I can interpret all her martyr'd figns;
She fays, the drinks no other drink but tears,
Brew'd with her forrows, mefh'd upon her cheeks.
Speechlefs complaint - OI will learn thy thought.

In thy dumb action will I be as perfect

As begging hermits in their holy prayers.

Thou shalt not figh, nor hold thy ftumps to heav'n,
Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a fign,
But I, of thefe, will wreft an alphabet,

And by fill practice learn to know thy meaning.
Boy. Good grandfire, leave these bitter deep laments,
Make my aunt merry with fome pleafing tale.
Mar. Alas, the tender boy in paffion mov'd,
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 ftrikes the difh with a knife. What doft thou ftrike at, Marcus, with thy knife? Mar. At that that I have kill'd, my Lord, a fly. Tit. Out on thee, murderer; thou kill'ft my heart, Mine eyes are cloy'd 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 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 laments and dolings in the air ?

Poor harmlefs fly,

That with his pretty buzzing melody,

Came here to make us merry,

And thou haft kill'd him.

Mar. Pardon me, 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 my felf, as if it were the Moor
Come hither purposely to poifon me.

There's

There's for thy felf, and that's for Tamora:
Yet ftill I think we are not brought fo low,
But that between us we can kill a fly,

That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor.

me,

43

Mar. Alas, poor man, grief has fo wrought on him, He takes falfe fhadows for true fubftances. Come, take away; Lavinia; go with 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

ACT IV. SCENE I

Titus's Houfe. Enter young Lucius and Lavinia running after bim, and the Boy flies from her, with his books under bis arm. Enter Titus, and Marcus.

Elp, grandfire, help! my aunt Lavinia

Boy. HE

Follows me every where, I know not why. Good uncle Marcus, fee how fwift she 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 she did. Mar. What means my niece Lavinia by these figns ? Tit. Fear thou not, Lucius, fomewhat doth the mean; See, Lucius, fee how much the makes of thee;

Some whither would fhe 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 frenzie 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 flie,
Causeless perhaps; but pardon me, sweet aunt,
And, Madam, if my uncle Marcus go,

I will most willingly attend your Ladyship.
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 these? open them, boy.
But thou art deeper read, and better fkill'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:
What book?.

Why lifts the up her arms in fequence thus ?

Mar. I think fhe 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 Metamorphofes ; 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 busily the turns the leaves ! Help her what would fhe 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, sweet girl, Ravish'd and wrong'd, as Philomela was,

Forc'd in the ruthless, vaft, and gloomy woods?

See, fee;

Ay, fuch a place there is, where we did hunt, (O had we never hunted there!)

Pattern'd by that the poet here defcribes,

By nature made for murders and for rapes.

Mar. O why fhould 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,

Infpire me, that I may this treafon find.

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.

Curft be that heart that forc'd us to this fhift!
Write thou, good niece, and here difplay at leaft,
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 ftaff 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 Regnator Poli,

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,
And kneel, fweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope,
And fwear with me, (as with the woeful peer
And father of that chafte dishonoured dame,
Lord Junius Brutus fware for Lucrece' rape)
That we will profecute (by good advice)
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 the wind you once,
She's with the lion deeply fill in league,
VOL. VIII.

E

And

And lulls him whilft fhe playeth on her back,
And when he fleeps will fhe do what the lift.
You're a young huntsman, Marcus, let it alone;
And come, I will go get a leaf of brass,
And with a gad of fteel 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 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 yoak 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 armory.
Lucius, I'll fit thee, and withal, my boy
Shall carry from me to the Emprefs' fons
Prefents that I intend to fend them both.

Come, come, thou'lt do my meffage, wilt thou not?
Boy. Ay, with my dagger in their bofom, 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, Sir, and we'll be waited on: [Exeunt.
Mar. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan
And not relent, or not compaffion him?

Marcus, attend him in his ecftafie,

That hath more scars of forrow in his heart

Than foe-mens marks upon his batter'd shield,
But yet's fo juft, that he will not revenge;
Revenge, oh heav'ns, for old Andronicus!

SCENE II. The Palace.

[Exit.

Enter Aaron, Chiron, and Demetrius at one door: and at another door young Lucius and another, with a bundle of weapons and verfes writ upon them.

Chi. Demetrius, here's the fon of Lucius,

He hath fome meffage to deliver 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