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!

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

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?

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

me.

Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,

Inspire 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 staff, and guides it with his
feet and mouth.

Curs'd be that heart, that forc'd us to this shift!-
Write thou, good niece; and here display, at last,
What God will have discover'd for revenge :
Heaven guide thy pen to print thy forrows plain,
That we may know the traitors, and the truth!

[She takes the staff in her mouth, and guides it with her
ftumps, 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 ftir a mutiny in the mildest 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 these traitorous Goths,
And fee their blood, or die with this reproach.
Tit. 'Tis fure enough, an you knew how,
But if you hurt these bear-whelps, then beware:
The dam will wake; and, if she wind you once,
She's with the lion deeply still in league,
And lulls him whilft fhe playeth on her back,
And, when he fleeps, will she do what she list.
You're a young huntsman, Marcus; let it alone;
And, come, I will go get a leaf of brass,
And with a gad of steel will write these words,
And lay it by the angry northern wind

Will blow these fands, like Sybil's leaves, abroad,
And where's your lesson then ?-Boy, what say you?
Boy. I fay, my lord, that if I were a man,

Their mother's bed-chamber should not be safe
For these 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.
Boy. 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

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?
Boy. 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 house ;
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 Boy.

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

Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy ;

That hath more fcars of forrow in his heart,
Then foe-men's marks upon his batter'd fhield:
But yet so juft, that he will not revenge:—
Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus!

SCENE II.

The fame. A Room in the Palace.

[Exit.

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 fome meffage to deliver to us.

Aar. Ay, fome mad meffage 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. [Afide.
Dem. Gramercy, lovely Lucius: What's the news?
Boy. That you are both decypher'd, that's the news,
For villains mark'd with rape. [Afide.] May it please you,
My grandfire, well-advis'd, hath sent by me

E 4

The

The goodlieft weapons of his armoury,
To gratify your honourable youth,

The hope of Rome; for so he bade me fay ;
And fo I do, and with his gifts prefent
Your lordships, that whenever you have need,

You may be armed and appointed well:

And fo I leave you both, [Afide.] like bloody villains.

[Exeunt Boy and Attendant.

Dem. What's here? A fcroll; and written round about?

Let's fee;

Integer vita, fcelerifque purus,

Non eget Mauri jaculis, neque arcu.

Chi. O, 'tis a verse in Horace; I know it well :

I read it in the grammar long ago.

Aar. Ay, just!-a verfe in Horace ;-right, you have

it.

Now, what a thing it is to be an ass!

[Afide.

Here's no found jest! the old man hath found their guilt;
And fends the weapons wrapp'd about with lines,
That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick.
But were our witty empress well a-foot,
She would applaud Andronicus' conceit.
But let her reft in her unreft awhile.-
And now, young lords, was't not a happy star
Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than fo,
Captives, to be advanced to this height?
It did me good, before the palace gate
To brave the tribune in his brother's hearing.
Dem. But me more good, to see so great a lord
Bafely infinuate, and fend us gifts.

Aar. Had he not reason, lord Demetrius ?

Did you not use his daughter very friendly?

Dem. I would, we had a thousand Roman dames

At fuch a bay, by turn to ferve our luft.

Chi. A charitable with, and full of love.

Aar. Here lacks but your mother for to say amen. Chi. And that would fhe for twenty thousand 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.
[Afide. Flourish.
Dem. Why do the emperor's trumpets flourish thus ?
Chi. Belike, for joy the emperor hath a son.
Dem. Soft; who comes here?

Enter a Nurse, with a Black-a-moor Child in her arms.

Nur.

Good morrow, lords:

O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor?

Aar. Well, more, or lefs, 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 doft thou keep?
What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine arms ?
Nur. O, that which I would hide from heaven's eye,
Our emprefs' fhame, and stately Rome's difgrace ;—
She is deliver'd, lords, the is deliver'd.

Aar. To whom?

Nur.

Aar.

I mean, fhe's brought to bed.

Give her good reft! What hath he fent her?

Nur.

Well, God

A devil.

Aar. Why, then the's the devil's dam; a joyful issue. Nur. A joyless, difmal, black, and forrowful iffue: Here is the babe, as loathfome as a toad

Amongst the fairest breeders of our clime.

The.