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Or flunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst,

That left the camp to fin in Lucrece' bed?

Mar. Sit down, fweet neice; brother, fit down by

me.

Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,

Infpire me, that I may this treason find.
My lord, look here; look here, Lavinia.

[He writes his name with his staff, and guides it
with his feet and mouth.

This fandy Plot is plain; guide, if thou can'st,
This after me, when I have writ my name,
Without the help of any hand at all.

Curft be that heart, that forc'd us to this fhift!
Write thou, good neice; and here display, at least,
What God will have discover'd for revenge;
Heav'n guide thy pen, to print thy forrows plain,
That we may know the traitors, and the truth!

[She takes the staff in her mouth, and guides it
with her fumps, and writes.

Tit. Oh, do you read, my lord, what she hath writ? Stuprum, Chiron, Demetrius,

Mar. What, what! the luftful fons of Tamora Performers of this hateful bloody deed?

Tit. Magne Dominator Poli,

Tam lentus audis fcelera! tam lentus vides!

Mar. Oh, calm thee, gentle lord; although, I know, There is enough written upon this earth, To ftir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts, And arm the minds of Infants to exclaims. My lord, kneel down with me: Lavinia kneel, And kneel, fweet boy, the Roman Hector's Hope, And swear with me, (as, with the woeful peer, And father, of that chaste dishonoured Dame, Lord Junius Brutus fware for Lucrece' rape,) That we will profecute (by good advice) (13).

(13) That we will prosecute (by good Advice)

Mortal

Mortal Revenge upon these traiterous Goths;
And fee their Blood, or die with this Reproach.] But if

they endeavour'd to throw off the Reproach, tho' they fell in the

Attempt

Mortal revenge upon thefe traiterous Goths;
And fee their blood, ere die with this reproach.
Tit. 'Tis fure enough, if you knew how.
But if you hurt thefe bear-whelps, then beware,
The dam will wake; and if fhe wind you once,
She's with the lion deeply ftill in league ;

And lulls him whilft fhe playeth on her back,
And, when he fleeps, will fhe do what she list.
You're a young Huntsman, Marcus, let it alone;
And come, I will go get a leaf of brafs,
And with a gad of steel will write thefe words,
And lay it by; the angry northern wind
Will blow these fands, like Sibyl's leaves, abroad,
And where's your leffon then? boy, what fay you!
Boy. I fay, my lord, that if I were a man,
Their mother's bed-chamber should not be safe,
For these bad bond-men to the yoak of Rome.
Mar. Ay, that's my boy! thy father hath full oft
For this ungrateful Country done the like.
Boy. And, uncle, fo 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 Emprefs' fons
Prefents, that I intend to fend them both.

Come, come, thou'lt do my meffage, wilt thou not?
Boy. Ay, with my dagger in their bofom, grandfire.
Tit. No, boy, not fo; 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 faid to die with that Reproach. Marcus must certainly mean, that they would have Revenge on their Enemies, and fpill their Blood, rather than they would tamely fit down, and die, under fuch Injuries. For this Reason I have corrected the Text,

ere die with this Reproach:

I am not to learn, that or formerly was equivalent to ere.
Or, before, ere: Gloff. to Urrey's Chaucer. -

Or, for ere:

But this Ufage was

quod etiamnum in agro Lincolnienfi frequentiffimè ufurpatur. Skinner in bis Gloffary of Uncommon Words. too obfolete 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 compaffion him?
Marcus, attend him in his ecftafie,

That hath more fcars of forrow in his heart,
Than foe-mens' marks upon his batter'd fhield;
But yet fo juft, that he will not revenge;
Revenge the Heav'ns for old Andronicus!

SCENE changes to the Palace.

[Exit.

Enter Aaron, Chiron, and Demetrius at one door: and at another door young Lucius and another, with a bundle of weapons and verfes writ upon them.

Chi. Demetrius, here's the Son of Lucius;
Chi.DE

He hath fome meffage to deliver us.

Aar. Ay, fome mad meffage from his mad grandfather.

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 decypher'd (that's the news) For villains mark'd with rape. May it please you, My grandfire, well advis'd, hath fent by me The goodlieft weapons of his armoury, To gratify your honourable youth, The hope of Rome; for fo he bad me fay : And fo I do, and with his gifts prefent Your lordships, that whenever you have need, You may be armed and appointed well.

And fo I leave you both, like bloody villains.

[Exit.

Dem. What's here, a fcrowle, and written round about?

Let's fee.

Integer vita, fcelerifque purus,

Non eget Mauri jaculis nec arcu.

Chi. O, 'tis a verfe in Horace, I know it well:

I read it in the Grammar long ago.

Aar. Ay, juft;

have it

a verfe in Horace

-right, you

Now, what a thing it is to be an Afs?

Here's no fond jeft; th' old man hath found their guilt, (14)

And fends the weapons wrap'd about with lines,
That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick:
But were our witty Empress well a-foot,

She would applaud Andronicus' conceit:
But let her rest in her unreft awhile.
And now, young lords, was't not a happy ftar
Led us to Rome ftrangers, and more than fo,
Captives, to be advanced to this height ?
It did me good before the Palace-gate
To brave the Tribune in his Brother's hearing.
Dem. But me more good, to fee fo great a lord
Bafely infinuate, and fend us gifts.

Aar. Had he not reason, lord Demetrius ?
Did you not ufe his daughter very friendly?
Dem. I would, we had a thousand Roman dames
At fuch a bay, by turn to ferve our luft.
Chi. A charitable wish, and full of love.

Aar. Here lacketh but your mother to say Amen. Chi. And that would she for twenty thousand more. Dem. Come, let us go, and pray to all the Gods For our beloved mother in her pains.

over.

Aar. Pray to the devils; the Gods have given us
Flourish.
Dem. Why do the Emp'ror's trumpets flourish thus ?
Chi. Belike, for joy the Emp'ror hath a fon.
Dem. Soft, who comes here?

Enter Nurfe, with a Black-a-moor Child.

Nur. Good morrow, lords:

(14) Here's no found jeft;] But, I think, I may venture to fay, here's no found Senfe. Doubtless, the Poet wrote, bere's no fond jeft, i. e. no idle, foolish one; but a Sarcafm deliberately thrown, and grounded on Reason,

O, tell me, did you fee Aaron the Moor?
Aar. Well, more or lefs, or ne'er a whit at all,
Here Aaron is, and what with Aaron now ?
Nur. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone:
Now help, or woe betide thee evermore !

Aar. Why, what a caterwauling doft thou keep?
What doft thou wrap and fumble in thine arms?
Nur. O That which I would hide from heaven's eye,
Our Emprefs' fhame, and stately Rome's disgrace.
She is deliver'd, lords, fhe is deliver'd.

Aar. To whom?

Nur. I mean, fhe is brought to bed. Aar. Well, God give her good reft! What hath he fent her?

Nur. A devil.

Aar. Why, then she is the devil's dam: a joyful iffue. Nur. A joylefs, difmal, black, and forrowful iffue. Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad,

Amongst the fairest breeders of our clime.

The Emprefs fends it thee, thy ftamp, thy feal:
And bids thee chriften it with thy dagger's point.
Aar. Out, out, you whore! is black fo bafe a Hue?
Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous bloffom, fure.
Dem. Villain, what haft thou done?

Aar. That which thou canst not undo.
Chi. Thou haft undone our mother.

Aar. Villain, I've done thy mother.

Dem. And therein, hellish dog, thou haft undone. Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choice, Accurs'd the offspring of fo foul a fiend!

Chi. It fhall not live.

Aar. It fhall not die.

Nur. Aaron, it muft, the mother wills it fo. Aar. What, muft it, nurfe? then let no man but I Do execution on my flesh and blood.

Dem. I'll broach the tadpole on my rapier's point: Nurfe, give it me, my fword fhall foon dispatch it.

Aar. Sooner this fword fhall plough thy bowels up. Stay, murtherous villains, will you kill your brother? Now, by the burning tapers of the sky,

That

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