Not far, one Muliteus lives, my country-man,
His wife but yesternight was brought to bed,
His child is like to her, fair as you are :
Go pack with him, and give the mother gold,
And tell them both the circumstance of all;
And how by this their child shall be advanc'd,
And he received for the Emp'ror's heir,
And substituted in the place of mine,
To calm this tempest whirling in the court;
And let the Emperor dandle him for his own.
Hark ye, my Lords, ye fee, I have given her phyfick ;
And you must needs bestow her funeral;
The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms:
This done, fee, that you take no longer days,
But send the midwife presently to me.
The midwife and the nurse well made away,
Then let the Ladies tattle what they please.

Chi. Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air
With secrets.

Dem. For this care of Tamora,
Herself and hers are highly bound to thee. [Exeunt.

Aar. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow Aies,
There to dispose this treasure in my arms,
And secretly to greet the Emprefs’ friends.
Come on, you thick-lip'd slave, I bear you hence,
For it is you, that put us to our shifts :
I'll make


feed on berries, and on roots, And feed on curds and whey, and fuck the goat, And cabin in a cave, and bring you up To be a warrior, and command a camp. [Exit.

SCENE, a Street near the Palace. Exter Titus, old Marcus, young Lucius, and other Gen

tlemen with bows; and Titus bears the arrows with

letters on the end of them. Tit. TOme, Marcus, come; kinsmen, this is the

way. Sir boy, now let me see your archery. Look, ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight; Terras Afræa reliquit-be you remember'd, Marcus


She's gone, she's fled—Sirs, take you to your tools; You, cousins, shall


found the ocean, And cast your nets; haply, you may find her in the sea, Yet there's as little justice as at landNo, Publius and Sempronius ; you must do it, 'Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade, And pierce the inmost center of the earth : Then, when you come to Pluto's region, I pray you deliver this petition, Tell him, it is for justice, and for aid; And that it comes from old Andronicus, Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome. Ah, Rome!-Well, well, I made thee miserable, What time I threw the people's suffrages On him, that thus doth tyrannize o'er me. Go, get you gone, and, pray, be careful all, And leave you not a man of war unsearch'd; This wicked Emperor may have ship'd her hence, And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.

Mar. Oh Publius, is not this a heavy case, To see thy noble uncle thus distract ?

Pub. Therefore, my Lord, it highly us concerns,
By day and night t'attend him carefully:
And feed his humour kindly as we may,
"Till time beget some careful remedy.

Mar. Kinsmen, his forrows 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,
What, have you met with her ?

Pub. No, my good Lord, but Pluto sends you word, If

you will have revenge from hell, you shall :
Marry, for juftice, fhe is so employ'd,
He thinks, with Jove in heav'n, or somewhere else;
So that perforce you must needs ftay a time.

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 th' heels.
Marcus, we are but fhrubs, no cedars we,


No big-bon'd men, fram'd of the Cyclops size ;
But metal, Marcus, steel to th'


back; Yet wrung

with wrongs, more than our backs can bear. And fith there's no justice in earth nor hell, We will sollicit heav'n, and move the gods, To find down justice for to wreak our wrongs: Come, to this gear; you're a good archer, Marcus.

[He gives them the arrows. Ad Fouem, that's for you-here, ad AppolinenAd Martem, that's for myself; Here, boy, to Pallas--here, to Mercury To Saturn and to Cælus-not to SaturnineYou were as good to shoot against the wind. To it, boy; Marcus-loose when I bid : Of my word I have written to effect, There's not a god left unfollicited.

Mar. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court, We will afflithe Emperor in his pride... [They shoot.

Tit. Now, masters, draw; oh, 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, ha, Publius, Publius, what haft thou done? See, see, thou'st 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, That down fell both the ram's horns in the court, And who should find them, but the Empress' villain : She laugh'd, and told the Moor, he should not chuse 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 heav'n; Marcus, the post is come. Sirrah, what tidings ? have you any letters ? Shall I have justice, what says Jupiter ?

Clow. Who? the gibbet-maker? he says, that he hath taken them down again, for the man must not be hang'd till the next week. Tit. Tut, what says Jupiter, I ask thee?


my life.

Clow. Alas, Sir, I know not Jupiter,
I never drank with him in all my life.

Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?
Clow. Ay, of my pigeons, Sir, nothing else.
Tit. Why, didst thou not come from heav'n?

Clow. From heav'n ? alas, Sir, I never came there. God forbid, I should be so bold to press into heav'n 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?

Clow. Nay, truly, Sir, I could never say grace in all” 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 ?

Clow. 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, Sir ; fee, you do it bravely.

Clow. I warrant you, Sir, let me alone.

Tit. Sirrah, haft 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 the Emperor,
Knock at my door, and tell me what he says.

Clow. God be with you, Sir, I will.
Tit. Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follo:v me.



SCENE, the Palace. Enter Emperor and Empress, and her two sons; the Emperor

brings the arrows in his hand, that Titus shot. Sar. HY, Lords, whatwrongs are these? was everseen

An Emperor of Rome thus over-born,
Troubled, confronted thus, and, for th' extent
Of equal justice, us'd in such contempt?
My Lords, you know, as do the mightful gods,
(However the disturbers of our peace
Buz in the people's ears) there nought hath paft,
But even with law against the wilful fons
Of old Andronicus. And what an if
His sorrows have so over-whelm'd his wits,
Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks,
His fits, his frensy, and his bitterness ?
And now he writes to heav'n for his redress.
See, here's to Jove, and this to Mercury,
This to Apollo, this to the god of war :
Sweet scrolls to Ay about the streets of Rome !
What's this but libelling against the Senate,
And blazoning our injustice ev'ry where ?
A goodly humour, is it not, my Lords?
As who would say, in Rome no justice were.
But if I live, his feigned ecstasies
Shall be no shelter to these

But he and his shall know, that justice lives
In Saturninus' health; whom, if the fleep,
He'll so awake, as fhe in fury shall
Cut off the proud'ft conspirator that lives.

Tam. My gracious Lord, my lovely Saturnine,
Lord of my life, commander of my thought,
Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age,
Th' effects of sorrow for his valiant fons,
Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep, and scarr'd his heart;
And rather comfort his distressed plight,
Than prosecute the meaneft, or the best,
For these contempts-Why, thus it shall become
High-witted Tamora to glose with all:


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