Exeunt.

Actus Tertius.

Enter the Iudges and Senatours with Titus two sonnes bound,
passing on
the Stage to the place of execution, and Titus going before
pleading.

  Ti. Heare me graue fathers, noble Tribunes stay,
For pitty of mine age, whose youth was spent
In dangerous warres, whilst you securely slept:
For all my blood in Romes great quarrell shed,
For all the frosty nights that I haue watcht,
And for these bitter teares, which now you see,
Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheekes,
Be pittifull to my condemned Sonnes,
Whose soules is not corrupted as 'tis thought:
For two and twenty sonnes I neuer wept,
Because they died in honours lofty bed.
Andronicus lyeth downe, and the Iudges passe by him.
For these, Tribunes, in the dust I write
My harts deepe languor, and my soules sad teares:
Let my teares stanch the earths drie appetite.
My sonnes sweet blood, will make it shame and blush:
O earth! I will be friend thee more with raine

Exeunt.

That shall distill from these two ancient ruines,
Then youthfull Aprill shall with all his showres
In summers drought: Ile drop vpon thee still,
In Winter with warme teares Ile melt the snow,
And keepe eternall spring time on thy face,
So thou refuse to drinke my deare sonnes blood.
Enter Lucius, with his weapon drawne.

Oh reuerent Tribunes, oh gentle aged men,
Vnbinde my sonnes, reuerse the doome of death,
And let me say (that neuer wept before)
My teares are now preualing Oratours

   Lu. Oh noble father, you lament in vaine,
The Tribunes heare not, no man is by,
And you recount your sorrowes to a stone

   Ti. Ah Lucius for thy brothers let me plead,
Graue Tribunes, once more I intreat of you

   Lu. My gracious Lord, no Tribune heares you speake

   Ti. Why 'tis no matter man, if they did heare
They would not marke me: oh if they did heare
They would not pitty me.
Therefore I tell my sorrowes bootles to the stones.
Who though they cannot answere my distresse,
Yet in some sort they are better then the Tribunes,
For that they will not intercept my tale;
When I doe weepe, they humbly at my feete
Receiue my teares, and seeme to weepe with me,
And were they but attired in graue weedes,
Rome could afford no Tribune like to these.
A stone is as soft waxe,
Tribunes more hard then stones:
A stone is silent, and offendeth not,
And Tribunes with their tongues doome men to death.
But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawne?
  Lu. To rescue my two brothers from their death,
For which attempt the Iudges haue pronounc'st
My euerlasting doome of banishment

   Ti. O happy man, they haue befriended thee:
Why foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceiue
That Rome is but a wildernes of Tigers?
Tigers must pray, and Rome affords no prey
But me and mine: how happy art thou then,
From these deuourers to be banished?
But who comes with our brother Marcus heere?
Enter Marcus and Lauinia.

  Mar. Titus, prepare thy noble eyes to weepe,
Or if not so, thy noble heart to breake:
I bring consuming sorrow to thine age

   Ti. Will it consume me? Let me see it then

   Mar. This was thy daughter

   Ti. Why Marcus so she is

   Luc. Aye me this obiect kils me

   Ti. Faint-harted boy, arise and looke vpon her,
Speake Lauinia, what accursed hand
Hath made thee handlesse in thy Fathers sight?
What foole hath added water to the Sea?
Or brought a faggot to bright burning Troy?
My griefe was at the height before thou cam'st,
And now like Nylus it disdaineth bounds:
Giue me a sword, Ile chop off my hands too,
For they haue fought for Rome, and all in vaine:
And they haue nur'st this woe,
In feeding life:
In bootelesse prayer haue they bene held vp,
And they haue seru'd me to effectlesse vse.
Now all the seruice I require of them,
Is that the one will helpe to cut the other:
'Tis well Lauinia, that thou hast no hands,
For hands to do Rome seruice, is but vaine

   Luci. Speake gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee?
  Mar. O that delightfull engine of her thoughts,
That blab'd them with such pleasing eloquence,
Is torne from forth that pretty hollow cage,
Where like a sweet mellodius bird it sung,
Sweet varied notes inchanting euery eare

   Luci. Oh say thou for her,
Who hath done this deed?
  Marc. Oh thus I found her straying in the Parke,
Seeking to hide herselfe as doth the Deare
That hath receiude some vnrecuring wound

   Tit. It was my Deare,
And he that wounded her,
Hath hurt me more, then had he kild me dead:
For now I stand as one vpon a Rocke,
Inuiron'd with a wildernesse of Sea.
Who markes the waxing tide,
Grow waue by waue,
Expecting euer when some enuious surge,
Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.
This way to death my wretched sonnes are gone:
Heere stands my other sonne, a banisht man,
And heere my brother weeping at my woes.
But that which giues my soule the greatest spurne,
Is deere Lauinia, deerer then my soule.
Had I but seene thy picture in this plight,
It would haue madded me. What shall I doe?
Now I behold thy liuely body so?
Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy teares,
Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee:
Thy husband he is dead, and for his death
Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this.
Looke Marcus, ah sonne Lucius looke on her:
When I did name her brothers, then fresh teares
Stood on her cheekes, as doth the hony dew,
Vpon a gathred Lillie almost withered

   Mar. Perchance she weepes because they kil'd her
husband,
Perchance because she knowes him innocent

   Ti. If they did kill thy husband then be ioyfull,
Because the law hath tane reuenge on them.
No, no, they would not doe so foule a deede,
Witnes the sorrow that their sister makes.
Gentle Lauinia let me kisse thy lips,
Or make some signes how I may do thee ease:
Shall thy good Vncle, and thy brother Lucius,
And thou and I sit round about some Fountaine,
Looking all downewards to behold our cheekes
How they are stain'd in meadowes, yet not dry
With miery slime left on them by a flood:
And in the Fountaine shall we gaze so long,
Till the fresh taste be taken from that cleerenes,
And made a brine pit with our bitter teares?
Or shall we cut away our hands like thine?
Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumbe shewes
Passe the remainder of our hatefull dayes?
What shall we doe? Let vs that haue our tongues
Plot some deuise of further miseries
To make vs wondred at in time to come

   Lu. Sweet Father cease your teares, for at your griefe
See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps

   Mar. Patience deere Neece, good Titus drie thine
eyes

   Ti. Ah Marcus, Marcus, Brother well I wot,
Thy napkin cannot drinke a teare of mine,
For thou poore man hast drown'd it with thine owne

   Lu. Ah my Lauinia I will wipe thy cheekes

   Ti. Marke Marcus marke, I vnderstand her signes,
Had she a tongue to speake, now would she say
That to her brother which I said to thee.
His Napkin with her true teares all bewet,
Can do no seruice on her sorrowfull cheekes.
Oh what a simpathy of woe is this!
As farre from helpe as Limbo is from blisse,
Enter Aron the Moore alone.

  Moore. Titus Andronicus, my Lord the Emperour,
Sends thee this word, that if thou loue thy sonnes,
Let Marcus, Lucius, or thy selfe old Titus,
Or any one of you, chop off your hand,
And send it to the King: he for the same,
Will send thee hither both thy sonnes aliue,
And that shall be the ransome for their fault

   Ti. Oh gracious Emperour, oh gentle Aaron.
Did euer Rauen sing so like a Larke,
That giues sweet tydings of the Sunnes vprise?
With all my heart, Ile send the Emperour my hand,
Good Aron wilt thou help to chop it off?
  Lu. Stay Father, for that noble hand of thine,
That hath throwne downe so many enemies,
Shall not be sent: my hand will serue the turne,
My youth can better spare my blood then you,
And therfore mine shall saue my brothers liues

   Mar. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome,
And rear'd aloft the bloody Battleaxe,
Writing destruction on the enemies Castle?
Oh none of both but are of high desert:
My hand hath bin but idle, let it serue
To ransome my two nephewes from their death,
Then haue I kept it to a worthy end

   Moore. Nay come agree, whose hand shall goe along
For feare they die before their pardon come

   Mar. My hand shall goe

   Lu. By heauen it shall not goe

   Ti. Sirs striue no more, such withered hearbs as these
Are meete for plucking vp, and therefore mine

   Lu. Sweet Father, if I shall be thought thy sonne,
Let me redeeme my brothers both from death

   Mar. And for our fathers sake, and mothers care,
Now let me shew a brothers loue to thee

   Ti. Agree betweene you, I will spare my hand

   Lu. Then Ile goe fetch an Axe

   Mar. But I will vse the Axe.

Exeunt.

  Ti. Come hither Aaron, Ile deceiue them both,
Lend me thy hand, and I will giue thee mine,
  Moore. If that be cal'd deceit, I will be honest,
And neuer whil'st I liue deceiue men so:
But Ile deceiue you in another sort,
And that you'l say ere halfe an houre passe.

He cuts off Titus hand.

Enter Lucius and Marcus againe.

  Ti. Now stay your strife, what shall be, is dispatcht:
Good Aron giue his Maiestie 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 haue.
As for my sonnes, say I account of them,
As iewels purchast at an easie price,
And yet deere too, because I bought mine owne

   Aron. I goe Andronicus, and for thy hand,
Looke by and by to haue thy sonnes with thee:
Their heads I meane: Oh how this villany
Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it.
Let fooles doe good, and faire men call for grace,
Aron will haue his soule blacke like his face.
Enter.

  Ti. O heere I lift this one hand vp to heauen,
And bow this feeble ruine to the earth,
If any power pitties wretched teares,
To that I call: what wilt thou kneele with me?
Doe then deare heart, for heauen shall heare our prayers,
Or with our sighs weele breath the welkin dimme,
And staine the Sun with fogge as somtime cloudes,
When they do hug him in their melting bosomes

   Mar. Oh brother speake with possibilities,
And do not breake into these deepe extreames

   Ti. Is not my sorrow deepe, hauing no bottome?
Then be my passions bottomlesse with them

   Mar. But yet let reason gouerne thy lament

   Titus. If there were reason for these miseries,
Then into limits could I binde my woes:
When heauen doth weepe, doth not the earth oreflow?
If the windes rage, doth not the Sea wax mad,
Threatning the welkin with his big-swolne face?
And wilt thou haue a reason for this coile?
I am the Sea. Harke how her sighes doe flow:
Shee is the weeping welkin, I the earth:
Then must my Sea be moued with her sighes,
Then must my earth with her continuall teares,
Become a deluge: ouerflow'd and drown'd:
For why, my bowels cannot hide her woes,
But like a drunkard must I vomit them:
Then giue me leaue, for loosers will haue leaue,
To ease their stomackes with their bitter tongues,
Enter a messenger with two heads and a hand.

  Mess. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid,
For that good hand thou sentst the Emperour:
Heere are the heads of thy two noble sonnes.
And heeres thy hand in scorne to thee sent backe:
Thy griefes, their sports: Thy resolution mockt,
That woe is me to thinke vpon thy woes,
More then remembrance of my fathers death.
Enter.

  Marc. Now let hot aetna coole in Cicilie,
And be my heart an euer-burning hell:
These miseries are more then may be borne.
To weepe with them that weepe, doth ease some deale,
But sorrow flouted at, is double death

   Luci. Ah that this sight should make so deep a wound,
And yet detested life not shrinke thereat:
That euer death should let life beare his name,
Where life hath no more interest but to breath

   Mar. Alas poore hart that kisse is comfortlesse,
As frozen water to a starued snake

   Titus. When will this fearefull slumber haue an end?
  Mar. Now farwell flatterie, die Andronicus,
Thou dost not slumber, see thy two sons heads,
Thy warlike hands, thy mangled daughter here:
Thy other banisht sonnes with this deere sight
Strucke pale and bloodlesse, and thy brother I,
Euen like a stony Image, cold and numme.
Ah now no more will I controule my griefes,
Rent off thy siluer haire, thy other hand
Gnawing with thy teeth, and be this dismall sight
The closing vp of our most wretched eyes:
Now is a time to storme, why art thou still?
  Titus. Ha, ha, ha,
  Mar. Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this houre

   Ti. Why I haue not another teare to shed:
Besides, this sorrow is an enemy,
And would vsurpe vpon my watry eyes,
And make them blinde with tributarie teares.
Then which way shall I finde Reuenges Caue?
For these two heads doe seeme to speake to me,
And threat me, I shall neuer come to blisse,
Till all these mischiefes be returned againe,
Euen in their throats that haue committed them.
Come let me see what taske I haue to doe,
You heauie people, circle me about,
That I may turne me to each one of you,
And sweare vnto my soule to right your wrongs.
The vow is made, come Brother take a head,
And in this hand the other will I beare.
And Lauinia thou shalt be employd in these things:
Beare thou my hand sweet wench betweene thy teeth:
As for thee boy, goe get thee from my sight,
Thou art an Exile, and thou must not stay,
Hie to the Gothes, and raise an army there,
And if you loue me, as I thinke you doe,
Let's kisse and part, for we haue much to doe.

Exeunt.

Manet Lucius.

  Luci. Farewell Andronicus my noble Father:
The woful'st man that euer liu'd in Rome:
Farewell proud Rome, til Lucius come againe,
He loues his pledges dearer then his life:
Farewell Lauinia my noble sister,
O would thou wert as thou to fore hast beene,
But now, nor Lucius nor Lauinia liues
But in obliuion and hateful griefes:
If Lucius liue, he will requit your wrongs,
And make proud Saturnine and his Empresse
Beg at the gates like Tarquin and his Queene.
Now will I to the Gothes and raise a power,
To be reueng'd on Rome and Saturnine.

Exit Lucius

A Banket.

Enter Andronicus, Marcus, Lauinia, and the Boy.

  An. So, so, now sit, and looke you eate no more
Then will preserue iust so much strength in vs
As will reuenge these bitter woes of ours.
Marcus vnknit that sorrow-wreathen knot:
Thy Neece and I (poore Creatures) want our hands
And cannot passionate our tenfold griefe,
With foulded Armes. This poore right hand of mine,
Is left to tirranize vppon my breast.
Who when my hart all mad with misery,
Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,
Then thus I thumpe it downe.
Thou Map of woe, that thus dost talk in signes,
When thy poore hart beates without ragious beating,
Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still?
Wound it with sighing girle, kil it with grones:
Or get some little knife betweene thy teeth,
And iust against thy hart make thou a hole,
That all the teares that thy poore eyes let fall
May run into that sinke, and soaking in,
Drowne the lamenting foole, in Sea salt teares

   Mar. Fy brother fy, teach her not thus to lay
Such violent hands vppon her tender life

   An. How now! Has sorrow made thee doate already?
Why Marcus, no man should be mad but I:
What violent hands can she lay on her life:
Ah, wherefore dost thou vrge the name of hands,
To bid Aeneas tell the tale twice ore
How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable?
O handle not the theame, to talke of hands,
Least we remember still that we haue none,
Fie, fie, how Frantiquely I square my talke
As if we should forget we had no hands:
If Marcus did not name the word of hands.
Come, lets fall too, and gentle girle eate this,
Heere is no drinke? Harke Marcus what she saies,
I can interpret all her martir'd signes,
She saies, she drinkes no other drinke but teares
Breu'd with her sorrow: mesh'd vppon her cheekes,
Speechlesse complayner, I will learne thy thought:
In thy dumb action, will I be as perfect
As begging Hermits in their holy prayers.
Thou shalt not sighe nor hold thy stumps to heauen,
Nor winke, nor nod, nor kneele, nor make a signe;
But I (of these) will wrest an Alphabet,

And by still practice, learne to know thy meaning

   Boy. Good grandsire leaue these bitter deepe laments,
Make my Aunt merry, with some pleasing tale

   Mar. Alas, the tender boy in passion mou'd,
Doth weepe to see his grandsires heauinesse

   An. Peace tender Sapling, thou art made of teares,
And teares will quickly melt thy life away.

Marcus strikes the dish with a knife.

What doest thou strike at Marcus with knife

   Mar. At that that I haue kil'd my Lord, a Fly
  An. Out on the murderour: thou kil'st my hart,
Mine eyes cloi'd with view of Tirranie:
A deed of death done on the Innocent
Becoms not Titus brother: get thee gone,
I see thou art not for my company

   Mar. Alas (my Lord) I haue but kild a flie

   An. But? How: if that Flie had a father and mother?
How would he hang his slender gilded wings
And buz lamenting doings in the ayer,
Poore harmelesse Fly,
That with his pretty buzing melody,
Came heere to make vs merry,
And thou hast kil'd him

   Mar. Pardon me sir,
It was a blacke illfauour'd Fly,
Like to the Empresse Moore, therefore I kild him

   An. O, o, o,
Then pardon me for reprehending thee,
For thou hast done a Charitable deed:
Giue me thy knife, I will insult on him,
Flattering my selfe, as if it were the Moore,
Come hither purposely to poyson me.
There's for thy selfe, and thats for Tamora: Ah sirra,
Yet I thinke we are not brought so low,
But that betweene vs, we can kill a Fly,
That comes in likenesse of a Cole-blacke Moore

   Mar. Alas poore man, griefe ha's so wrought on him,
He takes false shadowes, for true substances

   An. Come, take away: Lauinia, goe with me,
Ile to thy closset, and goe read with thee
Sad stories, chanced in the times of old.
Come boy, and goe with me, thy sight is young,
And thou shalt read, when mine begin to dazell.

Exeunt.

Actus Quartus.

Enter young Lucius and Lauinia running after him, and the Boy
flies from
her with his bookes vnder his arme. Enter Titus and Marcus.

  Boy. Helpe Gransier helpe, my Aunt Lauinia,
Followes me euery where I know not why.
Good Vncle Marcus see how swift she comes,
Alas sweet Aunt, I know not what you meane

   Mar. Stand by me Lucius, doe not feare thy Aunt

   Titus. She loues thee boy too well to doe thee harme
  Boy. I when my father was in Rome she did

   Mar. What meanes my Neece Lauinia by these signes?
  Ti. Feare not Lucius, somewhat doth she meane:
See Lucius see, how much she makes of thee:
Some whether would she haue thee goe with her.
Ah boy, Cornelia neuer with more care
Read to her sonnes, then she hath read to thee,
Sweet Poetry, and Tullies Oratour:
Canst thou not gesse wherefore she plies thee thus?
  Boy. My Lord I know not I, nor can I gesse,
Vnlesse some fit or frenzie do possesse her:
For I haue heard my Gransier say full oft,
Extremitie of griefes would make men mad.
And I haue read that Hecuba of Troy,
Ran mad through sorrow, that made me to feare,
Although my Lord, I know my noble Aunt,
Loues me as deare as ere my mother did,
And would not but in fury fright my youth,
Which made me downe to throw my bookes, and flie
Causles perhaps, but pardon me sweet Aunt,
And Madam, if my Vncle Marcus goe,
I will most willingly attend your Ladyship

   Mar. Lucius I will

   Ti. How now Lauinia, Marcus what meanes this?
Some booke there is that she desires to see,
Which is it girle of these? Open them boy,
But thou art deeper read and better skild,
Come and take choyse of all my Library,
And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heauens
Reueale the damn'd contriuer of this deed.
What booke?
Why lifts she vp her armes in sequence thus?
  Mar. I thinke she meanes that ther was more then one
Confederate in the fact, I more there was:
Or else to heauen she heaues them to reuenge

   Ti. Lucius what booke is that she tosseth so?
  Boy. Grandsier 'tis Ouids Metamorphosis,
My mother gaue it me

   Mar. For loue of her that's gone,
Perhaps she culd it from among the rest

   Ti. Soft, so busily she turnes the leaues,
Helpe her, what would she finde? Lauinia shall I read?
This is the tragicke tale of Philomel?
And treates of Tereus treason and his rape,
And rape I feare was roote of thine annoy

   Mar. See brother see, note how she quotes the leaues
  Ti. Lauinia, wert thou thus surpriz'd sweet girle,
Rauisht and wrong'd as Philomela was?
Forc'd in the ruthlesse, vast, and gloomy woods?
See, see, I such a place there is where we did hunt,
(O had we neuer, neuer hunted there)
Patern'd by that the Poet heere describes,
By nature made for murthers and for rapes

   Mar. O why should nature build so foule a den,
Vnlesse the Gods delight in tragedies?
  Ti. Giue signes sweet girle, for heere are none but friends
What Romaine Lord it was durst do the deed?
Or slunke not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst,
That left the Campe to sinne in Lucrece bed

   Mar. Sit downe sweet Neece, brother sit downe by me,
Appollo, Pallas, Ioue, or Mercury,
Inspire me that I may this treason finde.
My Lord looke heere, looke heere Lauinia.

He writes his Name with his staffe, and guides it with feete and
mouth.

This sandie plot is plaine, guide if thou canst
This after me, I haue writ my name,
Without the helpe of any hand at all.
Curst be that hart that forc'st vs to that shift:
Write thou good Neece, and heere display at last,
What God will haue discouered for reuenge,
Heauen guide thy pen to print thy sorrowes plaine,
That we may know the Traytors and the truth.

She takes the staffe in her mouth, and guides it with her stumps
and
writes.

  Ti. Oh doe ye read my Lord what she hath writ?
Stuprum, Chiron, Demetrius

   Mar. What, what, the lustfull sonnes of Tamora,
Performers of this hainous bloody deed?
  Ti. Magni Dominator poli,
Tam lentus audis scelera, tam lentus vides?
  Mar. Oh calme thee gentle Lord: Although I know
There is enough written vpon this earth,
To stirre a mutinie in the mildest thoughts,
And arme the mindes of infants to exclaimes.
My Lord kneele downe with me: Lauinia kneele,
And kneele sweet boy, the Romaine Hectors hope,
And sweare with me, as with the wofull Feere
And father of that chast dishonoured Dame,
Lord Iunius Brutus sweare for Lucrece rape,
That we will prosecute (by good aduise)
Mortall reuenge vpon these traytorous Gothes,
And see their blood, or die with this reproach

   Ti. Tis sure enough, and you knew how.
But if you hunt these Beare-whelpes, then beware
The Dam will wake, and if she winde you once,
Shee's with the Lyon deepely still in league.
And lulls him whilst she playeth on her backe,
And when he sleepes will she do what she list.
You are a young huntsman Marcus, let it alone:
And come, I will goe get a leafe of brasse,
And with a Gad of steele will write these words,
And lay it by: the angry Northerne winde
Will blow these sands like Sibels leaues abroad,
And wheres your lesson then. Boy what say you?
  Boy. I say my Lord, that if I were a man,
Their mothers bed-chamber should not be safe,
For these bad bond-men to the yoake of Rome

   Mar. I that's my boy, thy father hath full oft,
For his vngratefull country done the like

   Boy. And Vncle so will I, and if I liue

   Ti. Come goe with me into mine Armorie,
Lucius Ile fit thee, and withall, my boy
Shall carry from me to the Empresse sonnes,
Presents that I intend to send them both,
Come, come, thou'lt do thy message, wilt thou not?
  Boy. I with my dagger in their bosomes Grandsire:
  Ti. No boy not so, Ile teach thee another course,
Lauinia come, Marcus looke to my house,
Lucius and Ile goe braue it at the Court,
I marry will we sir, and weele be waited on.

Exeunt.

  Mar. O heauens! Can you heare a good man grone
And not relent, or not compassion him?
Marcus attend him in his extasie,
That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart,
Then foe-mens markes vpon his batter'd shield,
But yet so iust, that he will not reuenge,
Reuenge the heauens for old Andronicus.

Exit

Enter Aron, Chiron and Demetrius at one dore: and at another dore
young
Lucius and another, with a bundle of weapons, and verses writ
vpon them.

  Chi. Demetrius heeres the sonne of Lucius,
He hath some message to deliuer vs

   Aron. I some mad message from his mad Grandfather

   Boy. My Lords, with all the humblenesse I may,
I greete your honours from Andronicus,
And pray the Romane Gods confound you both

   Deme. Gramercie louely Lucius, what's the newes?
For villanie's markt with rape. May it please you,
My Grandsire well aduis'd hath sent by me,
The goodliest weapons of his Armorie,
To gratifie your honourable youth,
The hope of Rome, for so he bad me say:
And so I do and with his gifts present
Your Lordships, when euer you haue need,
You may be armed and appointed well,
And so I leaue you both: like bloody villaines.

Exit

  Deme. What's heere? a scrole, & written round about?
Let's see.
Integer vitæ scelerisque purus, non egit maury iaculis nec arcus

   Chi. O 'tis a verse in Horace, I know it well.
I read it in the Grammer long agoe

   Moore. I iust, a verse in Horace: right, you haue it,
Now what a thing it is to be an Asse?
Heer's no sound iest, the old man hath found their guilt,
And sends the weapons wrapt about with lines,
That wound (beyond their feeling) to the quick:
But were our witty Empresse well a foot,
She would applaud Andronicus conceit:
But let her rest, in her vnrest a while.
And now young Lords, was't not a happy starre
Led vs to Rome strangers, and more then so;
Captiues, to be aduanced to this height?
It did me good before the Pallace gate,
To braue the Tribune in his brothers hearing

   Deme. But me more good, to see so great a Lord
Basely insinuate, and send vs gifts

   Moore. Had he not reason Lord Demetrius?
Did you not vse his daughter very friendly?
  Deme. I would we had a thousand Romane Dames
At such a bay, by turne to serue our lust

   Chi. A charitable wish, and full of loue

   Moore. Heere lack's but your mother for to say, Amen

   Chi. And that would she for twenty thousand more

   Deme. Come, let vs go, and pray to all the Gods
For our beloued mother in her paines

   Moore. Pray to the deuils, the gods haue giuen vs ouer.

Flourish.

  Dem. Why do the Emperors trumpets flourish thus?
  Chi. Belike for ioy the Emperour hath a sonne

   Deme. Soft, who comes heere?
Enter Nurse with a blacke a Moore childe.

  Nur. Good morrow Lords:
O tell me, did you see Aaron the Moore?
  Aron. Well, more or lesse, or nere a whit at all,
Heere Aaron is, and what with Aaron now?
  Nurse. Oh gentle Aaron, we are all vndone.
Now helpe, or woe betide thee euermore

   Aron. Why, what a catterwalling dost thou keepe?
What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine armes?
  Nurse. O that which I would hide from heauens eye,
Our Empresse shame, and stately Romes disgrace,
She is deliuered Lords, she is deliuered

   Aron. To whom?
  Nurse. I meane she is brought a bed?
  Aron. Wel God giue her good rest,
What hath he sent her?
  Nurse. A deuill

   Aron. Why then she is the Deuils Dam: a ioyfull issue

   Nurse. A ioylesse, dismall, blacke &, sorrowfull issue,
Heere is the babe as loathsome as a toad,
Among'st the fairest breeders of our clime,
The Empresse sends it thee, thy stampe, thy seale,
And bids thee christen it with thy daggers point

   Aron. Out you whore, is black so base a hue?
Sweet blowse, you are a beautious blossome sure

   Deme. Villaine what hast thou done?
  Aron. That which thou canst not vndoe

   Chi. Thou hast vndone our mother

   Deme. And therein hellish dog, thou hast vndone,
Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choyce,
Accur'st the off-spring of so foule a fiend

   Chi. It shall not liue

   Aron. It shall not die

   Nurse. Aaron it must, the mother wils it so

   Aron. What, must it Nurse? Then let no man but I
Doe execution on my flesh and blood

   Deme. Ile broach the Tadpole on my Rapiers point:
  Nurse giue it me, my sword shall soone dispatch it

   Aron. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels vp.
Stay murtherous villaines, will you kill your brother?
Now by the burning Tapers of the skie,
That shone so brightly when this Boy was got,
He dies vpon my Semitars sharpe point,
That touches this my first borne sonne and heire.
I tell you younglings, not Enceladus
With all his threatning band of Typhons broode,
Nor great Alcides, nor the God of warre,
Shall ceaze this prey out of his fathers hands:
What, what, ye sanguine shallow harted Boyes,
Ye white-limb'd walls, ye Ale-house painted signes,
Cole-blacke is better then another hue,
In that it scornes to beare another hue:
For all the water in the Ocean,
Can neuer turne the Swans blacke legs to white,
Although she laue them hourely in the flood:
Tell the Empresse from me, I am of age
To keepe mine owne, excuse it how she can
  Deme. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistris thus?
  Aron. My mistris is my mistris: this my selfe,
The vigour, and the picture of my youth:
This, before all the world do I preferre,
This mauger all the world will I keepe safe,
Or some of you shall smoake for it in Rome

   Deme. By this our mother is for euer sham'd

   Chi. Rome will despise her for this foule escape

   Nur. The Emperour in his rage will doome her death

   Chi. I blush to thinke vpon this ignominie

   Aron. Why ther's the priuiledge your beauty beares:
Fie trecherous hue, that will betray with blushing
The close enacts and counsels of the hart:
Heer's a young Lad fram'd of another leere,
Looke how the blacke slaue smiles vpon the father;
As who should say, old Lad I am thine owne.
He is your brother Lords, sensibly fed
Of that selfe blood that first gaue life to you,
And from that wombe where you imprisoned were
He is infranchised and come to light:
Nay he is your brother by the surer side,
Although my seale be stamped in his face

   Nurse. Aaron what shall I say vnto the Empresse?
  Dem. Aduise thee Aaron, what is to be done,
And we will all subscribe to thy aduise:
Saue thou the child, so we may all be safe

   Aron. Then sit we downe and let vs all consult.
My sonne and I will haue the winde of you:
Keepe there, now talke at pleasure of your safety

   Deme. How many women saw this childe of his?
  Aron. Why so braue Lords, when we ioyne in league
I am a Lambe: but if you braue the Moore,
The chafed Bore, the mountaine Lyonesse,
The Ocean swells not so as Aaron stormes:
But say againe, how many saw the childe?
  Nurse. Cornelia, the midwife, and my selfe,
And none else but the deliuered Empresse

   Aron. The Empresse, the Midwife, and your selfe,
Two may keepe counsell, when the third's away:
Goe to the Empresse, tell her this I said,

He kils her

Weeke, weeke, so cries a Pigge prepared to th' spit

   Deme. What mean'st thou Aron?
Wherefore did'st thou this?
  Aron. O Lord sir, 'tis a deed of pollicie?
Shall she liue to betray this guilt of our's:
A long tongu'd babling Gossip? No Lords no:
And now be it knowne to you my full intent.
Not farre, one Muliteus my Country-man
His wife but yesternight was brought to bed,
His childe is like to her, faire as you are:
Goe packe with them, and giue the mother gold,
And tell them both the circumstance of all,
And how by this their Childe shall be aduaunc'd,
And be receiued for the Emperours heyre,
And substituted in the place of mine,
To calme this tempest whirling in the Court,
And let the Emperour dandle him for his owne,
Harke ye Lords, ye see I haue giuen her physicke,
And you must needs bestow her funerall,
The fields are neere, and you are gallant Groomes:
This done, see that you take no longer daies
But send the Midwife presently to me.
The Midwife and the Nurse well made away,
Then let the Ladies tattle what they please

   Chi. Aaron I see thou wilt not trust the ayre with secrets

   Deme. For this care of Tamora,
Her selfe, and hers are highly bound to thee.

Exeunt

   Aron. Now to the Gothes, as swift as Swallow flies,
There to dispose this treasure in mine armes,
And secretly to greete the Empresse friends:
Come on you thick-lipt-slaue, Ile beare you hence,
For it is you that puts vs to our shifts:
Ile make you feed on berries, and on rootes,
And feed on curds and whay, and sucke the Goate,
And cabbin in a Caue, and bring you vp
To be a warriour, and command a Campe.

Exit

Enter Titus, old Marcus, young Lucius, and other gentlemen with
bowes, and
Titus beares the arrowes with Letters on the end of them.

  Tit. Come Marcus, come, kinsmen this is the way.
Sir Boy let me see your Archerie,
Looke yee draw home enough, and 'tis there straight:
Terras Astrea reliquit, be you remembred Marcus.
She's gone, she's fled, sirs take you to your tooles,
You Cosens shall goe sound the Ocean:
And cast your nets, haply you may find her in the Sea,
Yet ther's as little iustice as at Land:
No Publius and Sempronius, you must doe it,
'Tis you must dig with Mattocke, and with Spade,
And pierce the inmost Center of the earth:
Then when you come to Plutoes Region,
I pray you deliuer him this petition,
Tell him it is for iustice, and for aide,
And that it comes from old Andronicus,
Shaken with sorrowes in vngratefull Rome.
Ah Rome! Well, well, I made thee miserable,
What time I threw the peoples suffrages
On him that thus doth tyrannize ore me.
Goe get you gone, and pray be carefull all,
And leaue you not a man of warre vnsearcht,
This wicked Emperour may haue shipt her hence,
And kinsmen then we may goe pipe for iustice

   Marc. O Publius is not this a heauie case
To see thy Noble Vnckle thus distract?
  Publ. Therefore my Lords it highly vs concernes,
By day and night t' attend him carefully:
And feede his humour kindely as we may,
Till time beget some carefull remedie

   Marc. Kinsmen, his sorrowes are past remedie.
Ioyne with the Gothes, and with reuengefull warre,
Take wreake on Rome for this ingratitude,
And vengeance on the Traytor Saturnine

   Tit. Publius how now? how now my Maisters?
What haue you met with her?
  Publ. No my good Lord, but Pluto sends you word,
If you will haue reuenge from hell you shall,
Marrie for iustice she is so imploy'd,
He thinkes with Ioue in heauen, or some where else:
So that perforce you must needs stay a time

   Tit. He doth me wrong to feed me with delayes,
Ile diue into the burning Lake below,
And pull her out of Acaron by the heeles.
Marcus we are but shrubs, no Cedars we,
No big-bon'd-men, fram'd of the Cyclops size,
But mettall Marcus steele to the very backe,
Yet wrung with wrongs more then our backe can beare:
And sith there's no iustice in earth nor hell,
We will sollicite heauen, and moue the Gods
To send downe Iustice for to wreake our wrongs:
Come to this geare, you are a good Archer Marcus.

He giues them the Arrowes.

Ad Iouem, that's for you: here ad Appollonem,
Ad Martem, that's for my selfe,
Heere Boy to Pallas, heere to Mercury,
To Saturnine, to Caius, not to Saturnine,
You were as good to shoote against the winde.
Too it Boy, Marcus loose when I bid:
Of my word, I haue written to effect,
Ther's not a God left vnsollicited

   Marc. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the Court,
We will afflict the Emperour in his pride

   Tit. Now Maisters draw, Oh well said Lucius:
Good Boy in Virgoes lap, giue it Pallas

   Marc. My Lord, I aime a Mile beyond the Moone,
Your letter is with Iupiter by this

   Tit. Ha, ha, Publius, Publius, what hast thou done?
See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus hornes

   Mar. This was the sport my Lord, when Publius shot,
The Bull being gal'd, gaue Aries such a knocke,
That downe fell both the Rams hornes in the Court,
And who should finde them but the Empresse villaine:
She laught, and told the Moore he should not choose
But giue them to his Maister for a present

   Tit. Why there it goes, God giue your Lordship ioy.
Enter the Clowne with a basket and two Pigeons in it.

  Titus. Newes, newes, from heauen,
Marcus the poast is come.
Sirrah, what tydings? haue you any letters?
Shall I haue Iustice, what sayes Iupiter?
  Clowne. Ho the Iibbetmaker, he sayes that he hath taken
them downe againe, for the man must not be hang'd
till the next weeke

   Tit. But what sayes Iupiter I aske thee?
  Clowne. Alas sir I know not Iupiter:
I neuer dranke with him in all my life

   Tit. Why villaine art not thou the Carrier?
  Clowne. I of my Pigions sir, nothing else

   Tit. Why, did'st thou not come from heauen?
  Clowne. From heauen? Alas sir, I neuer came there,
God forbid I should be so bold, to presse to heauen in my
young dayes. Why I am going with my pigeons to the
Tribunall Plebs, to take vp a matter of brawle, betwixt
my Vncle, and one of the Emperialls men

   Mar. Why sir, that is as fit as can be to serue for your
Oration, and let him deliuer the Pigions to the Emperour
from you

   Tit. Tell mee, can you deliuer an Oration to the Emperour
with a Grace?
  Clowne. Nay truely sir, I could neuer say grace in all
my life

   Tit. Sirrah come hither, make no more adoe,
But giue your Pigeons to the Emperour,
By me thou shalt haue Iustice at his hands.
Hold, hold, meane while her's money for thy charges.
Giue me pen and inke.
Sirrah, can you with a Grace deliuer a Supplication?
  Clowne. I sir
  Titus. Then here is a Supplication for you, and when
you come to him, at the first approach you must kneele,
then kisse his foote, then deliuer vp your Pigeons, and
then looke for your reward. Ile be at hand sir, see you do
it brauely

   Clowne. I warrant you sir, let me alone

   Tit. Sirrha hast thou a knife? Come let me see it.
Heere Marcus, fold it in the Oration,
For thou hast made it like an humble Suppliant:
And when thou hast giuen it the Emperour,
Knocke at my dore, and tell me what he sayes

   Clowne. God be with you sir, I will.
Enter.

  Tit. Come Marcus let vs goe, Publius follow me.

Exeunt.

Enter Emperour and Empresse, and her two sonnes, the Emperour
brings the
Arrowes in his hand that Titus shot at him.

  Satur. Why Lords,
What wrongs are these? was euer seene
An Emperour in Rome thus ouerborne,
Troubled, Confronted thus, and for the extent
Of egall iustice, vs'd in such contempt?
My Lords, you know the mightfull Gods,
(How euer these disturbers of our peace
Buz in the peoples eares) there nought hath past,
But euen with law against the willfull Sonnes
Of old Andronicus. And what and if
His sorrowes haue so ouerwhelm'd his wits,
Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreakes,
His fits, his frenzie, and his bitternesse?
And now he writes to heauen for his redresse.
See, heeres to Ioue, and this to Mercury,
This to Apollo, this to the God of warre:
Sweet scrowles to flie about the streets of Rome:
What's this but Libelling against the Senate,
And blazoning our Iniustice euery where?
A goodly humour, is it not my Lords?
As who would say, in Rome no Iustice were.
But if I liue, his fained extasies
Shall be no shelter to these outrages:
But he and his shall know, that Iustice liues
In Saturninus health; whom if he sleepe,
Hee'l so awake, as he in fury shall
Cut off the proud'st Conspirator that liues

   Tamo. My gracious Lord, my louely Saturnine,
Lord of my life, Commander of my thoughts,
Calme thee, and beare the faults of Titus age,
Th' effects of sorrow for his valiant Sonnes,
Whose losse hath pier'st him deepe, and scar'd his heart;
And rather comfort his distressed plight,
Then prosecute the meanest or the best
For these contempts. Why thus it shall become
High witted Tamora to glose with all:

Aside.

But Titus, I haue touch'd thee to the quicke,
Thy life blood out: If Aaron now be wise,
Then is all safe, the Anchor's in the Port.
Enter Clowne.

How now good fellow, would'st thou speake with vs?
  Clow. Yea forsooth, and your Mistership be Emperiall

   Tam. Empresse I am, but yonder sits the Emperour

   Clo. 'Tis he; God & Saint Stephen giue you good den;
I haue brought you a Letter, & a couple of Pigions heere.

He reads the Letter.

  Satu. Goe take him away, and hang him presently

   Clowne. How much money must I haue?
  Tam. Come sirrah you must be hang'd

   Clow. Hang'd? ber Lady, then I haue brought vp a neck
to a faire end.
Enter.

  Satu. Despightfull and intollerable wrongs,
Shall I endure this monstrous villany?
I know from whence this same deuise proceedes:
May this be borne? As if his traytrous Sonnes,
That dy'd by law for murther of our Brother,
Haue by my meanes beene butcher'd wrongfully?
Goe dragge the villaine hither by the haire,
Nor Age, nor Honour, shall shape priuiledge:
For this proud mocke, Ile be thy slaughter man:
Sly franticke wretch, that holp'st to make me great,
In hope thy selfe should gouerne Rome and me.
Enter Nuntius Emillius.

  Satur. What newes with thee Emillius?
  Emil. Arme my Lords, Rome neuer had more cause,
The Gothes haue gather'd head, and with a power
Of high resolued men, bent to the spoyle
They hither march amaine, vnder conduct
Of Lucius, Sonne to old Andronicus:
Who threats in course of this reuenge to do
As much as euer Coriolanus did

   King. Is warlike Lucius Generall of the Gothes?
These tydings nip me, and I hang the head
As flowers with frost, or grasse beat downe with stormes:
I, now begins our sorrowes to approach,
'Tis he the common people loue so much,
My selfe hath often heard them say,
(When I haue walked like a priuate man)
That Lucius banishment was wrongfully,
And they haue wisht that Lucius were their Emperour

   Tam. Why should you feare? Is not our City strong?
  King. I, but the Cittizens fauour Lucius,
And will reuolt from me, to succour him

   Tam. King, be thy thoughts Imperious like thy name.
Is the Sunne dim'd, that Gnats do flie in it?
The Eagle suffers little Birds to sing,
And is not carefull what they meane thereby,
Knowing that with the shadow of his wings,
He can at pleasure stint their melodie.
Euen so mayest thou, the giddy men of Rome,
Then cheare thy spirit, for know thou Emperour,
I will enchaunt the old Andronicus,
With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous
Then baites to fish, or hony stalkes to sheepe,
When as the one is wounded with the baite,
The other rotted with delicious foode

   King. But he will not entreat his Sonne for vs

   Tam. If Tamora entreat him, then he will,
For I can smooth and fill his aged eare,
With golden promises, that were his heart
Almost Impregnable, his old eares deafe,
Yet should both eare and heart, obey my tongue.
Goe thou before to our Embassadour,
Say, that the Emperour requests a parly
Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting

   King. Emillius do this message Honourably,
And if he stand in Hostage for his safety,
Bid him demaund what pledge will please him best

   Emill. Your bidding shall I do effectually.
Enter.

  Tam. Now will I to that old Andronicus,
And temper him with all the Art I haue,
To plucke proud Lucius from the warlike Gothes.
And now sweet Emperour be blithe againe,
And bury all thy feare in my deuises

   Satu. Then goe successantly and plead for him.
Enter.


Actus Quintus.

Flourish. Enter Lucius with an Army of Gothes, with Drum and
Souldiers.

  Luci. Approued warriours, and my faithfull Friends,
I haue receiued Letters from great Rome,
Which signifies what hate they beare their Emperour,
And how desirous of our sight they are.
Therefore great Lords, be as your Titles witnesse,
Imperious and impatient of your wrongs,
And wherein Rome hath done you any scathe,
Let him make treble satisfaction

   Goth. Braue slip, sprung from the Great Andronicus,
Whose name was once our terrour, now our comfort,
Whose high exploits, and honourable Deeds,
Ingratefull Rome requites with foule contempt:
Behold in vs, weele follow where thou lead'st,
Like stinging Bees in hottest Sommers day,
Led by their Maister to the flowred fields,
And be aueng'd on cursed Tamora:
And as he saith, so say we all with him

   Luci. I humbly thanke him, and I thanke you all.
But who comes heere, led by a lusty Goth?
Enter a Goth leading of Aaron with his child in his armes.

  Goth. Renowned Lucius, from our troups I straid,
To gaze vpon a ruinous Monasterie,
And as I earnestly did fixe mine eye
Vpon the wasted building, suddainely
I heard a childe cry vnderneath a wall:
I made vnto the noyse, when soone I heard,
The crying babe control'd with this discourse:
Peace Tawny slaue, halfe me, and halfe thy Dam,
Did not thy Hue bewray whose brat thou art?
Had nature lent thee, but thy Mothers looke,
Villaine thou might'st haue bene an Emperour.
But where the Bull and Cow are both milk-white,
They neuer do beget a cole-blacke-Calfe:
Peace, villaine peace, euen thus he rates the babe,
For I must beare thee to a trusty Goth,
Who when he knowes thou art the Empresse babe,
Will hold thee dearely for thy Mothers sake.
With this, my weapon drawne I rusht vpon him,
Surpriz'd him suddainely, and brought him hither
To vse, as you thinke needefull of the man

   Luci. Oh worthy Goth, this is the incarnate deuill,
That rob'd Andronicus of his good hand:
This is the Pearle that pleas'd your Empresse eye,
And heere's the Base Fruit of his burning lust.
Say wall-ey'd slaue, whether would'st thou conuay
This growing Image of thy fiend-like face?
Why dost not speake? what deafe? Not a word?
A halter Souldiers, hang him on this Tree,
And by his side his Fruite of Bastardie

   Aron. Touch not the Boy, he is of Royall blood

   Luci. Too like the Syre for euer being good.
First hang the Child that he may see it sprall,
A sight to vexe the Fathers soule withall

   Aron. Get me a Ladder Lucius, saue the Childe,
And beare it from me to the Empresse:
If thou do this, Ile shew thee wondrous things,
That highly may aduantage thee to heare;
If thou wilt not, befall what may befall,
Ile speake no more: but vengeance rot you all

   Luci. Say on, and if it please me which thou speak'st,
Thy child shall liue, and I will see it Nourisht

   Aron. And if it please thee? why assure thee Lucius,
'Twill vexe thy soule to heare what I shall speake:
For I must talke of Murthers, Rapes, and Massacres,
Acts of Blacke-night, abhominable Deeds,
Complots of Mischiefe, Treason, Villanies
Ruthfull to heare, yet pittiously perform'd,
And this shall all be buried by my death,
Vnlesse thou sweare to me my Childe shall liue

   Luci. Tell on thy minde,
I say thy Childe shall liue

   Aron. Sweare that he shall, and then I will begin

   Luci. Who should I sweare by,
Thou beleeuest no God,
That graunted, how can'st thou beleeue an oath?
  Aron. What if I do not, as indeed I do not,
Yet for I know thou art Religious,
And hast a thing within thee, called Conscience,
With twenty Popish trickes and Ceremonies,
Which I haue seene thee carefull to obserue:
Therefore I vrge thy oath, for that I know
An Ideot holds his Bauble for a God,
And keepes the oath which by that God he sweares,
To that Ile vrge him: therefore thou shalt vow
By that same God, what God so ere it be
That thou adorest, and hast in reuerence,
To saue my Boy, to nourish and bring him vp,
Ore else I will discouer nought to thee

   Luci. Euen by my God I sweare to thee I will

   Aron. First know thou,
I begot him on the Empresse

   Luci. Oh most Insatiate luxurious woman!
  Aron. Tut Lucius, this was but a deed of Charitie,
To that which thou shalt heare of me anon,
'Twas her two Sonnes that murdered Bassianus,
They cut thy Sisters tongue, and rauisht her,
And cut her hands off, and trim'd her as thou saw'st

   Lucius. Oh detestable villaine!
Call'st thou that Trimming?
  Aron. Why she was washt, and cut, and trim'd,
And 'twas trim sport for them that had the doing of it

   Luci. Oh barbarous beastly villaines like thy selfe!
  Aron. Indeede, I was their Tutor to instruct them
That Codding spirit had they from their Mother,
As sure a Card as euer wonne the Set:
That bloody minde I thinke they learn'd of me,
As true a Dog as euer fought at head.
Well, let my Deeds be witnesse of my worth:
I trayn'd thy Bretheren to that guilefull Hole,
Where the dead Corps of Bassianus lay:
I wrote the Letter, that thy Father found,
And hid the Gold within the Letter mention'd.
Confederate with the Queene, and her two Sonnes,
And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue,
Wherein I had no stroke of Mischeife in it.
I play'd the Cheater for thy Fathers hand,
And when I had it, drew my selfe apart,
And almost broke my heart with extreame laughter.
I pried me through the Creuice of a Wall,
When for his hand, he had his two Sonnes heads,
Beheld his teares, and laught so hartily,
That both mine eyes were rainie like to his:
And when I told the Empresse of this sport,
She sounded almost at my pleasing tale,
And for my tydings, gaue me twenty kisses

   Goth. What canst thou say all this, and neuer blush?
  Aron. I, like a blacke Dogge, as the saying is

   Luci. Art thou not sorry for these hainous deedes?
  Aron. I, that I had not done a thousand more:
Euen now I curse the day, and yet I thinke
Few come within few compasse of my curse,
Wherein I did not some Notorious ill,
As kill a man, or else deuise his death,
Rauish a Maid, or plot the way to do it,
Accuse some Innocent, and forsweare my selfe,
Set deadly Enmity betweene two Friends,
Make poore mens Cattell breake their neckes,
Set fire on Barnes and Haystackes in the night,
And bid the Owners quench them with the teares:
Oft haue I dig'd vp dead men from their graues,
And set them vpright at their deere Friends doore,
Euen when their sorrowes almost was forgot,
And on their skinnes, as on the Barke of Trees,
Haue with my knife carued in Romaine Letters,
Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.
Tut, I haue done a thousand dreadfull things
As willingly, as one would kill a Fly,
And nothing greeues me hartily indeede,
But that I cannot doe ten thousand more

   Luci. Bring downe the diuell, for he must not die
So sweet a death as hanging presently

   Aron. If there be diuels, would I were a deuill,
To liue and burne in euerlasting fire,
So I might haue your company in hell,
But to torment you with my bitter tongue

   Luci. Sirs stop his mouth, & let him speake no more.
Enter Emillius.

  Goth. My Lord, there is a Messenger from Rome
Desires to be admitted to your presence

   Luc. Let him come neere.
Welcome Emillius, what the newes from Rome?
  Emi. Lord Lucius, and you Princes of the Gothes,
The Romaine Emperour greetes you all by me,
And for he vnderstands you are in Armes,
He craues a parly at your Fathers house
Willing you to demand your Hostages,
And they shall be immediately deliuered