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 him,

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 shalt read, when mine begins to dazzle.

ACT IV.

[Exeunt.

The same.

SCENE I.

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

aunt.

SHAK.

X.

Y

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

mean.

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.

[Lavinia turns over the books
which Lucius has let fall.

1 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 revenge.
Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so?
Boy. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses;
My mother gave 't me.

Mar.

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

the leaves.

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

1 Observes.

Forced in the ruthless,1 vast, and gloomy woods?
See, see!

Ay, such 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 so foul a
den,

Unless the gods delight in tragedies?

Tit. Give signs, sweet girl,-for here are none but friends,

What Roman lord it was durst do the deed:

Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst,

That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed?

Mar. Sit down, sweet niece;-brother, sit down by me.

Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,

Inspire me, that I may this treason find!
My lord, look here;-look here, Lavinia.

This sandy plot is plain: guide, if thou canst,
This after me, when I have writ my name

Without the help of any hand at all.

[he writes his name with his staff, and guides it with his feet and mouth. Cursed be that heart that forced us to this shift! Write thou, good niece; and here display, at last, What God will have discover'd for revenge. Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain,

1 Pitiless.

That we may know the traitors and the truth!

་

[she takes the staff in her mouth, and guides it with her stumps, and writes.

Tit. O, do you read, my lord, what she hath

writ?

Stuprum-Chiron—Demetrius.'

Mar. What, what!-the lustful sons of Tamora Performers of this heinous, bloody deed?

Tit. Magne Dominator poli,

Tam lentus audis scelera? tam lentus vides?

Mar. O, calm thee, gentle lord! although, I know,

There is enough written upon this earth,
To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts,
And arm the minds of infants to exclaims.

My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel;
And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope;
And swear with me,-
-as with the woful feere1
And father of that chaste, dishonor'd dame,
Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape,-
That we will prosecute, by good advice,
Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths,
And see their blood, or die with this reproach.
Tit. 'Tis sure enough, an 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 still in league,
And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back,

1 Husband.