Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? Tit. Ha, ha, ha! Mar. Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed: And would usurp upon my watry eyes, Even in their throats that have committed them. You heavy people, circle me about; That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these things; Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; [Exeunt Titus, Marcus, and Lavinia. O, 'would thou wert as thou 'tofore hast been! If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs; Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen. [Exit. SCENE II. A room in Titus's house. A banquet set out. Enter Titus, Marcus, Lavinia, and Young Lucius, a boy. Tit. So, so; now sit: and look, you eat no more With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine And when my heart, all mad with misery, Then thus I thump it down. Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs! [To Lavinia. When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating, Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still. Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans; Or get some little knife between thy teeth, And just against thy heart make thou a hole; That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall, May run into that sink, and soaking in, Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears. Mar. Fye, brother, fye! teach her not thus to lay Such violent hands upon her tender life. Tit. How now! has sorrow made thee dote al. ready? Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I. What violent hands can she lay on her life? Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands;- How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable? If Marcus did not name the word of hauds!- She says, she drinks no other drink but tears, Brew'd with her sorrows, mesh'd upon her cheeks*:Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thoughts; In thy dumb action will I be as perfect, As begging hermits in their holy prayers: Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven, And, by still practice, learn to know thy meaning. ments: Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. Mar. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd, Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness. Tit. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears, And tears will quickly melt thy life away. [Marcus strikes the dish with a knife. What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife? Mar. At that that I have kill'd, my lord; a fly. Tit. Out on thee, murderer! thou kill'st my heart; Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny: Mar. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. * An allusion to brewing. † Constant or continual practice. Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and mother? How would he hang his slender gilded wings, And buz lamenting doings in the air? Poor harmless fly! That with his pretty buzzing melody, Came here to make us merry; and thou hast kill'd him. Mar. Pardon me, sir; 'twas a black ill-favour'd fly, Like to the empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him. Tit. 0, 0, 0, Then pardon me for reprehending thee, For thou hast done a charitable deed. Yet I do think we are not brought so low, That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. He takes false shadows for true substances. Tit. Come, take away.-Lavinia, go with me: I'll to thy closet; and go read with thee Sad stories, chanced in the times of old.Come, boy, and go with me; thy sight is young, And thou shalt read, when mine begins to dazzle. [Exeunt. • This was formerly not a disrespectful expression. ACT IV. SCENE I. The same. Before Titus's house. Enter Titus and Marcus. Then enter Young Lucius, Lavinia running after him. Boy. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia Follows me every where, I know not why:Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes! Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean. Mar. Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear thine aunt. Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. Boy. Ay, when my father was in Rome, she did. Mar. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs? Tit. Fear her not, Lucius:- Somewhat doth she mean: See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee: Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus ? Ran mad through sorrow: That made me to fear ; Tully's Treatise on Eloquence, entitled Orator. |