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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 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, fhe is delivered.

Aar. To whom?

Nur. I mean, fhe is brought to bed.
Aar. Well, God give her good rest.

What hath he fent her?

Nur. A.Devil.

Aar. Why then he is the Devil's Dam: a joyful Iffue. 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 Emprefs fends it thee, thy Stamp, thy Seal, And bids thee Chriften it with thy Dagger's point. Aar. Out, you Whore, is Black fo bafe 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, hellish Dog, thou haft undoneWo to her Chance, and damn'd her loathed Choice, Accurs'd the Off-spring of so foul a Fiend.

Chi. It fhall not live.

Aar. It fhall not die.

Nur. Aaron it muft, the Mother wills it fo.

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

Dem. I'll broach the Tadpole on my Rapiers point: Nurfe, give it me, my Sword fhall foon difpatch it.

Aar.

you

kill your

Brother?

Aar. Sooner this Sword fhall plough thy Bowels up.
Stay, murtherous Villains, will
Now by the burning Tapers of the Sky,
That thone fo brightly when this Boy was got,
He dies upon my Cymitar's fharp point,
That touches this my firft-born Son and Heir.
I tell you, Younglings, not Enceladus
With all his threatning Band of Typhon's Brood,
Nor great Alcides, nor the God of War,

Shall feize this Prey out of his Father's Hands:
What, what, ye fanguine fhallow-hearted Boys,
Ye white-limb'd Walls, ye Alehoufe painted Signs,
Coal-black is better than another hue

In that it fcorns to bear another hue :

For all the Water in the Ocean

Can never turn the Swan's black Legs to white,
Although the lave them hourly in the Flood.
Tell the Emperefs from me, I am of Age
To keep mine own, excuse it how he can.
Dem. Wilt thou betray thy noble Mistress thus ?
Aar. My Miftrefs is my Miftrefs; this, my felf;
The Vigour, and the Picture of my Youth:
This, before all the World do I prefer;
Ths, maugre all the World, will I keep fafe,
Or fome of you fhall fmoke for it in Rome.
Dem. By this our Mother is for ever fham'd.
Chi. Rome will defpife her for this foul Efcape.
Nur. The Emperor in his rage will doom her Death.
Chi. I blufh to think upon this Ignominy.

Aar. Why there's the privilege your Beauty bears:
Fie treacherous hue, that will betary with blufhing
The clofe Enacts and Counfels of the Heart:
Here's a young Lad fram'd of another leer,
Look how the black Slave fmiles upon the Father;
As who should fay, old Lad I am thine own.
He is your Brother, Lords; fenfibly fed
Of that felf-blood that firft gave life to you,
And from that Womb where you imprifoned were,
He is infranchised and come to light:
Nay, he is your Brother by the furer fide,
Although my Scal be ftamped on his Face.
VOL. IV.

LI

Nur.

Nur. Aaron, what fhall I fay unto the Emprefs?
Dem. Advife thee, Aaron, what is to be done,
And we will all fubfcribe to thy advice:
Save thou the Child, fo we may all be fafe.

Aar. Then fit we down, and let us all confult.
My Son and i will have the wind of you:
Keep there, now talk at pleasure of your fafety.

[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 Lionefs,
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 elf 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 said———
[He kills her.
Week, week, fo cries a Pig prepar'd to th’Spit.
Dem. What mean'ft thou, Aaron ?
Wherefore didft thou this?

Aar. O Lord, Sir, 'tis a deed of Policy:
Shall the live to betray this Guilt of ours?
A long-tongu'd babling Goffip? No, Lords, no.
And now be it known to you my full intent:
Not far, one Muliteus lives, my Country-man,
His Wife but yefternight was brought to Bed,.
His Child is like to her, fair as you are:
Gpack with him, and give the Mother Gold,
And tell them both the circumftance of all,
And how by this their Child fhall be advanc'd,
And be received for the Emperor's Heir,
And fubftituted in the place of mine,
To calm this Tempeft whirling in the Court;
And let the Emperor dandle him for his own.
Hark ye, Lords, ye fee I have given her Phyfick,
And you must needs beflow her Funeral,
The Fields are near, and you are gallant Grooms:
This done, fee that you take no longer Days,
But fend the Midwife prefently to me.

The

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 Aftrea reliquit- be you remembred, Marcus. She's gone, she's fed-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 must 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 miferable,
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 fhip'd her hence,
And Kinsmen then we may go pipe for Juft.co.

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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 Máfters,
What have you met with her?

Pub. No, my good Lord, but Pluto fends you word
If you will have Revenge from Hell, you fhall:
Marry for Juftice he is fo imploy'd,

He thinks with Jove in Heav'n, or fome where elle;
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 fhoot against the Wind.
To it, Boy, Marcus-loose when I bid:
Of my word, I have written to effect,
There's not a God left unfollicited.

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

We will afflict the Emperor in his Pride.

[They fboot.

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

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

Mar

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