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Poor harmless fly!

That with his pretty buzzing melody,

Came here to make us merry; and thou haft kill'd him.

MAR. Pardon me, fir; 'twas a black ill-favour'd fly, Like to the emprefs' Moor; therefore I kill'd him. TIT. 0, 0, 0,

Then pardon me for reprehending thee,
For thou haft done a charitable deed.
Give me thy knife, I will infult on him;
Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor,
Come hither purposely to poifon me.—
There's for thyfelf, and that's for Tamora.-
Ah, firrah!

Yet I do think we are not brought fo low,
But that, between us, we can kill a fly,

That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor.

MAR. Alas, poor man! grief has fo wrought on him, He takes falfe fhadows for true fubftances.

TIT. Come, take away.-Lavinia, go with me:
I'll to thy closet; and go read with thee
Sad ftories, chanced in the times of old.—
Come, boy, and go with me; thy fight is young,
And thou fhalt read, when mine begins to dazzle.

ACT IV.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I. The fame. Before TITUS's Houfe. Enter TITUS and MARCUS. Then enter young LUCIUS, LAVINIA running after him.

Bor. Help, grandfire, help! my aunt Lavinia Follows me every where, I know not why :Good uncle Marcus, fee how fwift she comes!

O o iiij

Alas, fweet 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.
Bor. 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, fee, how much she makes of thee:
Somewhither would fhe have thee go with her.
Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care
Read to her fons, than fhe hath read to thee,
Sweet poetry, and Tully's Orator.

Canft thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus?
Bor. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess,
Unless some fit or frenzy do poffefs her:
For I have heard my grandfire fay full oft,
Extremity of griefs would make men mad;
And I have read, that Hecuba of Troy

Ran mad through forrow: That made me to fear;
Although, my lord, I know, my noble aunt

Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did,

And would not, but in fury, fright my youth:
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 bas let fall. TIT. How now, Lavinia?-Marcus, what means this? Some book there is that the defires to fee:

Which is it, girl, of thefe ?-Open them, boy.-
But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd;
Come, and take choice of all my library,
And fo beguile thy forrow, till the heavens

Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed.

Why lifts the up her arms in fequence thus ?

MAR. I think, fhe means, that there was more than one Confederate in the fact;-Ay, more there was :. Or else to heaven fhe heaves them for revenge. TIT. Lucius, what book is that fhe toffeth fo? Bor. Grandfire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphofis; My mother gave't me.

MAR. For love of her that's gone,

Perhaps fhe cull'd it from among the rest.

TIT. Soft! fee, how bufily fhe 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, fee; note, how the quotes the leaves. TIT. Lavinia, wert thou thus furpriz'd, fweet girl, Ravish'd, and wrong'd, as Philomela was,

Forc'd in the ruthless, vaft, and gloomy woods?—
See, fee!

Ay, fuch 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 fo foul a den,
Unless the gods delight in tragedies!

[friends,TIT. Give figns, fweet girl,-for here are none but

What Roman lord it was durft do the deed:

Or flunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erft,

That left the camp to fin in Lucrece' bed?

[me.

MAR. Sit down, fweet niece;-brother, fit down by

Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,

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

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

Curs'd be that heart, that forc'd us to this shift !—
White thou, good niece; and here difplay, at last,
What God will have difcover'd for revenge:

Heaven guide thy pen to print thy forrows plain,
That we may know the traitors, and the truth!

[She takes the faff in her mouth, and guides it with her
fumps, and writes.

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

MAR. What, what !—the luftful fons of Tamora Performers of this heinous, bloody deed?

TIT. Magne Dominator poli,

Tam lentus audis fcelera? tam lentus vides?

MAR. O, calm thee, gentle lord! although, I know,
There is enough written upon this earth,
To flir a mutiny in the mildeft thoughts,
And arm the minds of infants to exclaims.

My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel;
And kneel, fweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope;
And fwear with me,-as with the woful feere,
And father, of that chafte difhonour'd dame,
Lord Junius Brutus fware for Lucrece' rape,—
That we will profecute, by good advice,
Mortal revenge upon thefe traitorous Goths,
And fee their blood, or die with this reproach.
TIT. 'Tis fure enough, an you knew how,

But if
you hurt thefe bear-whelps, then beware :
The dam will wake; and, if she wind you once,
She's with the lion deeply ftill in league,

And lulls him whilft fhe playeth on her back,
And, when he fleeps, will fhe do what the lift.
You're a young huntfman, Marcus; let it alone;
And, come, I will go get a leaf of brafs,

And with a gad of steel will write thefe words,
And lay it by the angry northern wind

Will blow these fands, like Sybil's leaves, abroad,
And where's your leffon then?-Boy, what fay you?
Bor. I fay, my lord, that if I were a man,
Their mother's bed-chamber fhould not be fafe
For thefe 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.
Bor. And, uncle, fo 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 emprefs' fons
Prefents, that I intend to fend them both:

Come, come; thou'lt do thy meffage, wilt thou not?
Bor. Ay, with my dagger in their bofoms, grandfire.
TIT. No, boy, not fo; I'll teach thee another course.
Lavinia, come :-Marcus, look to my houfe;
Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court;

Ay, marry, will we, fir; and we'll be waited on.

[Exeunt TITUS, LAVINIA, and Bor.

MAR. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan, And not relent, or not compaffion him?

Marcus, attend him in his ecftafy;

That hath more fears of forrow in his heart,

Than foe-men's marks upon his batter'd fhield;

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