SCENE VI,

An Apartment in Titus's Houfe.

A BANQUET,

Enter Titus, Marcus, Lavinia, and young Lucius, a Boy.

Tit. are
O, fo, now fit; and look, you eat no more

1 han will preferve just fo much strength in us

As will revenge thefe bitter woes of ours.
Marcus, unknit that forrow. wreathen knot;
Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands,
And cannot paffionate 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 mifery,
Beats in this hollow prifon of my flesh,
Then thus I thump it down.-

Thou map of woe, that thus doft talk in figns!

[To Lavinia. When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating, Thou canst not ftrike it thus to make it ftill; Wound it with fighing, girl, kill it with groans; Or get fome 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 fink, and foaking in, Drown the lamenting fool in fea-falt tears.

Mar. Fy, brother, fy, teach her not thus to lay Such violent hands upon her tender life.

Tit. How now! has forrow made thee doat already?

This fcene, which does not contribute any thing to the action, yet feems to have the fame

Y

३

authour with the reft, is omitted in the quarto of 1611, but found in the folio of 1623.

Why,

Why, Marcus, no man fhould be mad but I;

What violent hands can the lay on her life?

Ah, wherefore doft thou urge the name of hands,-
To bid Æneas tell the tale twice o'er,

How Troy was burnt, and he made miferable?
O, handle not the theme; no talk of hands,-
Left we remember till, that we have none.
Fy, fy, how frantickly I fquare my talk,
As if we fhould 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 fhe fays,
I can interpret all her martyr'd figns;

She fays, the drinks no other drink but tears,
Brew'd with her forrows, mefh'd upon her cheeks.
Speechlefs complaint!-O, I will learn thy thought;
In thy dumb action will I be as perfect,

As begging hermits in their holy prayers.

Thou shalt not figh, nor hold thy ftumps to heav'n, Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a fign, But I of thefe, will wreft an alphabet,

2

And by still practice learn to know the meaning.

Boy. Good grandfire, leave these bitter,deep, laments; Make my Aunt merry with fome pleafing tale. Mar. Alas, the tender boy, in paffion mov'd, Doth weep to fee his grandfire's heaviness. tó

Tit. Peace, tender fapling; thou art made of tears, And tears will quickly melt thy life away.

[Marcus ftrikes the dish with a knife. What, doft thou ftrike at, Marcus, with thy knife? Mar. At that that I have kill'd, my Lord, a fly. Tit. Out on thee, murderer; thou kill'ft my heart; 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 fee, thou art not for my company.

2-by fill practice-] By conflant or continual practice.

Mar.

Mar. Alas, my Lord, I have but kill'd a fly.
Tit. But?-how if that fly had a father and mother?

How would he hang his flender gilded wings,

3 And buz lamenting Doings in the air?

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 myself, as if it were the Moor
Come hither purposely to poifon me.
There's for thyself, 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 coal-black Moor.

Mar. Alas, poor man, grief has fo wrought on him, He takes falfe fhadows for true substances. Come, take away; Lavinia, go with me; I'll to thy closet, 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.

3 And buz lamenting Doings in the Air.] Lamenting Doings, is a very idle Expreffion, and conveys no Idea. I read Dolings. The Alteration, which I have made, though 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.

THEOBALD.

Y 4

ACT

ACT IV.

SCENE I,

TITUS's House.

Enter young Lucius, and Lavinia running after him; and the boy flies from her, with his books under bis arm. Enter Titus, and Marcus.

Boy.

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 thefe 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.

Canft thou not guess wherefore fhe plies thee thus?
Boy. My Lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess,
Unless fome fit or phrenzy 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 read 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,
Caufelefs, perhaps; but pardon me, fweet Aunt;
And, Madam, if my uncle Marcus go,

I will most willingly attend your ladyfhip.
Mar. Lucius, I will.

Tit. How now, Lavinia?-Marcus, what means this?

Some book there is that fhe 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 fhe up her arms in fequence thus?

Mar. I think, the means, that there was more than

one

Confederate in the fact. Ay, more there was;
Or elfe to heav'n fhe heaves them for revenge.
Tit. Lucius, what book is that fhe 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 the find? Lavinia, fhall I read?

This is the tragick Tale of Philomel,

And treats of Tereus' treafon and his rape;

And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy.

Mar. See, brother, fee; note how fhe quotes the leaves.

Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus furpriz'd, fweet girl, Ravish'd and wrong'd as Philomela was,

Forc'd in the ruthlefs, vaft, and gloomy woods?
See; fee;-

Ay, fuch a place there is, where we did hunt,
O had we never, never, hunted there!

Pat.