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That blab'd them with such pleasing eloquence,
cage, Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung Sweet various notes, inchanting every ear!
Luc. Oh, say thou for her, who hath done this deed?
Mar. O, thus I found her straying in the park,
Tit. It was my Deer; and he; that wounded her,
Tit. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful,
Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius,
Luc. Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief,
Mar. Patience, dear neice; good Titus, dry thine eyes.
Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot,
Luc. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks.
Tit. On, gracious Emperor! oh, gentle Aaron!
With all my heart, I'll send the Emperor my hand; .
Luc. Stay, father, for that noble hand of thine,
Mar. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome,
Aar. Nay, come, agree, whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their Pardon come.
Mar. My hand shall go.
Tit. Sirs, strive no more, such wither'd herbs as there Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.
Luc. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy fon, Let me redeem my brothers Both from death.
Mar. And for our father's sake, and mother's care,
(10) Which of your Hands hath not defended Rome,
And rear'd aloft the bloody Battle-axe,
Writing Deftru&tion on the Enemies' Castle?] This is a Pallage, which shews a most wonderful Sagacity in our Editors. They could not, sure, intend an Improvement of the Art Military, by teaching us that it was ever a Custom to hew down Castles with the Battle-Axe. Or could they have a Design to tell us, that they wore Castles formerly on their heads for defensive Armour ? I ventur'd, some time ago, to correct the Passage thus ;
Writing Destruction on tbe Enemies' Cask. i. e, an Helmet; from the French Word, une Casque. A broken k in the Manuscript might easily be mistaken for tl, and thus a Castle was built at once. But as I think it is much more feasible to split an Helmet with a Battle-axe, than to. cut down a Castle with it, I Mall continue to stand by my Emendation.
Now let'me shew a brother's love to thee.
Tit. Agree between you, I will spare my hand.
[Exeunt Lucius and Marcus. Tit. Come hither, Aaron, I'll deceive them both, Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee-mine.
Aar. If that be callid deceit, I will be honeft, And never, whilft I live, deceive men so. But I'll deceive you in another fort, And that, you'll say, ere half an hour pass. [ Afide.
[He cuts off Titus's
Hand. Enter Lucius and Marcus again. Tit. Now ftay your strife; what shall be, is dispatch’d: Good Aaron, give his Majesty my hand : Tell him, it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers, bid him bury it: More hath it merited ; that let it have. As for my sons, say, I account of them As jewels purchas'd at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own,
Aar. I go, Andronicus ; and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee : Their heads, I mean. -Oh, how this villany Afde. Doth fat me with the very thought of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace, Aaron will have his foul black like his face.
[Exit. Tit. O hear!
I lift this one hand up to heav'n, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth; If any
Power pities wretched tears, To that I call: What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do then, dear heart, for heav'n shall hear our prayers, Or with our fighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the fun with fogs, as sometime clouds, When they do hug him in their melting bosoms.
Mar. Oh! brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes.
Tit. Is not my forrow deep, having no bottom ? Then be my passions bottomless with them.
Mar. Mar. But yet let reason govern thy Lament.
Tit. If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes. When heav'n doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatning the welkin with his big-swol'n face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil ? I am the sea; hark, how her fighs do blow; She is the weeping welkin, I the earth : Then must
sea be moved with her fighs,
. cannot bide her woes,
Enter a Mesenger, bringing in two heads and.
Mes. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repay'd
Mar. Now let hot Ætna cool in Sicily,
Luc. Ah, that this fight should make so deep a wound, And yet
detefted life not shrink thereat ; That ever death should let life bear his naine, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe.
Mar. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless. As frozen water to a starved snake.
Tit. When will this fearful Number have an end?
Mar. Now, farewel, Aattery! die, Andronicus ; Thou dost not slumber; see, thy two sons' heads,