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Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these things;
Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth.
As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight;
Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay :
Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there :
And, if you love me, as I think you do,
Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do.


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Luc. Farewel, Andronicus, my noble father ;
The woful'st man that ever liv'd in Rome ! 290
Farewel, proud Rome! 'till Lucius comes again,
He leaves his pledges dearer than his life.
Farewel, Lavinia, my noble sister;
O, 'would thou wert as thou 'tofore hast been!
But now nor Lucius, nor Lavinia lives,
But in oblivion, and hateful griefs.
If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs ;
And make proud Saturninus and his emperess
Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen.
Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power, 100
To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine.

[Exit Lucius,


An Apartment in Tirus's House. A Banquet. Enter

Titus, MARCUS, LAVINIA, and young Lucius,
a Boy.

Tit. So, so; now sit : and look, you eat no more
Than will preserve just so much strength in us
As will revenge these bitter woes of ours.
Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot ;
Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands,
And cannot passionate our ten-fold grief
With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine
Is left to tyrannize upon my breast;
And when my heart, all mad with misery,

Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,
Then thus I thump it down.-
of woe, that thus dost talk in signs !

When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating,
Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still,
Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans;
Or get some little knife between thy teeth,
And just against thy heart make thou a hole;
That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall,
May run into that sink, and soaking in,

320 Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears.

Mar. Fye, brother, fye! teach her not thus to lay Such violent hands upon her tender life.


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Tit. How now! has sorrow made thee doat al,

Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I.
What violent hands can she lay on her life?
Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands;
To bid Æneas tell the tale twice o'er,
How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable ?
O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands;

Lest wè remember still, that we have none.-
Fye, fye, how frantickly I square my talk !
As if we should forget we had no hands,
If Marcus did not name the word of hands!
Come, let's fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this :-
Here is no drink! Hark, Marcus, what she says;
I can interpret all her martyr'd signs ;-
She says, she drinks no other drink but tears,
Brew'd with her sorrows, mesh'd upon her cheeks:-
Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought; 340
In thy dumb action will I be as perfect,
As begging hermits in their holy prayers :
Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven,
Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign,
But I, of these, will wrest an alphabet,
And, by still practice, learn to know the meaning.
Boy. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep la-

Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale.

Mar. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov’d,
Doth weep to see his grandsire’s heaviness. 350
Tit. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears,


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And tears will quickly melt thy life away.

[MARCUS strikes the Dish with a knife. What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife ?

Mar. At that that I have kill'd, my lord ; a fly.
Tit. Out on thee, murderer! thou kill'st

Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny:
A deed of death, done on the innocent,
Becomes not Titus' brother ; Get thee gone;

I see, thou art not for my company.

Mar. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. 360

Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and mother? How would he hang his slender gilded wings, And buz lamenting doings in the air ? Poor harmless fly! That with his pretty buzzing melody, Came here to make us merry; and thou hast kill'd

him. Mar. Pardon me, sir; it was a black ill-favour'd

fly, Like to the emperess' Moor; therefore I kill'd him,

Tit. O, O, O,
Then pardon me for reprehending thee,

For thou hast done a charitable deed.
Give me thy knife, I will insult on him;
Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor,
Come hither purposely to poison me.-
There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora.
Ah, sirrah !—yet I think we are not brought so low,
But that, between us, we can kill a fly,
That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor.



Mar. Alas, poor man! grief bas so wrought on

him, He takes false shadows for true substances. 38

Tit. Come, take away.--Lavinia, go with me :
l'll to thy closet; and go read with thee
Sad stories, chanced in the times of old.
Come, boy, and go with me; thy sight is young,
And thou shalt read, when mine begins to dazzle.



Titus's House. Enter young Lucius, and LAVINIA

running after him; and the Boy flies from her, with his Books under his Arm. Enter Tirus and MARCUS.



ELP, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia Follows me every where, I know not why :Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes ! Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean. Mar. Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear thine

aunt. Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee

harm. Boy. Ah, when my father was in Rome, she did. Mar. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs ? Fij


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