She's with the Lion deeply ftill in League, And with a Gad of Steel will write thefe Words, Mar. Ay, that's my Boy, thy Father hath full oft For his ungrateful Country done the like. Boy. And, Uncle, fo will I, and if I live. Come, come, thou'lt do my Meffage, wilt thou not? Ay, marry will we, Sir, and we'll be waited on. [Exeunt. Mar. O Heav'ns, can you hear a good Man groan, And not relent, or not compaffion him? Marcus attend him in his Extafie,my That hath more Scars of Sorrow in his Heart, Than Foe-mens Marks upon his batter'd Shield, But yet fo juft, that he will not revenge, Revenge the Heav'ns for old Andronicus, 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 apon them... Chi. Demetrius, here's the Son of Lucius, He hath fome Mellage to deliver us. Aar. Ay, fome mad Meffage from his mad. Grandfather, Boy. My Lords, with all the humblenefs I may, I greet your Honours from Andronicus, di suny l suấ And pray the Roman Gods confound you both. T Dem. Dem. Gramercy lovely Lucius, what's the News? Boy. For Villains mark'd with Rape. May it please you, My Grandfire well advis'd hath fent by me, The goodlieft Weapons of his Armory, To gratifie your honourable Youth, The hope of Rome, for fo he bad me fay: And fo I do, and with his Gifts prefent Your Lordships, when ever 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 Scrole, 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, a Verfe in Horace Now what a thing it is to be an Afs? -right, you have it Here's no found Jeft, th' old Man hath found their Guilt, She would applaud Andronicus conceit: Aar. Had he not reafon, Lord Demetrius ? Aar. Here lacks but your Mother for to say, Amen. Aar. Pray to the Devils, the Gods have given us over. [Flourish. Dem. Dem. Why do the Emperor's Trumpets flourish thus? - Chi. Belike for joy the Emperor hath a Son. Dem. Soft, who comes here? Enter Nurfe with a Black-a-moor Child. Nur. Good morrow, Lords: 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 wo betide thee evermore Aar. Why, what a Caterwalling doft thou keep? What doft thou wrap and fumble in thine Arms? . Nur. O that which I would hide from Heav'ns Eye, Our Empress shame, and ftately Rome's difgrace, She is delivered, Lords, the is delivered. Aar. To whom? Nur. I mean, he is brought to Bed. Aar. Well, God give her good rest. What hath he fent her? Nur. A Devil, Aar. Why then she is the Devil's Damé: a joyful Issue. Nur. A joylefs, difmal, black and forrowful Iffue, Here is the Babe, as loathfome as a Toad, Amongst the faireft Breeders of our Clime, The Empress fends it thee, thy Stamp, thy Seal, And bids thee Chriften it with thy Dagger's point. Aar. Out, you Whore, is Black fo base a hue? Sweet Blowfe, you are a beauteous Boffom fure. Dem. Villain, what haft thou done? Aar. That which thou canst not undo. Chi. Thou haft undone our Mother. Dem. And therein, hellifh Dog, thou haft undoneWo to her Chance, and damn'd her loathed Choice, Accurs'd the Off-fpring of fo foul a Fiend. Chi. It fhall not live. Aar. It fhall not die. Nur. Aaron it muft, the Mother wills it fo. Do Execution on my Flesh and Blood. Dem. I'll broach the Tadpole on my Rapier's point: Nurfe, give it me, my Sword fhall foon dispatch it. Aar. Aar. Sooner this Sword fhall plough thy Bowels up. In that it fcorns to bear another hue: Can never turn the Swan's black Legs to white, Aar. Why there's the privilege your Beauty bears': Nur. Nur. Aaron, what fhall I fay unto the Empress? Aar. Then fit we down, and let us all confult. [They fit on the Ground. Dem. How many Women faw this Child of his? Aar. Why fo, brave Lords, when we all join in league, I am a Lamb; but if you brave the Moor, The chafed Boar, the Mountain Lioness, The Ocean fwells not fo as Aaron ftorms: But fay again, how many faw the Child? Nur. Cornelia the Midwife, and my felf. And none elfe but the delivered Emprefs. Aar. The Emprefs, the Midwife, and your felf Two may keep Counfel, when the third's away: Go to the Emprefs, tell her, this I faid Week, week, fo cries a Pig prepar'd to th' Spit. Dem. What mean'ft thou, Aaron? Wherefore didft thou this? [He kills her. Aar. O Lord, Sir, 'tis a deed of Policy: Go pack with him, and give the Mother Gold, The |