And swear with me,-as with the woful feere, And with a gad t of steel will write these words, Come, come; thou'lt do thy message, wilt thou not? sire. Tit. No, boy, not so; I'll teach thee another course. Lavinia, come:-Marcus, look to my house; Ay, marry, will we, sir: and we'll be waited on. * Husband. + The point of a spear. And not relent, or not compassion him? That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart, [Exit. SCENE II. The same. A room in the palace. Enter Aaron, Chiron, and Demetrius, at one door; at another door, Young Lucius, and an Attendant, with a bundle of weapons, and verses writ upon them. Chi. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius; He hath some message to deliver us. Aar. Ay, some mad message from his mad grandfather. 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 Lucius: 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 you, 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; • i. e. Grand merci; great thanks. Your lordships, that whenever you have need, And so I leave you both, [Aside.] like bloody vil. [Exeunt Boy and Attendant. lains. Dem. What's here? A scroll; and written round about? Let's see; Integer vitæ, 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. Aside. But were our witty empress well a-foot, To brave the tribune in his brother's hearing. Aar. Had he not reason, lord Demetrius? Chi. A charitable wish, and full of love. Aar. Here lacks but your mother for to say amen. more. Dem. Come, let us go; and pray to all the gods For our beloved mother in her pains. Aar. Pray to the devils; the gods have given us o'er. [Aside. Flourish. Dem. Why do the emperor's trumpets flourish thus? Chi. Belike, for joy the emperor hath a son. Enter a Nurse, with a black-a-moor child in her Nur. arms. Good-morrow, lords: O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor? Aar. Well, more, or less, or ne'er a whit at all, Here Aaron is; and what with Aaron now? Nur. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone! Now help, or woe betide thee evermore! Aar. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep! What dost thou wrap aud fumble in thine arms? Nur. O, that which I would hide from Heaven's eye, Our empress' shame, and stately Rome's disgrace;She is deliver'd, lords, she is deliver'd. Aar. To whom? Nur. Aar. I mean, she's brought to bed. Well, God Give her good rest! What hath he sent her? Nur. A devil. Aar. Why then she's the devil's dam; a joyful issue. Nur. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue: Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom, sure. Aar. Canst not undo. Done! that which thou Chi. Thou hast undone our mother. Aar. Villain, I have done thy mother. Dem. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone. Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choice! Accurs'd the offspring of so foul a fiend! Chi. It shall not live. Aar. It shall not die. Nur. Aaron, it must: the mother wills it so. Aar. What, must it, nurse? then let no man but I, Do execution on my flesh and blood. Dem. I'll broach the tadpole on my rapier's point; Nurse, give it me; my sword shall soon despatch it. Aar. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up. [Takes the child from the Nurse, and draws. Stay, murderous villains! will you kill your brother? Now, by the burning tapers of the sky, That shone so brightly when this boy was got, He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point, That touches this my first-born son and heir! I tell you, younglings, not Enceladust, With all his threat'ning band of Typhon's brood, In that it scorns to bear another hue: Can never turu a swan's black legs to white, Dem. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus? Aar. My mistress is my mistress; this, myself; The vigour, and the picture of my youth: • Spit. Hercules. + A giant, the son of Titan and Terra. |