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Which made me down to throw my books, and fly;
Canseless, perhaps: But pardon ine, sweet aunt:
And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go,
I will most willingly .attend your ladyship.
Mar. Lucins, I will.

[Lavinia turns over the bookt which Lucins
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. Lucins, 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 i This is the tragick tale of Philomel, . And treats of Tereus' treason, and his rape; And rape, 1 fear, was root of tliioe annoy. Mar. See, brother, see; note, how she qno test the leaves.

Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpris'd, sweet girl, Ravish'd and wrong'd, as Philomela was, Forc'd in the ruthlessJ, vast, and gloomy woods?— See, see!

• Succession. t To quote is to observe,

J Pitiless.

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

Mar. O, why should n-.ture 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 Tarquin 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 1 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 helli 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 fore'd us to this shift!— Write thon, good niece; and here display, at last. What God will have discoverd for revenge: Heaven guide thy pen to print ihy 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: StuprumChironDemetrius.

Mar. What, what!—the lustful sousofTamora Performers of this heinous, bloody deed?

Tit. Magne nominator po1i,
Tum lentus audis scelera? tarn lenlus vides?

Mar. O, calm thee. gentle lord! althongh, 1 know,
There is enongh written upon this earth,
To stir a mutiny in the mildest thonghts,
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 damp,
Lord Junins Brutus aware 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 enongh, 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 leagne,
And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back.
And, when he sleeps, will she do what she list.
Yon'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 augry northern wind
Will blow these sands, like sybil's leaves, abroad,
And where's your lesson then ?—Boy, what say yoo>f

Boy. 1 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; Lucins, I'll fit thee; and withal, my boy Shall carry from me to the empress' sons Presents. that I intend to scnd them both: Come, come; thon'lt do thy message, wilt thou not f

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;

Lucins and I'll go brave it at the court;

Ay, marry, will we, sir: and we'll be waited on.

[Exeunt Titus, Lavinia, and Roy. Mar. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan,

• Husband. t The point of a spear.

And not relent, or not compassion him?
Marcus, attend him in his eestasy;
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 IL
The same. A room in the palace.

Enter Aaron, Chiron, and Demetrins, at one doors at another door, Young Lucins, and an Attend' ant, vith a bundle of weapons, and verses writ upon them.

Chi. Demetrins, here's the son of Lucins; 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 Lucins: 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 yon,

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. c. 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 villains. [Exeunt Boy and Attendant. Bem. What's here? A scroll; and written round about?

Xet's see;

Integer vita, 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.

But were our witty empress well a-foot,
She would appland 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 Demetrins? Did you not use his danghter very friendly?

Dem. I would, we had a thousand Roman dames At such a bay, by turn to serve Out 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.

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