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?
Clown. Alas, Sir, I know not Jupiter,

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?
Clown. Ay, Sir.

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;
And when thou haft given it the Emperor,
Knock at my door, and tell me, what he says.
Clown. God be with you, Sir,
Tit. Come, Marcus, let us go.

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
Of equal juftice, us'd in fuch contempt?

My Lords, you know, as do the mightful Gods,
However the difturbers of our peace

Buz in the people's ears, there nought hath past,
But even with law against the wilful fons
Of old Andronicus. And what an if
His forrows have fo overwhelm'd his wits,
Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks,
His fits, his phrenfy, and his bitterness ?
And now he writes to heav'n for his redrefs.
See, here's to Jove, and this to Mercury,
This to Apollo, this to the God of war;
Sweet fcrowls, to Ay about the streets of Rome!
What's this but libelling against the Senate,
And blazoning our injuftice ev'ry where?
A goodly humour, is it not, my Lords?
As who would fay, in Rome no justice were,
But if I live, his feigned ecftafies
Shall be no fhelter to thefe outrages;
But he and his fhall know, that Juftice lives
In Saturninus' health; whom, if the fleep,
He'll fo awake, as the in fury fhall
Cut off the proud'it confpirator that lives.

Tam. My gracious Lord, moft lovely Saturnine,
Lord of my life, commander of my thought,

Calm

Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age,
Th' effects of forrow for his valiant fons,

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.
High-witted Tamora to glofe with all:

But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick,
Thy life-blood out: if Aaron now be wife,
Then is all fafe, the anchor's in the port.

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,
May this be borné? as if his traiterous fons,
That dy'd by law for murder of our brother,
Have by my means been butcher'd wrongfully?
Go, drag the villain hither by the hair,
Nor age nor honour fhall fhape privilege.
For this proud mock I'll be thy flaughter-man;
Sly frantick wretch, that holp'ft to make me great,
In hope thyfelf fhould govern Rome and me.

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
Of high-refolved men, bent to the spoil,
They hither march amain, under the Conduct
Of Lucius, fon to old Andronicus,

Who threats in courfe of his revenge to do
As much as ever Coriolanus did.

Sat. Is warlike Lucius General of the Goths?
Thefe tidings nip me, and I hang the head
As Rowers with froft, or grafs beat down with ftorms.
Ay, now begin our forrows to approach;
'Tis he, the common people love fo much.
Myfelf hath often over-heard them fay,
When I have walked like a private man,
That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully,

And they have wifh'd, that Lucius were their Emperor.
Tam. Why fhould you fear? is not our city strong?
Sat. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius,
And will revolt from me, to fuccour him.

Tam. King, be thy thoughts imperious like thy

name.

Is the fun dim'd, that gnats do fly in it?
The eagle fuffers little birds to fing,
And is not careful what they mean thereby,
Knowing, that with the fhadow of his wings
He can at pleafure ftint their melody;