Mart. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help. Quin. Thy hand once more; I will not loose again, Till thou art here aloft, or I below: Thou canst not come to me,-I come to thee. Enter SATURNINUS with AARON. Sat. Along with me: I'll see what hole is here, And what he is that now is leap'd into it.— Say, who art thou that lately didst descend Mart. The unhappy son of old Andronicus; To find thy brother Bassianus dead. [Falls in. Sat. My brother dead! I know thou dost but jest: He and his lady both are at the lodge Upon the north side of this pleasant chase; 'Tis not an hour since I left him there. Mart. We know not where you left him all alive; But, out, alas! here have we found him dead. Re-enter TAMORA, with Attendants; TITUS ANDRONICUS, and LUCIUS. Tam. Where is my lord the king? Sat. Here, Tamora; though griev'd with killing grief. Sat. Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound: Tam. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ, The complot of this timeless tragedy; And wonder greatly that man's face can fold In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny. [Giving a letter. Sat. [reads] "An if we miss to meet him handsomely,— Sweet huntsman, Bassianus 'tis we mean, Do thou so much as dig the grave for him: Thou know'st our meaning. Look for thy reward Among the nettles at the elder-tree Which overshades the mouth of that same pit Where we decreed to bury Bassianus. Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends."- [Showing it. Sat. [to Titus] Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody kind, Have here bereft my brother of his life. Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison: Tam. What, are they in this pit? O wondrous thing! How easily murder is discovered! Tit. High emperor, upon my feeble knee Sat. If it be prov'd! you see it is apparent.- For, by my father's reverend tomb, I vow They shall be ready at your highness' will To answer their suspicion with their lives. Sat. Thou shalt not bail them: see thou follow me.- Tam. Andronicus, I will entreat the king: Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough. Tit. Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them. ants, with Quintus, Martius, and the body of SCENE IV. Another part of the forest. Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, with LAVINIA, ravished; her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out. Dem. So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak, Who 'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish'd thee. Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so, An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe. Dem. See, how with signs and tokens she can scrowl. Chi. An 'twere my case,(35) I should go hang myself. Enter MARCUS. Mar. Who is this, my niece, that flies away so fast?— Cousin, a word; where is your husband? If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me! Speak, gentle niece,-what stern ungentle hands As have (36) thy love? Why dost not speak to me?- Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind, And, lest thou shouldst detect him,(37) cut thy tongue. Blushing to be encounter'd with a cloud. Shall I speak for thee? shall I say 'tis so? And make the silken strings delight to kiss them, Which that sweet tongue hath made,(39) He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I. Rome. A street. Enter Senators, Tribunes, and Officers of Justice, with MARTIUS and QUINTUS, bound, passing on to the place of execution; TITUS going before, pleading. Tit. Hear me, grave fathers! noble tribunes, stay! For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept; For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed; For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd; Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought. [Throwing himself on the ground. My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears: [Exeunt Senators, Tribunes, &c. with the Prisoners. O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain, Enter LUCIUS, with his sword drawn. O reverend tribunes! O gentle, aged men! Luc. O noble father, you lament in vain : Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead.-- Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak. And bootless unto them. Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones; Who, though they cannot answer my distress, Yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes, |