In thy dumb action will I be as perfect

As begging hermits in their holy prayers.
Thou shalt not figh, nor hold thy Rumps to heaven,
Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a fign,
But I, of thefe, will wrest an alphabet,

And by ftill practice learn to know thy meaning.
Boy. Good grandfire, leave thefe bitter deep
laments;

Make my aunt merry with fome pleafing tale.
Mar. Alas, the tender boy, in passion moved,
Doth weep to fee his grandfire's heaviness.

Tit. Peace, tender fapling; thou art made of tears,
And tears will quickly melt thy life away.

[Marcus frikes the dish with a knife.
What doft thou ftrike at, Marcus, with thy knife?
Mar. At that that I have killed, my Lord, a fly.
Tir. Out on thee, murderer; thou killeft my heart,
Mine eyes are cloyed with view of tyranny:
A deed of death done on the innocent
Becomes not Titus' brother; get thee gone,
I fee thou art not for my company.

Mar. Alas, my Lord, I have but killed 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;

The altera

(19). And buz Limenting doings in the air.] Lamenting doings is a very idle expreffion, and conveys no idea. tion which I have made, though it is but the addition of a fingle letter, is a great encrease to the fenfe; and though indeed there is fomewhat of a tautology in the epithet and fubftantive annexed 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 teeh with dokorous laments.

And thou haft killed him.

Mar. Pardon me, Sir, it was a black ill-favoured fly,

Like to the Emprefs' Moor; therefore I killed 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 thyself, and that's for Tamora:
Yet fill, 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 hath fo wrought on him,
He takes falfe fhadows for true fubftances.
Come, take away; Lavinia, go with me;
I'll to thy clofet, 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.

A CT IV.

SCENE, Titus's Houfe.

Enter young LUCIUS, and LAVINIA running after him; and the Boy flies from her, with his book. under his arm.

HEL

Enter TITUS, and MARCUS.

BOY.

ELP, 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 thefe figns? Tit. Fear thou not, Lucius, fomewhat doth fhe

mean:

See, Lucius, fee how much she makes of thee:
Some whither would the have thee go with her.
Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care
Read to her fons, than the hath read to thee,
Sweet poetry, and Tully's oratory:

Canft thou not guefs wherefore fhe plies thee thus?
Boy. My Lord, I know not, I, nor can I guefs,
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,
Caufelefs, perhaps; but pardon me, fweet aunt;
And, Madam, if my uncle Marcus go,

I will moft willingly attend your Ladyfhip.
Mar. Lucius, I will.

Tit. How now, Lavinia? Marcus, what means this?
Some book there is that the defires to fee.
Which is it, girl, of thefe? open them, boy.
But thou art deeper read, and better killed:
Come and make choice of all my library,
And fo beguile thy forrow, 'till the heavens
Reveal the damned 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 else to heaven fhe heaves them for revenge.
Tit. Lucius, what book is that the toffes fo?
Boy. Grandfire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphofes;
My mother gave it me.

Tit. 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 tragic 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 furprized, fweet girl,
Ravifhed and wronged as Philomela was,
Forced in the ruthlefs, vaft, and gloomy woods?
See, fee:

Ay, fuch a place there is, where we did hunt,
(Ó had we never, never, hunted there!)
Patterned by that the Poet here defcribes,
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

Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,

Infpire me, that I may this treafon find.

My Lord, look here; look here, Lavinia.

[me.

[He writes his name with his staff, and guides it

with his feet and mouth

This fandy plot is plain; guide, if thou can'ft,

This after me, when I have writ my name,
Without the help of any hand at all.

Curft be that heart that forced us to this fhift!
Write thou good niece; and here difplay, at least,
What God will have difcovered for revenge;
Heaven guide thy pen, to print thy forrows plain,
That we may know the traitors, and the truth!
[She takes the ftaff in her mouth, and guides it with
her ftumps, and writes.

Tit. Oh, do you read, my Lord, what he hath Stuprum Chiron, Demetrius ! [writ? Maa. What, what !-the luftful fons of TamoraPerformers 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,

(20)

Magni Dominator Poli,

Tam lentus audis fcelera! tam lentus vides] Thus this quotation has paffed through all the printed copies, as well thofe put out by the players, as thofe by the more learned editors. The latter of thefe verfes is copied from the Hippolytus of Seneca; but the addrefs to Jupiter there, which precedes it, is in thefe terms- Magne regnator deum.

Tam lentus audis frelera! &c.

Where Shakespeare (or whoever elfe 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

Magni Domi- | nator Poli, pafs them without fufpicion? have they ever obferved a dactyl in the fourth foot of an iambic verfe, either in the Greek tragedians, or in Seneca? if not, I muft believe our Author found this hemiftich thus:

-Mag- ne Domi- | nator | Poli.

Thus the fourth foot is a tribrachys, (and equal in time to an iambic) a licence perpetually taken by all the tragic poets,