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And buz lamenting doings in the air ?
Poor harmless fly!
That with his pretty buzzing melody,
Came here to make us merry; and thou hast kill'd

him. Marc. Pardon me, sir ; 'twas a black ill-favour'd

fly, Like to the empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him.

Tit. 0, 0, 0, Then pardon me for reprehending thee, For thou hast done a charitable deed. Give me thy knife, I will insult on him; Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor, Come hither purposely to poison me. There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora. Ah, sirrah! Yet I do think we are not brought so low, But that, between us, we can kill a fly, That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. Marc. Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on

him, He takes false shadows for true substances.

Tit. Come, take away.-Lavinia, go with me: I'll to thy closet ; and


read with thee Sad stories, chanced in the times of old. Come, boy, and go with me; thy sight is young, And thou shalt read, when mine begins to dazzle.'


* This was formerly not a disrespectful expression.



Before Titus's House.

Enter Titus and MARCUS. Then enter Young

Lucius, LAVINIA running after him.
Boy. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia
Follows me every where, I know not why:--
Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes !
Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean.

Marc. Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear thine


Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee

harm. Boy. Ay, when my father was in Rome, she did. Marc. What means my niece Lavinia by these

signs? Tit. Fear her not, Lucius : Somewhat doth she


See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee:
Somewhither would she have thee go with her.
Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care
Read to her sons, than she hath read to thee,
Sweet poetry, and Tully's Orator."
Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee

thus ?
Boy. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I

guess, Unless some fit or frenzy do possess

her : For I have heard my grandsire say full oft, Extremity of griefs would make men mad And I have read that Hecuba of Troy

9 Tully's Treatise on Eloquence, entitled Orator.


Ran mad through sorrow : 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;
Causeless, perhaps : But pardon me, sweet aunt:
And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go,
I will most willingly attend your ladyship.

Marc. Lucius, I will.
[LAVINIA turns over the Books which Lucius has

let fall.
Tit. How now, Lavinia ? - Marcus, what means

Some book there is that she desires to see :
Which is it, girl, of these? - Open them, boy.
But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd;
Come, and take choice of all my library,
And so beguile thy sorrow,

till the heavens
Reveal the vile contriver of this deed.
Why lifts she

her arms in Marc. I think, she means, that there was more

than one Confederate in the fact :- Ay, more there was :Or else to heaven she heaves them for

Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so?
Boy. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphosis ;
My mother gave 't me.

For love of her that's gone, Perhaps she cull’d it from among the rest.

Tit. Soft! see, how busily she turns the leaves ! Help her:What would she find? Lavinia, shall I read? This is the tragick tale of Philomel, And treats of Tereus' treason, and his rape ; And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy. Marc. See, brother, see; note, how she quotes'


sequence thus ?

the leaves.

1 Observes.

Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpriz'd, .sweet

girl, Ravish'd and wrong'd, as Philomela was, Forc'd in the ruthless ’, vast, and gloomy woods? See, see! Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt, (0, had we never, never, hunted there !) Pattern'd by that the poet here describes, By nature made for murders, and for

rapes. Marc. O, why should nature build so foul a den, Unless the gods delight in tragedies ! Tit. Give signs, sweet girl, — for here are none

but friends, What Roman lord it was durst do the deed : Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed? Marc. Sit down, sweet niece ;-brother, sit down

by me. Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, Inspire me, that I may this treason find! My lord, look here; - Look here, Lavinia : This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst, 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 Heaven will have discover'd for revenge: Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain, That we may know the traitors, and the truth ! [She takes the staff in her Mouth, and guides it

with her Stumps, and writes. Tit. O, do you read, my lord, what she hath

writ? Stuprum - Chiron-Demetrius.

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Marc. What, what! -- the lustful sons of Tamora Performers of this heinous, bloody deed?

Tit. Magne Dominator poli, Tam lentus audis scelera ? tam lentus vides? Marc. O, calm thee, gentle lord ! although, I

know, There is enough written upon this earth, To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts, And arm the minds of infants to exclaims. My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel; And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Heetor's hope; And swear with me, as with the woful feere 3, And father, of that chaste dishonour'd dame, Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape, That we will prosecute, by good advice, Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths, And see their blood, or die with this reproach.

Tit. 'Tis sure 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, when he sleeps, 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 4 of steel will write these words,
And lay it by: the angry northern wind
Will blow these sands, like Sybil's leaves, abroad,
And where's your lesson then ? Boy, what say

Boy: I say, 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.

Marc. Ay, that's my boy! thy father hath full oft
For this ungrateful country done the like.
Boy. And, uncle, so will I, an if I live.

Tit. Come, go with me into mine armoury; Lucius, I 'll fit thee; and withal, my boy

5 Husband.

4 The point of a spear.

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