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Not far, one Muliteus lives, my country-man,
Chi. Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air
Dem. For this care of Tamora,
Aar. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow Aies,
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,
Mar. Kinsmen, his forrows are past remedy.
Tit. Publius, how now? how now, my masters,
Pub. No, my good Lord, but Pluto sends you word, If
you will have revenge from hell, you shall :
Tit. He doth me wrong to feed me with delays.
No big-bon'd men, fram'd of the Cyclops size ;
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?
Clow. Alas, Sir, I know not Jupiter,
Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?
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,
Clow. God be with you, Sir, I will.
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,
Tam. My gracious Lord, my lovely Saturnine,