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Out of this fell devouring receptacle,
As hateful as Cocytus' misty month.
Quin. Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee
Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good,
I may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb
Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave.
I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink.
Mart. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help.
Quin. Thy hand once more; I will not loose again, Till thou art here aloft, or I below: Thou canst not come to me, I come to thee.
Enter SATURNINUS and AARON,
Sat. Along with me:-—I'll see what hole is here,
And what he is, that now is leap'd into it.
Say, who art thou, that lately didst descend
Into this gaping hollow of the earth?
Mart. The unhappy son of old Andronicus;
Brought hither in a most unlucky hour,
To find thy brother Bassianus dead.
Sat. My brother dead? I know, thou dost but jest:
He and his lady both are at the lodge,
Upon the north side of this pleasant chase;
'Tis not an hour since I left him there.
Mart. We know not where you left him all alive, But, out alas ! here have we found him dead."
Enter TAMORA, with Attendants; Titus ANDRO
NICUS, and Lucius.
Tam. Where is my lord, the king ?
Sat. Here, Tamora; though griev'd with killing
Tam. Where is thy brother Bassianus?
Sat. Now to the bottom dost thou search
Poor Bassianus here lies murdered.
Tam. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ,
[Giving a letter.
The complot of this timeless tragedy;
And wonder greatly, that man's face can fold
In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny.
Sat. (Reads.] An if we miss to meet him hand-
Sweet huntsmar, Bassianus ’tis, we mean,-
Do thou so much as dig the grave for him;
Thou know'st our meaning: look for thy reward
Among the nettles at the elder-tree,
Which odershades the mouth of that same pit,
Where we decreed to bury Bassianus.
Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.
0, Tamora! was ever heard the like?
This is the pit, and this the elder-tree:
Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out,
That should have murder'd Bassianus here.
Aar. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold.
Sat. Two of thy whelps, [To Tit.] fell curs of
bloody kind, Have here bereft my brother of his life:Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison; There let them bide, until we have devis'd Some never heard-of torturing pain for them. Tam. What, are they in this pit? O wondrous
thing! How easily murder is discovered!
Tit. High emperor, upon my feeble knee I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed, That this fell fault of my accursed sons, Accursed, if the fault be prov'd in them,
Sat, If it be prov'd! you see, it is apparent.Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you?
Tam. Andronicus himself did take it up.
Tit. I did, my lord: yet let me be their bail:
For by my father's reverend tomb, I vow,
They shall be ready at your highness' will,
To answer their suspicion with their lives.
Sat. Thou shalt not bail them; see, thou follow
Some bring the murder'd body, some the murderers:
Let them not speak a word, the guilt is plain;
For, by my soul, were there worse end than death,
That end upon them should be executed.
Tam. Andronicus, I will entreat the king;
Fear not thy sons, they shall do well enough.
Tit. Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with
Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, with LAVINIA,
ruvishod; her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out.
Dem. So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak, Who 'twas that cut thy tongue, and ravish'd thee. Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning
SO; And, if thy stumps will let thee, play the scribe. Dem. See, how with signs and tokens she can
scowl. Chi. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy
hands. Dem. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to
wash; And so let's leave her to her silent walks.
Chi. An 'twere my case, I should go bang myself. Dem. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the
cord. [Exeunt Demetrius and Chiron.
Mar. Who's this,-my niece, that flies away so
fast? Cousin, a word; Where is
husband?1If I do dream, 'would all my wealth would wake
me ! If I do wake, some planet strike me down,
That I may slumber in eternal sleep!-
Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands
Have lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare
Of her two branches ? those sweet ornaments,
Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in;
And might not gain so great a happiness,
As half thy love? Why dost not speak to me?--
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,
Like to a bubbling fountain stirrd with wind,
Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips,
Coming and going with thy honey breath.
But, sure, some Tereus hath defloured thee;
And, lest thou should'st detect him, cut thy tongue.
Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame!
And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood, -
As from a conduit with three issuing spouts, -
Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face,
Blushing to be encounter'd with a cloud.
Shall I speak for thee? shall I say 'tis so?
O, that I knew thy heart; and knew the beast,
That I might rail at him to ease my mind!
Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd,
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.
Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue,
And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind:
But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee;
A craftier Tereus hast thou met withal,
And he hath cut those pretty fingers off,
That could have better sew'd than Philomel.
O, had the monster seen those lily hands