There's not a God left unfolicited. Mar. Kinfmen, fhoot all your shafts into the Court. We will afflict the Emperor in his pride. [They fhoot. Tit. Now, mafters, draw: oh, well faid, Lucius : Good boy, in Virgo's lap, give it to Pallas. Mar. My Lord, I am a mile beyond the moon; Your letter is with Jupiter by this. Tit. Ha, Publius, Publius, what haft thou done? See, fee, thou haft fhot off one of Taurus' horns. Mar. This was the sport, my Lord; when Publius shot, The bull being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock, That down fell both the ram's horns in the Court, And who fhould find them but the Emprefs' villain? She laugh'd, and told the Moor, he should not chufe, But give them to his mafter for a present. Tit. Why, there it goes. God give your Lordship joy! Enter a Clown with a basket and two pigeons.. News, news from heav'n; Marcus, the poft is come. Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters? Shall I have juftice? what fays Jupiter? Clown. Who? the gibbet-maker? he fays, that he hath taken them down again; for the man must not be hang'd till the next week. Tit. Tut, what fays Jupiter, I afk thee? I never drank with him in all my life. Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier? Clown. Ay, of my pigeons, Sir, nothing else. Tit. Why, didft thou not come from heav'n? Clown. From heav'n? alas, Sir, I never came there. God forbid, I should be fo bold to prefs into heav'n in my young days. Why, I am going with my pigeons to the tribunal plebs, to take up a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the Emperial's men. Mar. Why, Sir, that is as fit as can be to ferve for your your oration, and let him deliver the pigeons to the Emperor from you. Tit. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the Emperor with a grace? Clown. Nay, truly, Sir, I could never fay grace in all my life. Tit. Sirrah, come hither, make no more ado, But give your pigeons to the Emperor. By me thou shalt have justice at his hands. Hold, hold-mean while, here's money for thy charges. Give me a pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a supplication? Tit. Then, here is a fupplication for you: and when you come to him, at the first approach you must kneel, then kifs his foot, then deliver up your pigeons, and then look for your reward. I'll be at hand, Sir; fee you do it bravely. Clown. I warrant you, Sir. Let me alone. Tit. Sirrah, haft thou a knife? come, let me fee it. Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration, For thou haft made it like an humble fuppliant; I will. Publius, follow me. [Exeunt. * SCENE V. The PALACE. Enter Emperor and Empress, and her two fons; the Emperor brings the arrows in his band, that Titus Shot. Sat. HY, Lords, what wrongs are these? was ever seen WHY, An Emperor of Rome thus over-borne, Troubled, confronted thus, and for th' extent My Lords, you know, as do the mightful Gods, Buz in the people's ears, there nought hath past, Tam. My gracious Lord, moft lovely Saturnine, Calm Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age, Whose lofs hath pierc'd him deep, and fcarr'd his heart; And rather comfort his diftreffed plight, Than profecute the meaneft, or the best, For thefe contempts. Why, thus it fhall become [Afide. But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick, Enter Clown. How, now, good fellow, wouldit thou fpeak with us? Clo. Yes, forfooth, an your Miftresfhip be Emperial. Tam. Emprefs I am, but yonder fits the Emperor. Clown. 'Tis he, God and St. Stephen give you good Even: I have brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here. [The Emperor reads the letter. Sat. Go, take him away, and hang him presently. Clown. How much money muft I have? Tam. Come, firrah, thou must be hang'd. Clown. Hang'd! by'r lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair end. Sat. Defpightful and intolerable wrongs! Shall I endure this monftrous villany? [Exit. I know, from whence this fame device proceeds, 8 Enter Emilius. Sat. What news with thee, Æmilius? Emil. Arm, arm, my Lords; Rome never had more caufe; The Goths have gather'd head, and with a Power Who threats in courfe of his revenge to do Sat. Is warlike Lucius General of the Goths? And they have wifh'd, that Lucius were their Emperor. Tam. King, be thy thoughts imperious like thy name. Is the fun dim'd, that gnats do fly in it? |