O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands; 6 As begging hermits in their holy prayers: 7 And, by still practice, learn to know thy meaning. Boy. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep la ments: Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. Tit. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears, And tears will quickly melt thy life away. [MARCUS strikes the Dish with a Knife. What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife? Marc. At that that I have kill'd, my lord; a fly. Tit. Out on thee, murderer! thou kill'st 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 see, thou art not for my company. Marc. 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 slender gilded wings, 6 An allusion to brewing. And buz lamenting doings in the air? 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. Then pardon me for reprehending thee, There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora. Yet I do think we are not brought so low, That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. him, He takes false shadows for true substances. Tit. Come, take away. Lavinia, go with me: I'll to thy closet; and go 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. [Exeunt. This was formerly not a disrespectful expression. ACT THE FOURTH. SCENE I. 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 aunt. 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 mean: See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee: Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus ? I Boy. My lord, I know not, I, nor can 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 guess, 9 Tully's Treatise on Eloquence, entitled Orator. Ran mad through sorrow: That made me to fear; And would not, but in fury, fright my youth: I will most willingly attend your ladyship. [LAVINIA turns over the Books which Lucius has let fall. Tit. How now, this? Lavinia? Marcus, what means Some book there is that she desires to see:— Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus? Marc. I think, she means, that there was more than one Confederate in the fact:- Ay, more there was :— Marc. 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' 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? Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt, Tit. Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none but friends, What Roman lord it was durst do the deed: 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 : [He writes his name with his Staff, and guides it 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. 2 Pitiless. |