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With the dismalist Obje&
That ever Eye, with light, made Heart lament.
Aar. Now will I fetch the King to find them here,
That he thereby may have a likely guess,
How these were they that made away his Brother.
Mar. Why doft not comfort me, and help me out,
From this unhallow'd and blood-stained Hole?
Quin. I am surprized with an uncouch fear ;
A killing Sweat o'er-runs my trembling Joints ;
My Heart suspeas more than mine Eye can see.
Mar. To prove thou hast a true divining Heart,
Aaron and thou, look down into the Den,
And see a fearful light of Bood and Death.
Quin. Aaron is gone,
And my compassionate Heart
Will not permit mine Eyes once to behold
The thing whereat it trembles by surmise:
O tell me how it is; for ne'er till now,
Was I a Child, to fear I know not what.
Mar. Lord Bassianus lyes embrewed here,
All on a heap, like to the slaughter'd Lamb,
In this detested, dark, blood-drinking Pit.
Quin. If it be dark, how do'st thou know 'tis he?
Mar. Upon his bloody Finger he doth wear
A precious Ring, that lightens all the Hole:
Which like a Taper in some Monument,
Doth shine upon the dead Man's earthly Cheeks,
And shews the ragged intrails of the Pit.
So pale did shine the Moon on Pyramus,
When he by night lay bath'd in Maider-blood.
O Brother help me, with thy fainting Hand;
If Fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath,
Out of this fell devouring Receptacle,
As hateful as Cocytus misty Mouth.
Quin, Reach me thy Hand, that I may help thee our,
Or wanting strength, to do thee so much good,
I may be pluck'd into the swallowing Womb
Of this deep Pit, poor Bassianus Grave :
I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink.
Mar. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help:
Quin. Thy hand once more, I will not lose again,
'Till thou art here aloft, or I below:
Thou can'st not come to me, I come to thee. (Both fall in.
Enter the Emperor and Aaron.
Sat. Along with me, I'll see what Hole is here,
And what he is that now is leap'd into it.
Siy, who are chou that lately didst descend
Into this gaping Hollow of the Earth?
Mar. The unhappy Son of old Andronicus,
Brought hither in a most unlucky Hour,
To find thy Brother Basianus dead.
Sat. My Brother dead? I know thou dost but jest,
He and his Lady both are at the Lodge,
Upon the North-side of this pleasant Chase,
'Tis not an hour since I lefc him there.
Mar. We know not where you left him all alive,
But out, alas, here have we found him dead.
Ester Tamora, Andronicus, and Lucius.
Tam. Where is my Lord, the King?
Sat. Here Tamora, though griev'd with killing Grief.
Tam. Where is thy Brother Bassianus?
Sat. Now to the bottom dost thou search my Wound,
Poor Basianus here lyes murthered.
Tam. Then all too late I bring this fatal Writ,
The complot of this timeless Tragedy,
And wonder greatly that Man's Face can fold
In pleasing smiles such murderous Tyranny.
[She giveth Saturninus a Letter.
Saturninus reads the Letter.
And if we miss to meet him handsomly,
Sweet Huntsman, Baffianus, 'tis we mean,
Do thou so much as dig the Grave for him,
Thou know'st oar meaning, look for thy reward
Among the Nettles at the Elder-tree:
Which over.fhades the mouth of that same Pit,
Where we decreed 10 bury Bassianus;
Do this, and purchase us thy lafting Friends.
Sat. Oh Tamora, was ever heard the like?
This is the Pir, and this the Elder-tree:
Look, Sirs, if you can find the Huntíman out,
That should have m:rthered Bafanus here.
Aar. My gracious Lord, here is the Bag of Gold.
Sat. Two of thy Whelps, fell Curs, of bloody kind
Have here bereft my Brother of his Life:
Sirs, drag them from the Pit unto the Prison,
There let them bide until we have devis'd
Some never heard-of torturing pain for them.
Tam. What are they in this Pit?
Oh wondrous thing!
How easily Murder is discovered?
Tit. High Emperor, upon my feeble Knee,
I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed,
That this fell fault of my accursed Sons,
Accurfed, if the faults be prov'd in them-
Sat. If it be proy'd? you see it is apparent.
Who found this Letter, Tamora, was it you?
Tam. Andronicus himself did take it up.
Tit. I did, my Lord,
Yet let me be their Bail.
For by my Father's reverend Tomb I vow
They shall be ready at your Highness Will,
To answer their Suspicion with their lives.
Sat. Thou shalt not bail them, see thou follow me:
Soine bring the murther'd Body, fome the Murtherers.
Let them not speak a word, the Guilt is plain,
For by my Soul, were there worse end than Death,
That end upon them should be executed,
Tam. Andronicus, I will entreat the King,
Fear not thy Sons, they fhall do well enough.
Tit. Come, Lucius, come,
Stay not to talk with them.
[Exeunt. Enter Demetrius and Chiron, with Lavinia, her Hands
cut off, and her Tongue cut ont, and ravishd. Dem. So now go tell, and if thy Tongue can speak, Who 'twas that cut thy Tongue and ravish'd thee.
Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so, And, if thy Stumps will let thee, play the Scribe.
Dem. See how with Signs and tokens she can fowl.
Chi. Go home,
Call for sweet Water, wash thy hands.
Dem. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash ;
And so let's leave her to her filent Walks.
Chi. And 'twere my Cause, I fould go hang my self.
Dem. If thou had'It Hands to help thee knit the Cord.
[Exeunt. Wind Horns. Enter Marcus from Hunting, to Lavinia.
Mar. Who is this, my Niece, that fl es away so faft?
Coulin, a Word, where is your Husband?
If I do dream, would all my Wealth would wake me;
If I do wake, some Planet Atrike me down,
That I may slumber in eternal Sleep.
Speak, gentle Niece, what stern ungentle Hands
Hath lop'd and hew'd, and made thy Body bare
Of her two Branches, those sweet Ornaments,
Whose circling Shadows Kings have fought to sleep in,
And might not gain so great a Happiness,
As half thy Love! Why do'st not speak to me?
Alas, a crimson River of warm Blood,
Like to a bubling Fountain stirr'd with Wind,
Doth rise and fall between thy rosy Lips,
Coming and going with thy Honey Breath.
But sure some Tereus bath deflour'd thee,
And left thou should'st dete& him, cut thy Tongue,
Ah, now thou turn'st away thy Face for Shame!
And notwithstanding all this loss of Blood,
As from a Conduit with their issuing Spouts,
Yet do thy Cheeks look red as Titan's Face,
Blushing to be encountred with a Cloud,
Shall I speak for thee Shall I say, 'tis so?
Oh that I knew thy Heart, and knew the Beast,
That I might rail at him to ease my mind.
Sorrow concealed, like an Oven stopt,
Doth burn the Heart to Cindars where it is.
Fair Philomela, she but lost her Tongue,
And in a tedious Sampler sewed her mind.
But lovely Niece, that mean is cut from thee,
A craftier Tereus haft thou met withall,
And he hath cut those pretty Fingers off
That could have better sewed that Philomel.
Oh had the Monster seen those Lilly Hands
Tremble like Alpen Leaves upon a Lute,
And make the filken Strings delight to kiss them,
He would not then have touch'd them for his Life.
Or had he heard the heav'nly Harmony,
Which that sweet Tongue hath made;
He would have dropt his Knife and fell asleep,
As Cerberus at the Thracian Poet's feet.
Come, let us go, and make thy Father blind,
For fuch a fight will blind a Father's Eye.
One hour's Sorm will drown the fragrant Meads,
What will whole Months of Tears thy Father's Eyes?
Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee :
Oh could our Mourning case thy Misery. [Exeunt.
ACT III. Ś CENE I.
Enter the Judges and Senators, with Marcus and Quintus
bound, passing on the Stage to the place of Execution, and Ti.
tus going before, pleading. Tit.
Ear me, grave Fathers, noble Tribunes stay,
For pity of mine Age, whose Youth was spent
In dangerous Wars, whilst you securely slept:
For all my Blood in Rome's great Quarrel shed,
For all the frosty Nights that I have watcht,
And for these bitter Tears, which you now see
Filling the aged wrinkles in my Cheeks,
Be pitiful to my condemned Sons,
Whose Souls are not corrupted, as 'cis thought:
For two and twenty Sons I never wept,
Because they died in Honour's lofty Bed.
[Andronicus lietb down, and the Fudges pass by him.
For these, chefe, Tribunes, in the Duft I write
My Heart's deep Languor, and my Soul's fad Tears :
Let my Tears stanch the Earth's dry Appetite,
My Sons sweet Blood will make it shame and blush:
o Earth! I will befriend chee more with Rain, (Exeunt.
That shall distil from these two ancient Ruins,
Than youthful April shall with all her Showers
In Summer's droughư: I'll drop upon thee still,
In Winter with warm Tears I'll melt che Snow,
And keep eternal Spring-time on, thy Face,
So thou refuse to drink my dear; Son's Blood.