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Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor,
Come hither purposely to poison me.
There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora.
Ah, sirrah!
Yet I do think we are not brought so 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 so wrought on

He takes false shadows for true substances.

Tit. Come, take away.–Lavinia, go with me: I'll to thy closet; and go read with thee Sad stories, chanced in the times of old. Come, boy, and go with me; thy sight is young, And thou, when mine begins to dazzle.




The same.

Before Titus's house. Enter TITUS and MARCUS. Then enter YOUNG LUCIUS,

LAVINIA running after him. Boy. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia Follows me every where, I know not why. Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes ! Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean, Mar. Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear thine


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Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee

harm. Boy. Ay, when my father was in Rome, she did. Mar. What means my niece Lavinia by these

signs ? Tit. Fear her not, Lucius. Somewhat doth she


See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee:
Somewhither would she have thee go with her.
Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care
Read to her sons, than she hath read to thee,
Sweet poetry, and Tully's Orator.1
Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus ?
Boy. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I

guess, Unless some fit or frenzy do possess

her : For I have heard my grandsire say full oft, Extremity of griefs would make men mad; And I have read, that Hecuba of Troy Ran mad through sorrow: 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 fly; Causeless, perhaps : but pardon me, sweet aunt; And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go, I will most willingly attend your ladyship. Mar. Lucius, I will.

[Iavinia turns over the books

which Lucius has let fall.

Cicero's Treatise on Eloquence, entitled Orator.

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

this? Some book there is that she desires to see. Which is it, girl, of these?-Open them, boy. But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd; Come, and take choice of all my library, And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed. Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus ? Mar. I think, she means, that there was more

than one Confederate in the fact ;-ay, more there was : Or else to heaven she heaves them for

Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so?

Boy. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses;
My mother gave 't me.

For love of her that's gone,
Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest.

Tit. Soft! see, how busily she turns the leaves ! Help her. What would she find ?-Lavinia, shall I read ? This is the tragic tale of Philomel, And treats of Tereus' treason, and his rape ; And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy. Mar. See, brother, see; note, how she quotes 1

the leaves. Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surprised, sweet girl, Ravish'd, and wrong'd, as Philomela was,

1 Observes

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