A deed of death done on the innocent
Becomes not Titus' brother; get thee gone,
I fee, thou art not for my company.
Mar. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly.
Tit. But?
how if that fly had a father and
How would he hang his flender gilded wings,
And buz lamenting Dolings in the air? (12)
Poor harmless fly,
That with his pretty buzzing melody,
Came here to make us merry;
And thou haft kill'd him.
Mar. Pardon me, Sir, it was a black ill-favour'd fly, Like to the Emprefs' Moor; therefore I kill'd him. Tit. 0, 0, 0,
Then pardon me for reprehending thee,
For thou haft done a charitable deed;
Give me thy knife, I will infult on him,
Flattering my felf, as if it were the Moor
Come hither purpofely to poifon me.
There's for thy felf, and that's for Tamora:
Yet ftill, I think, we are not brought fo low,
But that between us we can kill a fly,
That comes in likeness of a cole-black Moor.
Mar. Alas, poor man, grief has fo wrought on him,
He takes falfe fhadows for true fubftances.
Come, take away; Lavinia, go with me;
I'll to thy clofet, and go read with thee
Sad ftories, chanced in the times of old.
Come, boy, and go with me; thy fight is young,
And thou shalt read, when mine begins to dazzle.
[Exeunt
(12) And buz lamenting Doings in the Air.] Lamenting Doings is a very idle Expreffion, and conveys no Idea. The Alteration, which I have made, tho' it is but the Addition of a fingle Letter, is a great Increase to the Sense: and tho', indeed, there is fomewhat of a Tautology in the Epithet and Subftantive annext to it, yet that's no new Thing with our Author.
SCENE, Titus's House.
Enter young Lucius, and Lavinia running after him; and the boy flies from her, with his books under his Enter Titus, and Marcus.
ELP, grandfire, help; my Aunt Lavinia
Follows me every where, I know not why.
Good uncle Marcus, fee, how fwift fhe comes:
Alas, fweet Aunt, I know not what you mean.
Mar. Stand by me, Lucius, do not fear thy Aunt.
Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm.
Boy. Ay, when my father was in Rome, fhe did.
Mar. What means my niece Lavinia by these figns?
Tit. Fear thou not, Lucius, fomewhat doth fhe mean;
See, Lucius, fee, how much fhe makes of thee:
Some whither would fhe have thee go with her.
Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care
Read to her fons, than fhe hath read to thee,
Sweet poetry, and Tully's oratory:
Can't thou not guefs wherefore the plies thee thus ?
Boy. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess,
Unless fome fit or frenzie do poffefs her:
For I have heard my grandfire fay full oft,
Extremity of grief would make men mad.
And I have read, that Hecuba of Troy
Ran mad through forrow; 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, fweet Aunt;
And, Madam, if my uncle Marcus go,
I will moft willingly attend your ladyship.
Mar. Lucius, I will.
Tit. How now, Lavinia? Marcus, what means this? Some book there is that the defires to fee.
Which is it, girl, of these? open them, boy.
But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd:
Come and make choice of all my library,
And fo beguile thy forrow, 'till the heav'ns
Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed:
Why lifts the up her arms in fequence thus ?
Mar. I think, fhe means, that there was more than
Confederate in the fact. Ay, more there was:
Or elfe to heav'n fhe heaves them for revenge.
-Tit. Lucius, what book is that she toffes fo?
Boy. Grandfire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphofes ;
My mother gave it me.
Mar. For love of her that's gone,
Perhaps, the cull'd it from among the reft.
Tit. Soft! fee, how bufily fhe turns the leaves! Help her what would she find? Lavinia, fhall I read?
This is the tragick Tale of Philomel,
And treats of Tereus' treason and his rape;
And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy.
Mar. See, brother, fee; note, how the quotes the leaves.
Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus furpriz'd, fweet girl,
Ravifh'd and wrong'd as Philomela was,
Forc'd in the ruthlefs, vaft, and gloomy woods?
See, see;
Ay, fuch a place there is, where we did hunt,
(O 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 fo foul a den,
Unless the Gods delight in tragedies!
Tit. Give figns, fweet Girl, for here are none but
What Roman lord it was durft do the deed;
Or flunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst,
That left the camp to fin in Lucrece' bed?
Mar. Sit down, fweet niece; brother, fit down by
Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,
Infpire me, that I may this treafon find.
My lord, look here; look here, Lavinia.
[He writes his name with his ftaff, and guides it
with his feet and mouth.
This fandy Plot is plain; guide, if thou can'ft,
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 fhift!
Write thou, good niece; and here display, at least,
What God will have discover'd for revenge;
Heav'n guide thy pen, to print thy forrows plain,
That we may know the traitors, and the truth!
[She takes the faff in her mouth, and guides it
with her fumps, and writes.
Tit. Oh, do you read, my lord, what she hath writ? Stuprum, Chiron, Demetrius.
Mar. What, what!- the luftful fons of Tamora Performers of this hateful bloody deed?
Tit. Magne Dominator Poli,
Tam lentus audis fcelera! tam lentus vides!
Mar. Oh, calm thee, gentle lord; although, I know, There is enough written upon this earth, To ftir a mutiny in the mildeft thoughts, And arm the minds of Infants to exclaims. My lord, kneel down with me: Lavinia kneel, And kneel, fweet boy, the Roman Hector's Hope, And fwear with me, (as, with the woeful peer, And father, of that chafte difhonoured Dame, Lord Junius Brutus (ware for Lucrece' rape,) That we will profecute (by good advice) (13)
(13) That we will profecute (by good Advice)
Mortal Revenge upon these traiterous Goths;
And fee their Blood, or die with this Reproach.] But if they endeavour'd to throw off the Reproach, tho' they fell in the
Mortal revenge upon these traiterous Goths ;
And fee their blood, ere die with this reproach.
Tit. 'Tis fure enough, if you knew how.
But if you hurt these bear-whelps, then beware,
The dam will wake; and if she wind you once,
She's with the lion deeply ftill in league;
And lulls him whilft fhe playeth on her back,
And, when he fleeps, will she do what she list.
You're a young Huntsman, Marcus, let it alone;
And come, I will go get a leaf of brass,
And with a gad of steel will write these words,
And lay it by; the angry northern wind
Will blow these sands, like Sybil's leaves, abroad,
And where's your leffon then? boy, what fay you!
Boy. I fay, 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 this ungrateful Country done the like.
Boy. And, uncle, fo will I, an if I live.
Tit. Come, go with me into my armoury.
Lucius, I'll fit thee; and withal, my boy
Shall carry from me to the Emprefs' fons
Prefents, that I intend to fend them both.
Come, come, thou'lt do my meffage, wilt thou not?.
Boy. Ay, with my dagger in their bofom, grandfire.
Tit. No, boy, not fo; I'll teach thee another course.
Lavinia, come; Marcus, look to my House:
Lucius and I'll go brave it at the Court,
Attempt, they could not be properly faid to dye with that Re-
proach. Marcus muft certainly mean, that they would have
Revenge on their Enemies, and fpill their Blood, rather than
they would tamely fit down, and dye, under fuch Injuries. For
this Reason I have corrected the Text,
ere die with this Reproach:
I am not to learn, that or formerly was equivalent to ere.
Or, before, ere: Gloff. to Urrey's Chaucer..
quod etiamnum in agro Lincolnienfi frequentiffimè ufurpatur. Skin-
ner in his Gloffary of Uncommon Words.But this Ufage
was too obfolete for our Shakespeare's Time.
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