Which made me down to throw my books, and fly;
Causeless, perhaps : But pardon me, sweet aunt ;
And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go,

I will most willingly attend your ladyship.
Mar. Lucius, I will.

[Lavinia turns over the books which Lucius
has let fall.

Tit. How now, Lavinia ?-Marcus, what means this?

Some book there is that she desires to see:-
Which is it, girl, of these?-Open them, boy.-
But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd;
Come, and take choice of all my library,
And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens
Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed.-
Why lifts she up her arms in sequence* thus?
Mar. I think, she means, that there was more
than one

Confederate in the fact:-Ay, more there was:-
Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge.
Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so
Boy. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphosis;
My mother gave't me.

Mar.

For love of her that's gone,

Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest.

Tit. Soft! see, how busily she turns the leaves!

Help her :

What would she find?-Lavinia, shall I read ?

This is the tragick tale of Philomel,

And treats of Tereus' treason, and his rape;

And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy.

Mar. See, brother, see; note, how she quotest the leaves.

Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpris'd, sweet girl, Ravish'd and wrong'd, as Philomela was,

Forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods?See, see!

Succession.
Pitiless.

+ To quote is to observe.

Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt,
(O, had we never, never, hunted there!)
Pattern'd by that the poet here describes,
By nature made for murders, and for rapes.

Mar. O, why should nature build so foul a den, Unless the gods delight in tragedies!

Tit. Give signs, sweet girl,-for here are none but friends,

What Roman lord it was durst do the deed:
Or slunk not Saturnine, as l'arquin erst,
That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed?

Mar. Sit down, sweet niece;-brother, sit down by me.

Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,

Inspire me, that I may this treason find!-
My lord, look here;- Look here, Lavinia:
This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst,
This after me, when I have writ my name
Without the help of any hand at all.

[He writes his name with his staff, and guides
it with his feet and mouth.

Curs'd be that heart, that forc'd us to this shift !Write thou, good niece; and here display, at last, What God will have discover'd for revenge: Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain, That we may know the traitors, and the truth!

[She takes the staff in her mouth, and guides it with her stumps, and writes.

Tit. O, do you read, my lord, what she hath writ: Stuprum-Chiron-Demetrius.

Mar. What, what!-the lustful sons of Tamora Performers of this heinous, bloody deed?

Tit. Magne Dominator poli,

Tam lentus audis scelera? tam lentus vides?
Mar. O, calm thee, gentle lord! although, I know,
There is enough written upon this earth,
To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts,

And arm the minds of infants to exclaims.

My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel;
And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope;
VOL. VII.
S

Aud swear with me,-as with the woful feere*,
And father, of that chaste dishonour'd dame,
Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape,-
That we will prosecute, by good advice,
Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths,
And see their blood, or die with this reproach.
Tit. 'Tis sure enough, an you knew how.
But if you hurt these bear-whelps, then beware:
The dam will wake; and, if she wind you once,
She's with the lion deeply still in league,
And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back,
And, when he sleeps, will she do what she list.
You're a young huntsman, Marcus; let it alone;
And, come, I will go get a leaf of brass,

And with a gad t of steel will write these words,
And lay it by: the angry northern wind
Will blow these sands, like sybil's leaves, abroad,
And where's your lesson then?-Boy, what say you?
Boy. I say, my lord, that if I were a man,
Their mother's bed-chamber should not be safe
For these bad-bondmen to the yoke of Rome.
Mar. Ay, that's my boy! thy father hath full oft
For this ungrateful country done the like.
Boy. And, uncle, so will I, an if I live.
Tit. Come, go with me into mine armoury;
Lucius, I'll fit thee; and withal, my boy
Shall carry from me to the empress' sons
Presents, that I intend to send them both:

Come, come; thou'lt do thy message, wilt thou not? Boy. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire.

Tit. No, boy, not so; I'll teach thee another

course.

Lavinia, come:-Marcus, look to my house;
Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court;

Ay, marry, will we, sir: and we'll be waited on.
[Exeunt Titus, Lavinia, and Boy.
Mar. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan,

• Husband.

The point of a spear.

And not relent, or not compassion him?
Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy;

That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart,
Than foe-men's marks upon his batter'd shield:
But yet so just, that he will not revenge :-
Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus! [Exit.

SCENE 11.

The same. A room in the palace.

Enter Aaron, Chiron, and Demetrius, at one door; at another door, Young Lucius, and an Attendant, with a bundle of weapons, and verses writ upon them.

Chi. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius; He hath some message to deliver us.

Aar. Ay, some mad message from his mad grand. father.

Boy. My lords, with all the humbleness I may,

I greet your honours from Andronicus;

And pray the Roman gods, confound you both.

[Aside, Dem. Gramercy*, lovely Lucius: What's the

news?

Boy. That you are both decipher'd, that's the news,

For villains mark'd with rape. [Aside.] May it please

you,

My grandsire, well-advis'd, hath sent by me

The goodliest weapons of his armoury,

To gratify your honourable youth,

The hope of Rome; for so he bade me say;
And so I do, and with his gifts present

i. e. Grand merci; great thanks.

Your lordships, that whenever you have need,
You may be armed and appointed well:

And so I leave you both, [Aside.] like bloody vil.
lains.
[Exeunt Boy and Attendant.
Dem. What's here? A scroll; and written round
about?

Let's see;

Integer vitæ, scelerisque purus,

Non eget Mauri jaculis, nec arcu.

Chi. O, 'tis a verse in Horace; I know it well: I read it in the grammar long ago.

Aar. Ay, just!-a verse in Horace :-right, you have it.

Now, what a thing it is to be an ass! Here's no sound jest! the old man hath found their guilt;

And sends the weapons wrapp'd about with lines,

That wound, beyond their feeling, to the

quick.

Aside.

But were our witty empress well a-foot,
She would applaud Andronicus' conceit.
But let her rest in her unrest awhile.-
And now, young lords, was't not a happy star
Led us to Rome, strangers, and, more than so,
Captives, to be advanced to this height?
It did me good, before the palace gate
To brave the tribune in his brother's hearing.
Dem. But me more good, to see so great a lord
Basely insinuate, and send us gifts.

Aar. Had he not reason, lord Demetrius?
Did you not use his daughter very friendly?
Dem. I would, we had a thousand Roman dames
At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust.
Chi. A charitable wish, and full of love.

Aar. Here lacks but your mother for to say amen. Chi. And that would she for twenty thousand

more.

Dem. Come, let us go; and pray to all the gods For our beloved mother in her pains.