This wicked emperor may have shipp'd her hence, Pub. Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns, Till time beget some careful remedy. Mar. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past 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? Whet, Have you met with her? Pub. No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word, If you will have revenge from hell, you shall: He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else, 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 the heels.- Yet wrung* with wrongs, more than our backs can bear: And sith t there is no justice in earth nor hell, We will solicit heaven; and move the gods, To send down justice cus. You are a good archer, Mar[He gives them the arrows. Ad Jovem, that's for you:-Here, ad Apollinem :Ad Martem, that's for myself; * Strained. + Since. Revenge. Here, boy, to Pallas :-Here, to Mercury: You were as good to shoot against the wind,- O' my word, I have written to effect; Mar. Kiusmen, shoot all your shafts into the court: We will afflict the emperor in his pride. Tit. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot.] O, well said, Lucius! Good boy, in Virgo's lap; give it Pallas. Mar. My lord, I am a mile beyond the moon; Your letter is with Jupiter by this. Tit. Ha! Publius, Publius, what hast thou done? See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns. Mar. This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot, The bull being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock But give them to his master 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 heaven! Marcus, the post is come. Clo. Ho! the gibbet-maker? he says, that he hath taken them down again, for the man must not be hanged till the next week. Tit. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee? Clo. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank with him in all my life. Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier? Tit. Why, didst thou not come from heaven? Clo. From heaven? alas, sir, I never came there: God forbid, I should be so bold to press to heaven in my young days. Why, I am going with my pigeons to the 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 serve 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? Clo. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life. Tit. Sirrah, come hither: make no more ado, But give your pigeons to the emperor: By me thou shalt have justice at his hands. Hold, hold;-mean while, here's money for thy charges. Give me a pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a supplication? Clo. Ay, sir. Tit. Then here is a supplication for you. And when you come to him, at the first approach, you must kneel; then kiss his foot; then deliver up your pigeons; and then look for your reward, I'll be at hand see you do it bravely. Clo. I warrant you, sir; let me alone. Tit. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come, let me see it. Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration; For thou hast made it like an humble suppliant: And when thou hast given it to the emperor, Knock at my door, and tell me what he says. Tit. Come, Marcus, let's go :- Publius, follow me. [Exeunt. The Clown means to say plebeian tribune ; i.e. tribune of the people. SCENE IV. The same. Before the palace. Enter Saturninus, Tamora, Chiron, Demetrius, Lords, and others: Saturninus, with the arrows in his hand, that Titus shot. Sat. Why, lords, what wrongs are these? Was ever seen An emperor of Rome thus overborne, Troubled, confronted thus: and, for the extent My lords, you know, as do the mightful gods, Buz in the people's ears, there nought hath pass'd, Shall be no shelter to these outrages: • Equal. He'll so awake, as she in fury shall Cut off the proud'st conspirator that lives. Tam. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine, Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts, Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age, The effects of sorrow for his valiant sons, Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep, and scarr'd his heart; And rather comfort his distressed plight, Than prosecute the meanest, or the best, For these contempts. Why, thus it shall become But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick, Enter Clown. [Aside. How now, good fellow? would'st thou speak with us? Clo. Yes, forsooth, an your mistership be imperial. Tam. Empress I am, but yonder sits the emperor. Clo. 'Tis he.-God, and saint Stephen, give you good den:-I have brought you a letter, and a couple of pigeons here. [Saturninus reads the letter. Sat. Go, take him away, and hang him presently. Clo. How much money must I have? Tam. Come, sirrah, you must be hang'd. Clo. Hang'd! By'r lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair end. [Exit, guarded. Sat. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs! Shall I endure this monstrous villainy? I know from whence this same device proceeds; Nor age, nor honour, shall shape privilege : * Flatter. |