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Look, Sirs, if you can find the huntsman out,
That fhould have murdered Baffianus here.

Aar. My gracious Lord, here is the bag of gold. Sat. Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody kind,, Have here bereft my brother of his life. [To Titus.Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison, `} There let them bide, until we have devised Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them. Tam. What, are they in this pit? Oh, wondrous How easily murder is difcovered?

[thing! Tit. High Emperor, upon my feeble knee I beg this boon, with tears not lightly fhed, That this fell fault of. my accurfed fons, (Accurfed, if the fault-be proved in them) Sat. If it be proved? you fee it is apparent. Who found this letter, Tamora, was it you?. Tam. Andronicus himself did take it up. Tit. I did, my Lord: yet let me be their bail. For by my father's reverend tomb I vow, They fhall be ready at your Highness' will, To answer their fufpicion with their lives.

[mé.

Sat. Thou fhalt not bail them: fee thou follow Some bring the murdered body, fome the murderers. Let them not fpeak a word, the guilt is plain; -For by my foul, were there worfe end than death,› That end upon them should be executed.

Tam. Andronicus, I wiH intreat the King; Fear not thy fons, they fhall do well enough. Tit. Come, Lucius, come, ftay not to talk with [Exeunt feverally.

them.

Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, with LAVINIA, ravished: her Hands cut off; and her Tongue cut out. Dem. So, now gotell (an if thy tongue can speak) Who 'twas that cut thy tongue, and ravished thee ̧.

Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy mean ing fo;

And if thy ftumps will let thee, play the feribe. Dem. See, how with figns and tokens the cam fcrowle.

Chi. Go home, call for fweet water, wash thy hands.

Dem. She has no tongue to call, nor hands to And fo let's leave her to her filent walks. [wath; Chi. If 'twere my cafe, I fhould go hang myself. Dem. If thou hadft hands to help thee knit the cord. [Exeunt Dem. and Chi.

Enter MARCUS to Lavinia.

Mar. Who's this, my niece, that flies away so fast? Coufin, a word; where is your husband?

If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake
If I do wake, fome planet ftrike me down,
That I may flumber in eternal fleep!

[me!

Speak, gentle niece, what ftern ungentle hands Have lopped, and hewed, and made thy body bare Of her two branches, thofe fweet ornaments, (14)

(14)

-thofe fweet ornaments, Whofe circling fhadows Kings have fought to fleep in,

And might not gain fo great en happiness,

As half thy love!] As half her love? But how might they gain any part of her love? or would the not confent to embrace them to much as with one arm? The Poet had no fuch flu in his thoughts. My correction reftores the true meaning; that though Princes languifhed to fleep in her arms, they could not obtain their fuit, or have her love. The very fime corruption has obtained in our Author's tale of Cephalus and Prociis;

And looks, as do the trees by winter nipt,

Whom froft and cold of fruit and leaves half ftript. For gran mar fhews, that we must likewise read herehave trip.

[in?

Whofe circling fhadows kings have fought to fleep
And might not gain fo great a happiness,
As have thy love! why doft not speak to me?
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,
Like to a bubbling fountain flirred with wind,
Doth rife and fall between thy rofy lips,
Coming and going with thy honey breath.
But fure fome Tereus hath defloured thee;
.And left thou fhouldit detect him, cut thy tongue.
Ah, now thoti turneft away thy face for fhame!
And notwithstanding all this lofs of blood,
(As from a conduit with their iffuing fpouts,)
Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face,
Blushing to be encountered with a cloud,--
Shall I peak for thee? fhall I fay 'tis fo?
✪, that I knew thy heart, and knew the beaft,
That I might rail at him to eafe my mind!
Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopped,
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.
Fair Philemela, fhe but loft her tongue,
And in a tedious fampler fewed her mind.
But lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee;
A craftier Tereus haft thou met withal,
And he hath cut thofe pretty fingers off,
That could have better fewed than Philomel.
Oh, had the monter feen, thofe lily hands
Tremble like afpen leaves upon a lute,

And make the filken ftrings delight to kiss them ;
He would not then have touched them for his life.
Or had he heard the heavenly harmony,
Which that fweet tongue hath made;

He would have dropped his knife, and fell afleep,
As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet.
Come, let us go, and make thy father blind;
For fuch a fight will blind a father's eye.
One hour's form will drown the fragrant meads,

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What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes? Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee: Oh! could our mourning eafe thy mifery!

A C T III.

SCENE, a Street in Rome..

[Exeunt:

Enter the Judges and Senators, with MARCUS and: QUINTUS bound, passing on the Stage to the Place of Execution, and TITUS going before, pleading.

TITUS.

HEAR me, grave fathers; noble tribunes, ftay,
For pity of mine age, whofe youth was spent
In dangerous wars, whilft you fecurely fleeped:
For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel fhed,
For all the frofty nights that I have watched,
And for thefe bitter tears which you now fee
Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks,
Be pitiful to my condemned fons,

Whofe fouls are not corrupted, as 'tis thought.
For two and twenty fons I never weeped,
Because they died in Honour's lofty bed.

[Andronicus lyeth down, and the Judges
pafs by him.

For thefe, thefe, tribunes, in the dust I write.
My heart's deep languor, and my foul's fad tears:
Let my tears ftaunch the earth's dry appetite,
My fon's fweet blood will make it fhame and blush:
O earth! I will befriend thee more with rain,
[Exeunt.
That fhall diftil from thefe two ancient ruins,
Than youthful April fhall with all his showers; (15) ·

(15) Then youthful April fhall with all hes showers;] This is the reading of our poetical editors only; the elder copies

In fummer's drought I'll drop upon thee ftill;
In winter, with warm tears I'll melt the fnow;
And keep eternal spring-time on thy face,
So thou refufe to drink my dear fon's blood.

Enter LUCIUS, with his Sword drawn.
Oh, reverend tribunes! gentle aged men!
Unbind my fons, reverse the doom of death:
And let me fay, (that never weeped before)
My tears are now prevailing orators.

Luc. Oh, noble father, you lament in vain; The tribunes hear you not, no man is by; And you recount your forrows to a ftone.

Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead; Grave tribunes, once more I intreat of you-— Lue. My gracious Lord, no tribune hears you fpeak.

Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, man; if they did hear, They would not mark me; or if they did mark, They would not pity me.-

Therefore I tell my forrows to the ftones,
Who, though they cannot answer my diftrefs,
Yet in fome fort they're better than the tribunes,
For that they will not intercept my tale ;
When I do weep, they humbly at my feet
Receive my tears, and feem to weep with me:
And were they but attired in grave weeds,
Rome could afford no tribune like to thefe.
Aftone is foft as wax, tribunes more hard than ftones:

have it rightly- -with all his fhowers. If they had not remembered Ovid in his Fafti, lib. IV. ver. 89.

(Aprilem memorant ab aperto tempore di&tum;

Quem Venus inje&a vindicat alma manu :)

they might, at leaft, have remembered the first rule in their Propria que maribus, that all months and winds are mafculines.

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