Mar. Alas, my Lord, I have but kill'd a fly.

Tit. But?-how if that fly had a father and mother? How would he hang his flender gilded wings,

And buz lamenting dolings in the air? (19)

Poor harmless fly,

That with his pretty buzzing melody,

Came here to make us merry;

And thou haft kill'd him.

Mar. Pardon me, Sir, it was 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 myfelf, as if it were the Moor
Come hither purpofely to poifon me.
There's for thyfelf, and that's for Tamora:
Yet still, I think, we are not brought fo low,
But that between us we can kill a fly,

That comes in likeness of a cole-black Moor.

Mar. Alas, poor man, grief has fo wrought on him, He takes falfe fhadows for true fubftances. 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 shalt read, when mine begins to dazzle. [Exeunt.

(19) And buz lamenting doings in the air.] Lamenting doings is a very idle expreffion, and conveys no idea. The alteration, which I have made, tho' it is but the addition of a fingle letter, is a great encrease to the fenfe: and tho', indeed, there is fomewhat of a tautology in the epithet and fubftantive annext to it, yet that's no new thing with our author. I remember one of the very fame kind in his Locrine;

And gnash your teeth with dolorus laments,

ACT

SCENE, Titus's Houfe.

Enter young Lucius, and Lavinia running after him; and the boy flies from her, with his books under his arm. Enter Titus, and Marcus.

BOY.

Help, grandfire, help; my aunt Lavinia

Follows me every where, I know not why. Good uncle Marcus, fee, how fwift fhe comes: Alas, fweet aunt, I know not what you mean. Mar. Stand by me, Lucius, do not fear thy aunt. Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. Boy. Ay, when my father was in Rome, fhe did. Mar. What means my niece Lavinia by these figns? Tit. Fear thou not, Lucius, fomewhat doth fhe mean: See, Lucius, fee, how much the makes of thee: Some whither would he 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 oratory:

Can't thou not guess wherefore the plies thee thus?
Boy. My Lord, I know not I, nor can I guess,
Unless fome fit or frenzy do poffefs her:

For I have heard my grandfire fay full oft,
Extremity of grief 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,
Caufeleis, perhaps; but pardon me, sweet aunt;
And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go,

I will most willingly attend your Ladyship.

Mar.

Mar. Lucius, I will.

Tit. How now, Lavinia? Marcus, what means this? Some book there is, that fhe defires to fee. Which is it, girl, of these? open them, boy. But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd: Come and make choice of all my library, And fo beguile thy forrow, 'till the heav'ns Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed : Why lifts the up her arms in fequence thus?

Mar. I think, the means, that there was more than one Confederate in the fact. Ay, more there was: Or elfe to heav'n fhe heaves them, for revenge. Tit. Lucius, what book is that the toffes fo? Boy. Grandfire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses; My mother gave it me.

Mar. For love of her that's gone,

Perhaps, the cull'd it from among the reft.

Tit. Soft! fee, how bufily fhe turns the leaves! Help her what would she find? Lavinia, fhall I read ?

This is the tragick tale of Philomel,

And treats of Tereus' treafon 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 ruthlefs, 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!

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 erst,

That left the camp to fin in Lucrece' bed?

Mar. Sit down, fweet niece; brother, fit down by me. Apolo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,

Infpire me, that I may this treafon find.

My

My Lord, look here; look here, Lavinia.

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

This fandy plot is plain; guide, if thou can't,
This after me, when I have writ my name,
Without the help of any hand at all.

Curst be that heart, that forc'd us to this shift!
Write thou, good niece; and here display, at least,
What god will have difcover'd for revenge;
Heav'n 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
fumps, and writes.

Tit. Oh, do you read, my Lord, what she hath writ? Stuprum, Chiron, Demetrius.

Mar. What, what!-the luftful fons of Tamora
Performers of this hateful bloody deed?
Tit. Magne Dominator Poli, (20)

Tam lentus audis fcelera! tam lentus vides!

Mar. Oh calm, thee, gentle Lord; although, I know, There is enough written upon this earth, To ftir a mutiny in the mildeft thoughts, And arm the minds of infants to exclaims.

My Lord, kneel down with me: Lavinia kneel,

(20)

Magni Dominator Poli,

Tam lentus audis Scelera! tam lentus vides!] Thus this quotation has pafs'd thro' all the printed copies, as well thofe put out by the players, as those by the more learned editors. The latter of these verses is copied from the Hippolytus of Seneca; but the address to Jupiter there, which precedes it, is in thefe terms →→→→→ Magne Regnator Deum,

Tam lentus audis fcelera! &c.

Where Shakespeare, (or whoever else was the author of this play) met with the hemiftich fubftituted in the place of Seneca's, I can't pretend to fay. But were our poetical editors fo little acquainted with the numbers of a common Iambic, as to let

Mag- ni Domi-\ nator | Poli,

pafs them without fufpicion? have they ever obferv'd a dactyl in the fourth foot of an Iambic verse, either in the Greek tragedians, or in Seneca if not, I must believe, our author found this hemiftich thus:

-Mag- ne Domi- nator Poli,

Thus the 4th foot is a Tribrachys, (and equal in time to an Iambic,) a licence perpetually taken by all the tragic poets.

And

And kneel, fweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope,
And fwear with me, (as, with the woeful peer,
And father, of that chaste dishonoured dame,
Lord Junius Brutus fware for Lucrece' rape,)
That we will profecute (by good advice) (21)
Mortal revenge upon thefe traiterous Goths;
And fee their blood, ere die with this reproach.
Tit. 'Tis fure enough, if 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 the do what she lift.
You're a young huntfman, 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 thefe fands, like Sybil's leaves, abroad,
And where's your leffon then? boy, what say you!
Boy. I fay, my Lord, that if I were a man,
Their mother's bed-chamber fhould not be fafe,
For thefe bad bond-men 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 my armoury.
Lucius, I'll fit thee; and withal, my boy

(21) That we will profecute (by good advice)

Mortal revenge upon these traiterous Goths;

And fee their blood, or die with this reproach.] But if they endeavour'd to throw off the reproach, tho' they fell in the attempt, they could not be properly faid to dye with that reproach. Marcus muft certainly mean, that they would have revenge on their enemies, and fpill their blood, rather than they would tamely fit down, and die, under fuch injuries. For this reafon I have corrected the text, ere die with this reproach.

And the fame emendation I have made on a paffage in Cymbeline, where it was as abfolutely neceffary. I am not to learn, that or formerly was equivalent to ere. ---- Or, before, ere: Gloff. to Urrey's Chaucer. ---Or, for ere: quod etiamnum in agro Lincolnienfi frequentiffime ufurpatur. Skinner in his Gloffary of uncommon words.---But this ufage was too obfolete for our Shakespeare's time.

Shall