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And buz lamenting doings in the air ?
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.
ACT THE FOURTH, ;
Before Titus's House.
Enter Titus and MARCUS. Then enter Young
Lucius, LAVINIA running after him.
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:
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;
Marc. Lucius, I will.
till the heavens
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
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 ?
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.
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,
Marc. Ay, that's my boy! thy father hath full oft
Tit. Come, go with me into mine armoury; Lucius, I 'll fit thee; and withal, my boy
4 The point of a spear.