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Ran mad through sorrow, that made me to fear;
Although, my Lord, I know my noble Aunt
Loves me as dear as e'er my Mother did,
And would not, but in fury, fright my Youth,
Which made me down to throw my Books, and flie
Causeless perhaps; but pardon me, sweet Aunt,
And, Madam, if my Uncle Marcus go,
I will most willingly attend your Ladyship.

Mar. Lucius, I will.

Tit. How now, Lavinia ? Marcus, what means this?
Some Book there is that she desires to see,
Which is it, Girl, of these? Open them, Boy,
But thou art deeper read, and better skills,
Come and make choice of all my Library,
And so beguile thy Sorrow, 'till the Heav'ns
Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed :
What Book ?
Why lifes she up her Arms in sequence thus?

Mar. I think she means that there was more than one
Confederate in the Fac. Ay, more there was:
Oreife to Heav'n fhe heaves them, to revenge.

Tit. Lucius, what Book is that she tolles so?
Boy. Grand-sire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphosis,

My Mother gave it me.

Mar. For love of her that's gone, Perhaps the culld it from among the rest:

Tit. Soft! see how busily she turns the Leaves! Help her: What would she find ? Lavinia, shall I read? This is the tragick Tale of Rhilomel, And treats of Tereus Treason and his Rape; And Rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy.

Mar. See, Brother, see, note how she quotes the Leaves.

Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpriz'd, sweet Girl, Ravish'd and wrong'd, as Philomela was, Forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy Woods? See, see ; Ay, such a Place there is, where we did hunt, (0 had we never never hunted there) Pattern'd by that the Poet here describes, By Nature made for Murders and for Rapes.

Mar. O why should Nature build so foul a Den, Unless the Gods delight in Tragedies?


Tit. Give Signs, sweet Girl, for here are none but Friends, What Roman Lord it was durft do the deed; Or sunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, That left the Camp to fin in Lucrece Bed?

Mar. Sit down, sweet Neice; Brother, sit down by me, Apollo, Pallas, Jové, or Mercury, Inspire 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 sandy Plot is plain, guide, if thou canst, 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 shift! 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 Sorrows plain, That we may know the Traicors, and the Truth. She takes the staff in ber Mouth, and guides it with her Stumps,

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

Mar. What, what the lustful Sons of Tamora,
Performers of this hateful bloody deed ?

Tit. Magni Dominator Poli,
Tam lentus andis fcelera! tam lentus vides !

Mar. Oh calm thee, gentle Lord; although I know
There is enough written upon this Earth,
To stir a Mutiny in the mildest Thoughts,
And arm the minds of Infants to Exclaims.
My Lord, kneel down with me: Lavinia kneel,
And kneel, sweet Boy, the Roman He&tor's hope,
And swear with me, as with the woful Peer,
And Facher of that chaft dishonoured Dame,
Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece Rape,
That we will prosecute (by good Advice)
Mortal revenge upon these Traiterous Goths,
And see their Blood, or die with this Reproach.

Tit. 'Tis fure enough, and you knew how. .'
But if


hurt these Bear-whelps, then beware, The Dam will wake, and if the wind you once,



She's with the Lion deeply fill in League,
And lulls him whilst the playeth on her Back,
And when he sleeps will the do what the lift.
You are a young Huntsman, Marcus, let it alone ;
And come, I will go get a leaf of Brass,
Aud with a Gad of Steel will write chefe Words,
And lay it by; the angry Northern Wind
Will blow these Sands like Sybils leaves abroad,
And where's your Lesson then Boy, what say you !

Boy. I say, 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 his ungrateful Country done the like.

Boy. And, Uncle, so will I, and if I live.

Tit. Come, go with me inco mine Armory,
Lucius I'll fix thee, and withal, my Boy
Shall carry from me to che Empress Sons,
Presents that I intend to send them both,
Come, come, thou'lt do my Mellage, wilt thou not?

Bay, Ay, with my Dagger in their Borom, Grandfire.

Tit. No, Boy, not so, I'll teach thee another Course.
Lavinia, come; Marcus, look to my House,
Lucius and I'll go brave it at the Court,
Ay, mrry will we, Sir, and we'll be waited on. [Excént,

Mar. O Heavins, can you hear a good Man groan,
And not relent, or not compassion hima
Marcus attend him in bis Extalie,
That hath more Scars af Sorrow in his Heart,

Than Foe-mens Marks upon his batter'd Shield,
But yet so just, that he will not revenge,
Revenge the Heavos for old Andronicus,

fExis. Enter Aaron, Chiron, and Demetrius, at one Door. And at

another Door young Lucius and drother, with a bundle of Weapons, and Verses writ spon them.

Chi. Demetrius, here's the Son of Lucius, He hath fome Mellige to deliver us.

Aar. Ay, fome mad Message from his mad. Grandfather,

Boy. My Lords with all the humblenefs. I may,
I greet your Honours from Andronicus, :
And pray the Roman Gods.confound you back.


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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 sent by me,
The goodliest Weapons of his Armory,
To gratifie your honourable Youth,
The hope of Rome, for so he bad me say:
And so I do, and with bis Gifts present
Your Lordships, when ever you have need,
You may be armed and appointed well.
And so I leave you both, like bloody Villains.

Dem. What's here, a Scrole, and written round about?
Let's see.
Integer vite scelerisque purus, non eget Mauri jaculis nec arcu.

Cbi. O'tis a Verse in Horace, I know it well:
I read it in the Grammar long ago.

Aar. Ay just, a Verse in Horace-right, you have it
Now what a thing it is to be an Ass?
Here's no found Jeft, ch' old Man hath found their Guilt,
And sends 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 reft, in her unrest a while.
And now, young Lords, was't not a bappy Star
Led us to Rome, Strangers, and more than so,
Captives, to be advanced to this height?
Ir did me good, before the Palace Gate
To brave the Tribune in his Brother's hearing.

Dem. But me more good, to see so great a Lord
Basely infinuate, and send us Gifts.

Aar. Had he not reason, Lord Demetrius ?
Did you not use his Daughter very friendly?

Dem. I would we had a thousand Roman Dames
At such a Bay, by turn to serve our Luft.

Chia A charitable wish, and full of Love.
Aar. Here lacks but your Mother for 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.
Aar. Pray to the Devils, the Gods have given us over.



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Dem. Why do the Emperor's Trumpets flourish thus?
Chi. Belike for joy the Emperor hath a Son.
Dem. Soft, who comes here?

| Enter Nurse with a Black-a-moor Child.
Nur. Good morrow, Lords:
O tell m“, 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 wo beride thee evermore

Aar. Why, what a Caterwalling doft thou keep?
What doft thou wrap and fumble in thine Arms?

Nur. Othat which I would hide from Heav'ns Eye,
Our Empress shame, and stately Rome's disgrace,
She is delivered, Lords, she is delivered.

Aar. To whom 3
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 Damé: a joyful Issue.

Nur. A joyless, dismal, black and forrowful Issue,
Here is the Babe, as loathsome as a Toad,
Amongst the fairest Breeders of our Clime,
The Empress lends it thee, thy Stamp, thy Seal,
And bids chee Christen it with thy Dagger's point.

Aar. Out, you Whore; is Black fo base a hue?
Sweet Blowse, you are a beauteous Boffom fure.

Dem. Villain, what hast thou done?
Aar. That which thou canst not undo.
Chi. Thou hast undone our Mother.

Dem. And therein, hellifh Dog, thou hast undone-
Wo to her Chance, and damn'd her loathed Choice,
Accurs'd the Off-spring of so foul a Fiend.

Chi. It shall not live.
Aar. It mall not die.
Nur. Aäron it must, the Mother wills it fo.

Aar. What, mult it, Nurse? Then let no Man but I
Do Execution on my Flesh and Blood.

Dem. I'll broach the Tadpole on my Rapier's point:
Nurse, give it me, my Sword shall foon dispatch it.



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