In this detefted, dark, blood-drinking pit.
Quin. If it be dark, how doft thou know 'tis he?
Mar. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear
A precious ring, that lightens all the hole:
Which, like a taper in fome monument,.
Doth fhine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks;
And fhews the ragged entrails of this pit.
So pale did fhine the moon on Pyramus,
When he by night lay bath'd in maiden blood.
O brother, help me with thy fainting hand,
(If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath)
Out of this fell devouring receptacle,
As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth.
Quin. Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out,
Or, wanting ftrength to do thee fo much good,
I may be pluck'd into the fwallowing womb
Of this deep pit, poor Baffianus' grave.
I have no ftrength to pluck thee to the brink.
Mar. And I no ftrength to climb without thy help. Quin. Thy hand once more; I will not loose again, 'Till thou art here aloft, or I below.
Thou canst not come to me, I come to thee. [Falls in. Enter the Emperor, and Aaron.
Sat. Along, with me; — - I'll fee what hole is here, And what he is, that now is leap'd into't.
Say, who art thou, that lately didft defcend
Into this gaping hollow of the earth?
Mar. Th' unhappy fon of old Andronicus, Brought hither in a moft unlucky hour,
To find thy brother Baffianus dead.
Sat. My brother dead? I know, thou doft but jeft: He and his lady both are at the Lodge,
Upon the north-fide of this pleafant chafe ;
'Tis not an hour fince I left him there.
Mar. We know not where you left him all alive, But out, alas! here have we found him dead.
Exter Tamora with Attendants; Andronicus, and
Lucius.
Tam. Where is my lord, the King?
Sat. Here, Tamora; though griev'd with killing grief.
Tam. Where is thy brother Baffianus ?
Sat. Now to the bottom doft thou fearch my wound; Poor Bafianus here lies murthered.
Tam. Then all too late I bring this fatal Writ, The complot of this timeless tragedy;
And wonder greatly, that man's face can fold
In pleafing fmiles fuch murderous tyranny.
[She giveth Saturninus a letter.
Saturninus reads the letter.
And if we miss to meet him handfomly,
Sweet huntfman, Baffianus 'tis we mean;
Do thou fo much as dig the grave for him,
Thou know' ft our meaning: look for thy reward
Among the nettles at the elder-tree,
Which over-fbades the mouth of that fame pit,
Where we decreed to bury Baffianus.
Do this, and purchase us thy lafting friends.
Oh, Tamora! was ever heard the like?
This is the pit, and this the elder-tree :
Look, Sirs, if you can find the huntfman out,
That should have murther'd Baffianus here.
Aar. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold.
Sat. Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody kind,
Have here bereft my brother of his life.
Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prifon,
[To Titus.
There let them bide, until we have devis'd
Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them.
Tam. What, are they in this pit? oh wondrous thing!
How eafily murder is discovered?
Tit. High Emperor, upon my feeble knee
I beg this boon, with tears not lightly fhed,
That this fell fault of my accurfed fons,
K 2
(Accurfed, if the fault be prov'd in them -)
Sat. If it be prov'd! you fee, it is apparent.
Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you ?
Tam. Andronicus himself did take it up.
Tit. I did, my lord: yet let me be their bail.
For by my father's reverend tomb, I vow,
They fhall be ready at your Highness' will,
To answer their fufpicion with their lives.
Sat. Thou shalt not bail them: fee, thou follow me:
Some bring the murder'd body, fome the murtherers.
Let them not speak a word, the guilt is plain;
For, by my foul, were there worfe end than death,
That end upon them fhould be executed.
Tam. Andronicus, I will entreat the King; Fear not thy fons, they fhall do well enough. Tit. Come, Lucius, come, ftay not to talk with them.
Enter Demetrius and Chiron, with Lavinia, ravish'd; her kunds cut off, and her tongue cut out.
Dem. So, now go tell (an if thy tongue can speak) Who 'twas that cut thy tongue, and ravifh'd thee.
Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning fo And (if thy ftumps will let thee) play the fcribe.
Dem. See, how with figns and tokens fhe can fcrowle. Chi. Go home, call for. fweet water, wafh thy hands. Dem. She has no tongue to call, or hands to wash; And fo let's leave her to her filent walks.
Chi. If'twere my cafe, I fhould go hang my felf. Dem. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord. [Exeunt Dem. and Chiron.
Mar. Who's this, my Niece, that flies away fo fast ? Coufin, a word; where is your husband?
If I do dream, 'would all my wealth would wake me! If I do wake, fome planet ftrike me down,
That I flumber in eternal fleep!
Speak, gentle Niece, what ftern ungentle hands
Have lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare
Of her two branches, thofe fweet ornaments, (8)
Whose circling fhadows Kings have fought to fleep in ?
And might not gain fo great a happiness,
As have thy love! why doft not speak to me?
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,
Like to a bubbling fountain ftirr'd with wind,
Doth rife and fall between thy rofie lips,
Coming and going with thy honey breath.
But, fure, fome Tereus hath defloured thee;
And, left thou fhould'ft detect him, cut thy tongue.
Ah, now thou turn'ft away thy face for fhame!
And, notwithstanding all this lofs of blood,
(As from a conduit with their iffuing spouts,)
Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face,
Blushing to be encountred with a cloud.
Shall I fpeak for thee? fhall I fay, 'tis fo?
O, that I knew thy heart, and knew the beaft,
That I might rail at him to cafe my mind!]
Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopt,
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.
Fair Philomela, fhe but loft her tongue,
And in a tedious fampler few'd her mind.
But, lovely Niece, that Mean is cut from thee;
A craftier Tereus haft thou met withal,
And he hath cut those pretty fingers off,
That could have better few'd than Philomel.
Oh, had the monster seen those lilly hands
Tremble, like afpen leaves, upon a lute,
And make the filken ftrings delight to kiss them;
He would not then have touch'd them for his life.
Or had he heard the heav'nly harmony,
thofe Sweet Ornaments, Whofe circling Shadows Kings have fought to fleep ing And might not gain so great an Happiness,
As half thy Love!] As half her Love? But might they gain any part of her Love? Or would fhe not confent to embrace 'em fo much as with one Arm? The Poet had no fuch Stuff in his Thoughts. My Correction reftores the true Meaning; that, tho' Princes languish'd to fleep in her Arms, they could not obtain their Suit, or have her Love,
Which that fweet tongue hath made;
He would have dropt his knife, and fell asleep,
As Cerberus at the Thracian Poet's feet.
Come, let us go, and make thy father blind;
For fuch a fight will blind a father's eye.
One hour's ftorm will drown the fragrant meads,
What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes ?
Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee:
Oh, could our mourning cafe thy misery! [Exeunt.
SCENE, a Street in Rome.
Enter the Judges and Senators, with Marcus and Quintus bound, paffing on the ftage to the place of execution, and Titus going before, pleading.
EAR me, grave fathers; noble Tribunes, stay,
For pity of mine age, whofe youth was spent
In dangerous wars, whilft you fecurely flept:
For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed,
For all the frofty nights that I have watcht,
And for these bitter tears, which you now fee
Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks,
Be pitiful to my condemned fons,
Whose fouls are not corrupted, as 'tis thought.
For two and twenty fons I never wept,
Because they died in Honour's lofty bed.
[Andronicus lieth down, and the judges pafs by him.
For these, these, Tribunes, in the duft I write
My heart's deep languor, and my foul's fad tears:
Let my tears flanch the earth's dry appetite,
My fons' sweet blood will make it fhame and blush :
O earth! I will befriend thee more with rain,
That shall diftil from these two antient ruins,
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