thee, play the scribe. Dem. See, how with signs and tokens she can

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

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

wash; And so let's leave her to her silent walks.

Chi. Au 'twere my case, I should go hang myself. Dem. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the

cord. (Exeunt Demetrius and Chiron,

Enter Marcus. Mar. Who's 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, wliat stern ungentle hands Have lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body baro: Of her two branches? those sweet ornaments, Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleepin, Aad 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 honest breath.
But, sure, some Tereus hath defloured thee;
And, lest thou should'st 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 three 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, 'tis so?
0. 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.
0, 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 aot draw back, for we will mourn with thee;
O, could our mourning ease thy misery! (Exeunt.

• Orpheus.

ACT III.

SCENE I. Rome. A street.

Enter Senators, Tribunes, and Officers of Justice, with Martius and Quintus, bound, passing on to the place of execution: Titus going before, pleading.

Tit. Hear me, grave fathers ! poble tribunes, stay! For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept; For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed; For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd; And for these bitter tears, which now you see Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks; Be pitiful to my condemned sons, Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought! For two and twenty sons I never wept, Because they died in honour's lofty bed, For these, these tribunes, in the dust I write

w (Throwing himself on the ground. My heart's deep languor, and my soul's sad tears. Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite; My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush.

[Exeunt Senators, Tribunes, &c. with

the Prisoners.
O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain,
That shall distil from these two ancient urns,
Than youthful April shall with all his showers:
In summer's drought, I'll drop upon thee still;
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 sons' blood.

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Enter Lucius, with his sword drawn. 0, reverend tribunes ! gentle aged men!

Upbiad my sons, reverse the doom of death;
And let me say, that never wept before,
My tears are now prevailing orators.

Luc. O, noble father, you lament in vain;
The tribunes hear you not, no man is by,
And you recount your sorrows to a stone.

Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead: Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you.

Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak.

Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, man: if they did hear, They would not mark me; or, if they did mark, All bootless to them, they'd not pity me. Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones; Who, though they cannot answer my distress, Yet in some sort 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 seem to weep with me; And, were they but attired in grave weeds, Rome could afford do tribune like to these. A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than

stones : A stone is silent, and offendeth not; And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death, But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn?

Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their death:
For which attempt, the judges have pronounc'd
My everlasting doom of banishment.

Tit. O happy man! they have befriended thee.
Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive,
That Rone is but a wilderness of tigers ?
Tigers must prey; and kome affords no prey,
But me and mine: How happy art thou tben,
From these 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 so, thy noble leart to break;
I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.

Tit. Will it consume me? let me see it then.
Mar. This was thy daughter,
Tit. Why, Marcus, so she is.
Luo. Ah me! this object kills me ! ,
Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon

: her:
Speak, my Lavinia, what accursed hand
Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight?
What fool hath added water to the sea? .
Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy?
My grief was at the height before thou can'st,
And now, like Nilus*, it disdaineth bounds. ;
Give me a sword, 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 bootless prayer have they been held up,
And they have serv'd me to effectless use:
Now, all the service I require of them
Is, that the ove will help to cut the other.-
'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast wo hands;
For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain.
Luc. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd

thee? Mar. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts, That blab'd them with such pleasing eloquence, Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage: Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung Sweet varied notes, enchanting every car! Luc. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed?

: 3 ' . Mar. 0, thus I found her, straying in the park, Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer, That hath received some uprecuring 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 stand as one upon a rock, Environ'd with a wilderness of sea ;

The river Nile.

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