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And, Madam, if my uncle Marcus go, w I will most willingly attend your ladyfhip
Mar. Lucius, I will.
Tit. How now, Lavinia ? Marcus, what means this?
arms in sequence thus ?
Confederate in the fact. · Ay, more there was:
Tit. Lucius, what book is that the toffes fo?
Boy. Grandfire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses; My mother gave it me.
Mar. For love of her that's gone, Perhaps, the cull'd it from among the reft.
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. Mar. See, brother, fee; note, how the quotes the
leaves. Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpriz'd, sweet girl, Ravish'd and wrong’d as Philomela was, Forc'd in the ruthless, vaft, and gloomy woods ? See, see; Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt, (O had we never, never, hunted there!) Pattern'd by That the Poet here describes, By nature made for murders and for rapes.
Mar. O, why should Nature build so foul a den,
Or flunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst,
Mar. Sit down, sweet neice ; brother, sit down by
Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,
[He writes his name with his staff, and guides it
with his feet and mouth.
[Sbe takes the staff in ber mouth, and guides it
with her stumps, and writes. Tit. Oh, do you read, my lord, what she hath writ? Stuprum, Chiron, Demetrius,
Mar. What, what! the luftful fons of Tamora
Tit. Magne Dominator Poli,
Mar. Oh, calm thee, gentle lord; although, I know,
(13) That we will prosecute (by good' Advice)
Mortal Revenge upon obese traiterous Goths ;
And see ebeir Blood, or die with this Reproacb.) But if they endeavour'd to throw of the Reproach, tho they fell in the
Mortal revenge upon these traiterous Goths ;
blood, ere die with this reproach.
Boy. I say, my lord, that if I were a man,
Mar. Ay, that's my boy! thy father hath full off For this ungrateful Country done the like.
Boy. And, uncle, so will I, an if I live.
Tit. Come, go with me into my armoury. Lucius, I'll fit thee; and withal, my boy Shall carry
from me to the Empress' fons Presents, that I intend to send them both. Come, come, thou'lt do my message, wilt thou not ?
Boy. Ay, with my dagger in their bofom, grandsire.
Tit. No, boy, not so; I'll teach thee another course. Lavinia, come; Marcus, look to my House : Lucius and I'll go brave it at the Court, Attempt, they could not be properly said to die with that Rex proach. Marcus must certainly mean, that they would have Revenge on their Enemies, and spill their Blood, rather than they would tamely sit down, and die, under such Injuries. For this Reason I have corrected the Text,
ere die witb ibis Reproacb; I am not to learn, that or formerly was equivalent to ere. Or, before, ere : Gloff. to Urrey's Chaucer. Or, for ere : quod etiamnum in agro Lincolnienfi frequentiffimè ufurpatur. Skinner in bis Glossary of Uncommon Words. But this Usage was too obsolete for our Shakespeare's Time.
Ay, Ay, marry, will we, Sir; and we'll be waited on.
[Exeunt. Mar. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan, And not relent, or not compassion him? Marcus, attend him in his ecftafie, That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart, Than foe-mens' marks upon his batter'd shield ; But yet so just, that he will not revenge ; Revenge the Heav'ns for old Andronicus !
SCENE changes to the Palace.
Enter Aaron, Chiron, and Demetrius at one door : and
at another door young Lucius and another, with a
bundle of weapons and verses writ upon them. Chi. Demetrius, here's the Son of Lucius;
us. Aar. Ay, some mad message from his mad grand
father. Boy. My lords, with all the humbleness I may, I greet your Honours from Andronicus ; And pray
the Roman Gods, confound you Both. Dem. Gramercy, lovely Lucius, what's the news ?
Boy. That you are both decypherd (that's the news)
I read it in the Grammar long ago.
-right, you have it Now, what a thing it is to be an Afs ? Here's no fond jeft; th' old man hath found their
wrap'd about with lines,
Dem. But me more good, to see so great a lord
Aar. Had he not reason, lord Demetrius ? Did you not use his daughter very friendly?
Dem. I would, we had a thousand Roman dames
Chi. A charitable wish, and full of love.
Dem. Come, let us go, and pray to all the Gods
(Flourish. Dem. Why do the Emp'ror's trumpets flourish thus? Chi. Belike, for joy the Emp'ror hath a son. Dem. Soft, who comes here?
Enter. Nurse, with a Black-a-moor Child. Nur. Good morrow, lords :
(14) Here's no found jeft;] But, I think, I may venture to say, here's no found Sense. Doubtless, the Poet wrote, bere's no fond jef, i, e, no idle, foolis one; but a Sarcasm deliberately thrown, and grounded on Reason,