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Which over.hades the mouth of that same pit,
Where we decreed to bury Bailianus.
Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.
Sat. Oh Tamora, was ever heard the like?
This is the pit, and this the elder-tree:
Look, Sirs, if you can find the huntsman out,
That should have murtherd Bassianus here.
Aar. My gracious Lord, here is the bag of gold.
Sat. Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody kind, Have here bereft my brother of his life. (To Titus. Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison, There let them bide until we have devis'd Some never heard of torturing pain for them.
Tam. What, are they in this pit? oh wondrous thing! How easily murder is discovered!
Tit. High Emperor, upon my feeble knee
I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed,
That this fell fault of my accursed fons,
(Accursed, if the fault be prov'd in them)
Sat. If it be prov'd ? you see it is apparent.
Who found this letter, Tamora, was it you?
Tam. Andronicus himself did take it up.
Tit. I did, my Lord: yet let me be their bail,
For by my father's reverend tomb I vow
They Thall be ready at your Highness' will,
To answer their sulpicion with their lives.
Sat. Thou shalt not bail them : fee thou follow me:
Some bring the murther'd body, fome the murtherers.
Let them not speak a word, the guilt is plain ;
For, by niy soul, were there worse end than death,
That end upon them should be executed.
Tan. Andronicus, I will entreat the King;
Fear not thy fons, they shall do well enough.
Tit. Come, Lucius, come, stay not to talk with them.
S C E N E IX. Enter Demetrius and Chiron, with Lavinia, her hands cut
off, and ber tongue cut out, and ravisb’d. 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 lcrowle. 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 filent walks.
Chi. If 'cwere my cale, I should go hang my self.
Dem. If thou hadit hands to help thee knit the cord.
(Exeunt. S с E Ν Ε X.
Enter Marcus to Layinia. Mar. Who's this, my niece, that flies away so fast? Cousin, a word; where is your husband? say: If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me ; If I do wake, some planer strike me down, That I may slumber in eternal sleep! Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands Have lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments, Whose circling shadows Kings have fought to sleep in, And might not gain so great a happiness, As 7'have' 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 rosie lips, Coming and going with thy honey breath. But fure fome Tereus hath defloured thee, And left thou shou'dít detect him, cut thy tongue. Ah, now thou turn'it away thy face for shame :
And 6 husband? 7 half ... old edit. Theob. emend,
And not witstanding all this loss of blood,
(As from a conduit with 8/three' issuing Ipouts)
Yet do thy checks look red as Titan's face,
Blushing to be encountred with a cloud.
Shall I speak for thee? shall I say, 'tis fo?
On that I knew thy heart, and knew the beait,
That I might rail at him to ease my mind!
Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopt,
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.
Fair Pbilomela, she but lost her tongue,
And in a tedious fampler sew'd her mind.
But lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee;
A crafrier Tereus halt thou met withal,
And he hath cut those pretty fingers off
That could have better few'd than Philomel.
Oh had the monster seen those lilly 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 heav'nly harmony,
Which that sweet tongue of thine hath often made,
He would have dropt his knife, and 'fallin' alleep,
As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet.
Come, let us go, and make thy father blind;
For such a light 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 nor draw back, for we will mourn with thee:
Oh could our mourning eale thy misery! (Exeunt.
Enter the Judges and Senators, with Marcus and Quintus
bound, passing on the Stage to the place of Execution, and Titus going before, pleading.
HEAR me, grave fathers, noble Tribunes, stay,
In dangerous wars, whilst you securely Nept:
For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed,
For all the frosty nights that I have watcht,
And for these bitter tears, which you now see
Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks,
Be pitiful to my condemned sons,
Whole souls are not corrupted, as 'tis thought.
For two and twenty fons I never wept,
Because they died in honour's lofty bed.
[Andronicus lyeth down, and the judges pass by bim.
For chele, chese, Tribunes, in the dust I write
My heart's deep languor, and my soul's fad tears :
Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite,
My fons sweet blood will make it shame and blush:
O earth! I will befriend thee more with rain, [Exeunt.
That shall diftil 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 fons blood.
Enter Lucius with his sword drawn.
Oh reverend Tribunes! gentle aged men!
Unbind my fons, reverse the doom of death,
And let me fay (that never wept before)
My tears are now prevailing orators.
Luc. Oh noble father, you lament in vain,
The Tribunes hear you not, no man is by,
And you recount your sorrows to a stone.
Til Ah Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead Grave Tribunes, once more I intreat 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,
They would not picy me.
Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones,
Who, tho' they cannot answer my distress,
Yet in some fort 3/arel 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 no Tribune like to these.
A ftone is as foft wax, Tribunes more hard than stones:
A stone is silent, and offendech not,
And Tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.
But wherefore stand’it thou with thy weapon drawn?
Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their deach;
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 Rome is but a wilderness of tygers?
Tygers must prey, and Rome affords no prey
But me and mine ; how happy art thou then,
From thele devourers to be banished?
But who comes with our brother Marcus here?