The Midwife and the Nurfe well made away,

Then let the Ladies tattle what they please.

Chi. Aaron, I fee thou wilt not truft the Air with Secrets. Dem. For this care of Tamora,

Her felf and hers are highly bound to thee.

[Exeunt.

Aar. Now to the Goths, as fwift as Swallow flies,
There to difpofe this Treasure in mine Arms,
And fecretly to greet the Empress Friends.
Come on, you thick-lip'd Slave, I'll bear you hence,
For it is you that puts 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.

Enter Titus, old Marcus, young Lucius, and other Gentlemen with Bows, and Titus bears the Arrows with Letters on the end of them.

Tit. Come, Marcus, come Kinfmen, this is the way. Sir Boy, now let me fee your Archery,

Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there ftraight; Terras Aftraa reliquit- be you remembred, Marcus-D She's gone, he's fled-Sirs, take you to your Tools, You, Coufins, fhall go found the Ocean,

And caft your Nets, haply you may find her in the Sea,
Yet there's as little Juftice as at Land-

No Publius and Sempronius, you must do it,
'Tis you muft dig with Mattock and with Spade,
And pierce the inmoft Center of the Earth:
Then when you come to Pluto's Region,
I pray you to deliver him this Petition,
Tell him it is for Juftice, 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 Peoples Suffrages
On him, that thus doth tyrannize o'er me.
Go get you gone, and pray be careful all,
And leave you not a Man of War unfearch'd,
This wicked Emperor may have ship'd her hence;
And Kinsmen then we may go pipe for Justice.

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Mar.

Mar. O, Publius, is not this a heavy cafe,
To fee thy noble Unkle thus diftract?

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 fome careful Remedy.

Mar. Kinfmen, his Sorrows are paft 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 Juftice the is fo imploy'd,

He thinks with Jove in Heav'n, or fome where elfe;
So that perforce you must needs ftay 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-bon'd Men, fram'd of the Cyclops fize,
But Metal, Marcus, Steel to the very Back,
Yet wrung with wrongs more than our Backs can bear.
And fith there's no Juftice in Earth nor Hell,
We will follicit Heav'n, and move the Gods,
To fend down Juftice for to wreak our wrongs:
Come to this gear, you are a good Archer, Marcus.
[He gives them the Arrows.
Ad Jovem, that's for you-here ad Apollonem.
Ad Martem, that's for my felf;

Here Boy, to Pallas

-here to Mercury

To Calus and to Saturn-not to Saturnine

You were as good to fhoct against the Wind.

To it, Boy, Marcus

loofe when I bid:

Of my word, I have written to effect,

There's not a God left unfollicited.

Mar. Kinfinen, fhoot all your Shafts into the Court,

We will afflict the Emperor in his Pride.

[They foot.

Tit. Now, Mafters, draw; Oh well faid, Lucius:

Good Boy in Virgo's Lap, give it Pallas.

Mar.

Mar. My Lord, I am a mile beyond the Moon; Your Letter is with Jupiter by this.

Tit. Ha, ha, Publius, Publius, what haft thou done? See, fee, thou haft fhot off one of Taurus's Horns.

Mar. This was the fport, my Lord, when Publius shot, The Bull being gall'd, gave Aries fuch a knock, That down fell both the Rams Horns in the Court, And who fhould find them but the Emprefs Villain: She laugh'd, and told the Moor he fhould not chufe But give them to his Mafter for a prefent.

Tit. Why there it goes, God give your Lordship joy. Enter a Clown with a Basket and two Pigeons.

News, News from Heav'n;

Marcus, the Poft is come.

Sirrah, what Tydings? have you any Letters?

Shall I have Juftice, what fays Jupiter?

Clow. Who? the Gibbet-maker? he fays that he hath taken them down again, for the Man muft not be hang'd 'till the next Weck.

Tit. Tut, what fays Jupiter, I ask thee? Clow. Alas, Sir, I know not Jupiter, I never drank with him in all my Life. Tit. Why Villain, art not thou the Carrier? Clow. Ay, of my Pigeons, Sir, nothing elfe. Tit. Why, didft thou not come from Heav'n? Clow. From Heav'n? Alas, Sir, I never came there. God forbid I fhould be fo bold to prefs into Heav'n in my young Days. Why I am going with my Pigcons to the Tribunal Plebs, to take up a matter of brawl betwixt my Uncle and one of the Emperials Men.

Mar. Why, Sir, that is as fit as can be to ferve for your Oration, and let him deliver the Pigeons to the Emperor from you.

Tit. Tell me, can you deliver an Oration to the Emperor with a Grace?

Clow. Nay, truly, Sir, I could never fy Grace in all my

Life.

Tit. Sirrah, come hither, make no more ado,

But give your Pigeons to the Emperor.

By me thou shalt have Juftice at his Hands.

Hold, hold-mean while here's Mony for thy Charges.

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Give

Give me a Pen and Ink.

Sirrab, can you with a Grace deliver a Supplication?

Clow Ay, Sir.

Tit. Then here is a Supplication for you: and when you come to him, at the first approach you muft kneel, then kifs his Foot, then deliver up your Pigeons, and then look for your Reward. I'll be at hand, Sir, fee you do it bravely.

Clow. I warrant you, Sir, let me alone.

Tit. Sirrah, haft thou a Knife? Come, let me fee it.
Here, Marcus, fold it in the Oration,

For thou haft made it like an humble Suppliant,
And when thou haft given it the Emperor,
Knock at my Door, and tell me what he says.
Clow. God be with you, Sir, I will.

Tit. Come, Marcus, let us go, Publius follow me.

[Exeunt. Enter Emperor and Empress, and her two Sons; the Emperor brings the Arrows in his Hand that Titus fhot.

Sat. Why Lords.

What Wrongs are these? was ever seen

An Emperor of Rome thus over-born,

Troubled, confronted thus, and for the extent
Of equal Juftice, us'd in fuch Contempt?
My Lords, you know, as do the mightful Gods,
(However the disturbers of our Peace

Bez in the Peoples Ears) there nought hath paft,
But even with Law against the wilful Sons
Of old Andronicus. And what and if
His Sorrows have fo over-whelm'd his Wits,
Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks,
His fits, his frenfie, and his bitterness?
And now he writes to Heav'n for his redrefs.
See, here's to Jove, and this to Mercury,
This to Apollo, this to the God of War:
Sweet Scrowls to fly about the Streets of Rome.
What's this but Libelling against the Senate,
And blazoning our Injuftice every where?
A goodly humour, is it not, my Lords?
As who would fay, in Rome no Juftice were.
But if I live, his feigned Extafies
Shall be no shelter to thefe Outrages:

But

But he and his fhall know, that Juftice lives
In Saturninus health, whom, if the fleep,
He'll fo awake, as fhe in fury shall

Cut off the proudeft Confpirator that lives.
Tam. My gracious Lord, my lovely Saturnine,
Lord of my Life, Commander of my Thoughts,
Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus Age,
Th' effects of Sorrow for his valiant Sons,
Whose lofs hath pierc'd him deep, and scarr'd his Heart;
And rather comfort his distressed plight,
Than profecute the meaneft or the best,
For thefe Contempts. Why thus it shall become
High witted Tamora to glofe with all;
But Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick,
Thy Life-blood on't: If Aaron now be wife,
Then is all fafe, the Anchor's in the Port.

Enter Clown.

How now, good Fellow, wouldst thou fpeak with us?
Clow. Yea forfooth, and your Miftership be Emperial.
Tam. Empress I am, but yonder fits the Emperor.
Clow. 'Tis he: God and St. Stephen give you good-e'en,
I have brought you a Letter and a couple Pigeons here.
He reads the Letter.
Sat. Go, take him away, and hang him prefently.
Clow. How much Mony must I have?

Tam. Come, Sirrah, thou must be hang'd.

Clow. Hang'd! by'r Lady, then I have brought up a Neck to a fair end.

Sat. Defpightful and intolerable Wrongs,
Shall I endure this monftrous Villany?

I know from whence this fame Device proceeds:
May this be born? As if his Traiterous Sons,
That dy'd by Law for Murther of our Brother,
Have by my means been butcher'd wrongfully?
Go, drag the Villain hither by the Hair,
Nor Age nor Honour shall shape Privilege.
For this proud mock I'll be thy Slaughter-man;
Sly frantick Wretch, that holp'ft to make me great,
In hope thy felf fhould govern Rome and me.

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[Exit.

Enter