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O, tell

me,
did
you

see Aaron the Moor?
Aar. Well, more or less, 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 dost thou wrap and fumble in thine arms ?

Nur, O That which I would hide from heaven's eye,
Our Empress’ shame, and stately Rome's disgrace.
She is deliver’d, lords, she is deliver'd.

Aar. To whom ?
Nur. I mean, she is brought to bed.

Aar. Well, God give her good rest !
What hath he sent her ?

Nur. A devil.
Aar. Why, then she is the devil's dam: a joyful issue.

Nur. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue.
Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad,
Amongst the faireft breeders of our clime.
The Empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy feal:
And bids thee chriften it with thy dagger's point.

Aar. Out, out, you whore! is black so base a Hue! Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom, sure,

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 hast undone. Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choice, Accurs'd the offspring of fo foul a fiend !

Chi. It shall not live,
Aar. It shall not die.
Nur. Aaron, it must, the mother wills it so.

Aar. What, muft it, nurse ? then let no man but I Do execution on my flesh and bload.

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

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

That

That shone so brightly when this boy was got,
He dies upon my Scymitar's sharp point,
That touches this my first-born son and heir.
I tell you, Younglings, not Enceladus
With all his threatning band of Typhon's brood,
Nor great Alcides, nor the God of war,
Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands.
What, what, ye fanguine shallow-hearted boys,
Ye white-lim'd walls, ye ale-house painted signs,
Coal-black is better than another hue:
In that it scorns to bear another hue :
For all the water in the ocean
Can never turn the swan's black legs to white,
Although she lave them hourly in the flood.
Tell the Empress from me, I am of age
To keep mine own; excuse it, how the can.

Dem. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus?

Aar. My mistress is my mistress ; this, my self ;
The vigour and the picture of my youth.
This, before all the world do I prefer ;
This, maugre all the world, will I keep safe ;
Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome.

Dem. By this our mother is for ever sham'd.
Chi. Rome will despise her for this foul escape.
Nur. The Emperor in his rage will doom her death.
Chi. I blush to think upon this ignominy.

Aar. Why, there's the privilege your beauty bears:
Fie, treacherous hue, that will betray with blushing
The close enacts and counsels of the heart !
Here's a young lad fram'd of another leer,
Look, how the black slave smiles upon the father ;
As who should say, “ Old lad, I am thine own.
He is your brother, lords; sensibly fed
Of that self-blood, that first gave life to you ;
And from that womb, where you imprisond were,
He is infranchised and come to light:
Nay, he's your brother by the furer fide;
Although my feal is ftamped in his face.

Nur. Aaron, what shall I say unto the Empress ?
Dem. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done,
VOL. VI.

L

And

And we will all subscribe to thy advice:
Save you the child, so we may be all safe.

Aar. Then fit we down, and let us all consult.
My son and I will have the wind of you:
Keep there : now talk at pleasure of your safety.

[They fit on the ground. Dem. How many women saw this child of his?

Aar. Why, so, brave lords; when we all join in league, I am a lamb; but if you brave the Moor, The chafed boar, the mountain lionels, The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms : But say again, how many saw the child ?

Nur. Cornelia the midwife, and my self And no one else but the deliver'd Empress.

Aar. The Empress, the midwife, and your self — 'Two may keep counsel, when the third's

away : Go to the Empress, tell her, this I said[He kills her. Week, - week! - fo cries a pig, prepar'd to th' spit. Dem. What mean'st thou, Aaron ? wherefore didit

thou this? Aar. O lord, Sir, 'tis a deed of policy: Shall se live to betray this guilt of ours? A long-tongu'd babling goslip? no, lords, no. And now be is known to you my full intent: Not far, one Muliteus lives, my country-man, His wife but yesternight was brought to bed, His child is like to her, fair as you are : Go pack with him, and give the mother gold, And tell them both the circumstance of all; And how by this their child shall be advanc'd, And be received for the Emp'ror's heir, And substituted in the place of mine, To calm this tempest whirling in the Court ; And let the Emperor dandle him for his own, Hark ye, my lords, ye see, I have given her phyfick; And you must needs bestow her funeral ; The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms : This done, see, that you take no longer days, But send the midwife presently to me. The midwife and the nurse well made away,

Then Then let the ladies tattle what they please.

Chi. Aaron, I see, thou wilt not trust the air With secrets.

Dem. For this care of Tamora, Her self and hers are highly bound to thee. [Exeunt.

Aar. Now to the Goths, as swift as Swallow flies, There to dispose this treasure in my arms, And secretly to greet the Empress’ friends. Come on, you thick-lip'd llave, I bear you hence, For it is you that put us to our shifts : I'll make you feed on berries, and on roots, And feed on curds and whey, and fuck the goat, And cabin in, a cave; and bring you up To be a warrior, and command a camp. [Exit.,

SCENE, a Street near the Palace.

Enter Titus, old Marcus, young Lucius, and other Gen

tlemen with bows; and Titus bears the arrows with letters on the end of them.

Tit. Come, Marcus, come; kinsmen, this is the way. Sir boy, now let me see your archery. Look, ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight; Terras Aftræa reliquit-be you remember'd, Marcus She's gone,

she's fled Sirs, take you to your tools ; You, cousins, shall

go

found the ocean, And caft your nets; haply, you may find her in the sea; Yet there's as little justice as at land No, Publius and Sempronius; you must do it, 'Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade, And pierce the inmost centre of the earth : Then, when you come to Pluto's region, I pray, you, deliver this petition, Tell him it is for justice, and for aid ; And that it comes from old Andronicus, Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome. Ah, Rome! Well, well, I made thee miserable, What time I threw the people's fuffrages On him, that thus, doth tyrannize o'er me, L 2

Go,

Go, get you gone, and, pray, be careful all,
And leave you not a man of war unsearch'd;
This wicked Emperor may have ship'd her hence,
And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.

Mar. Oh Publius, is not this a heavy case,
To see thy noble uncle thus distract ?

Pub. Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns,
By day and night t' attend him carefully :
And feed his humour kindly as we may,
'Till time beget some careful remedy.

Mar. Kinsmen, his forrows are past remedy.
Join with the Goths, and with revengeful war
Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude,
And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.

Tit. Publius, how now? how now, my masters,
What, have you met with her ?

Pub. No, my good lord, but Pluto fends you word,
If you will have revenge from hell, you shall :
Marry, for justice, she is so employ'd,
He thinks, with Jove in heav'n, or somewhere else ;
So that perforce you must needs stay a time.

Tit. He doth me wrong to feed me with delays,
I'll dive into the burning lake below,
And pull her out of Acheron by the heels.
Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we,
No big-bond men, fram'd of the Cyclops' fize ;
But metal, Marcus, steel to th' very
Yet

wrung with wrongs, more than our backs can bear,
And sith there is no justice in earth nor hell,
We will sollicit heav'n, and move the Gods,
To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs:
Come, to this gear; you're a good archer, Marcus.

[He gives them the arrowus. Ad 'Joven, that's for

you here, ad Apollinem Ad Martem, that's for

my
Here, boy, to Pallas- here, to Mercury-
To Saturn and to Cælus not to Saturnine
You were as good to shoot against the wind.
To it, boy; Marcus loose when I bid :
O my word, I have written to effect,

There's

back ;

C

felf;

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