 | The Lamentable Tragedy of Titus Andronicus |  |
Actus Quartus.
Enter young Lucius and Lauinia running after him, and the Boy flies from her with his bookes vnder his arme.Enter Titus and Marcus.
Boy.
Helpe Grandsier helpe, my Aunt Lauinia,
Followes me euery where I know not why.
Good Vncle Marcus see how swift she comes,
Alas sweet Aunt, I know not what you meane.
Mar.
Stand by me Lucius, doe not feare thy Aunt.
Titus.
She loues thee boy too well to doe thee harme
Boy.
I when my father was in Rome she did.
Mar.
What meanes my Neece Lauinia by these signes?
Ti.
Feare not Lucius, somewhat doth she meane:
See Lucius see, how much she makes of thee:
Some whether would she haue thee goe with her.
Ah boy, Cornelia neuer with more care
Read to her sonnes, then she hath read to thee,
Sweet Poetry, and Tullies Oratour:
Canst thou not gesse wherefore she plies thee thus?
Boy.
My Lord I know not I, nor can I gesse,
Vnlesse some fit or frenzie do possesse her:
For I haue heard my Grandsier say full oft,
Extremitie of griefes would make men mad.
And I haue read that Hecuba of Troy,
Ran mad through sorrow, that made me to feare,
Although my Lord, I know my noble Aunt,
Loues me as deare as ere my mother did,
And would not but in fury fright my youth,
Which made me downe to throw my bookes, and flie
Causles perhaps, but pardon me sweet Aunt,
And Madam, if my Vncle Marcus goe,
I will most willingly attend your Ladyship.
Mar.
Lucius I will.
Ti.
How now Lauinia, Marcus what meanes this?
Some booke there is that she desires to see,
Which is it girle of these? Open them boy,
But thou art deeper read and better skild,
Come and take choyse of all my Library,
And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heauens
Reueale the damn'd contriuer of this deed.
What booke?
Why lifts she vp her armes in sequence thus?
Mar.
I thinke she meanes that ther was more then one
Confederate in the fact, I more there was:
Or else to heauen she heaues them to reuenge.
Ti.
Lucius what booke is that she tosseth so?
Boy.
Grandsier 'tis Ouids Metamorphosis,
My mother gaue it me.
Mar.
For loue of her that's gone,
Perhahs she culd it from among the rest.
Ti.
Soft, so busily she turnes the leaues,
Helpe her, what would she finde? Lauinia shall I read?
This is the tragicke tale of Philomel?
And treates of Tereus treason and his rape,
And rape I feare was roote of thine annoy.
Mar.
See brother see, note how she quotes the leaues
Ti.
Lauinia, wert thou thus surpriz'd sweet girle,
Rauisht and wrong'd as Philomela was?
Forc'd in the ruthlesse, vast, and gloomy woods?
See, see, I such a place there is where we did hunt,
(O had we neuer, neuer hunted there)
Patern'd by that the Poet heere describes,
By nature made for murthers and for rapes.
Mar.
O why should nature build so foule a den,
Vnlesse the Gods delight in tragedies?
Ti.
Giue signes sweet girle, for heere are none but friends
What Romaine Lord it was durst do the deed?
Or slunke not Saturnine, as Tarquin ersts,
That left the Campe to sinne in Lucrece bed.
Mar.
Sit downe sweet Neece, brother sit downe by me,
Apollo, Pallas, Ioue, or Mercury,
Inspire me that I may this treason finde.
My Lord looke heere, looke heere Lauinia.
He writes his Name with his staffe, and guides it with feete and mouth.
This sandie plot is plaine, guide if thou canst
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Without the helpe of any hand at all.
Curst be that hart that forc'st vs to that shift:
Write thou good Neece, and heere display at last,
What God will haue discouered for reuenge,
Heauen guide thy pen to print thy sorrowes plaine,
That we may know the Traytors and the truth.
She takes the staffe in her mouth, and guides it with her stumps and writes.
Ti.
Oh doe ye read my Lord what she hath writs?
Stuprum, Chiron, Demetrius.
Mar.
What, what, the lustfull sonnes of Tamora,
Performers of this hainous bloody deed?
Ti.
Magni Dominator poli,
Tam lentus audis scelera, tam lentus vides?
Mar.
Oh calme thee gentle Lord: Although I know
There is enough written vpon this earth,
To stirre a mutinie in the mildest thoughts,
And arme the mindes of infants to exclaimes.
My Lord kneele downe with me: Lauinia kneele,
And kneele sweet boy, the Romaine Hectors hope,
And sweare with me, as with the wofull Feere
And father of that chast dishonoured Dame,
Lord Iunius Brutus sweare for Lucrece rape,
That we will prosecute (by good aduise)
Mortall reuenge vpon these traytorous Gothes,
And see their blood, or die with this reproach.
Ti.
Tis sure enough, and you knew how.
But if you hunt these Beare-whelpes, then beware
The Dam will wake, and if she winde you once,
Shee's with the Lyon deepely still in league.
And lulls him whilst she palyeth on her backe,
And when he sleepes will she do what she list.
You are a young huntsman Marcus, let it alone:
And come, I will goe get a leafe of brasse,
And with a Gad of steele will write these words,
And lay it by: the angry Northerne winde
Will blow these sands like Sibels leaues abroad,
And wheres your lesson then. Boy what say you?
Boy.
I say my Lord, that if I were a man,
Their mothers bed-chamber should not be safe,
For these bad bond-men to the yoake of Rome.
Mar.
I that's my boy, thy father hath full oft,
For his vngratefull country done the like.
Boy.
And Vncle so will I, and if I liue.
Ti.
Come goe with me into mine Armorie,
Lucius Ile fit thee, and withall, my boy
Shall carry from me to the Empresse sonnes,
Presents that I intend to send them both,
Come, come, thou'lt do thy message, wilt thou not?
Boy.
I with my dagger in their bosomes Grandsire:
Ti.
No boy not so, ile teach thee another course,
Lauinia come, Marcus looke to my house,
Lucius and Ile goe braue it at the Court,
I marry will we sir, and weele be waited on.
Exeunt.
Mar.
O heauens! Can you heare a good man grone
And not relent, or not compassion him?
Marcus attend him in his extasie,
That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart,
Then foe-mens markes vpon his batter'd shield,
But yet so iust, that he will not reuenge,
Reuenge the heauens for old Andronicus.
Exit
Enter Aron, Chiron and Demetrius at one dore: and at another dore young Lucius and another, with a bundle of weapons, and verses writ vpon them.
Chi.
Demetrius heeres the sonne of Lucius,
He hath some message to deliuer vs.
Aron.
I some mad message from his mad Grandfather.
Boy.
My Lords, with all the humblenesse I may,
I greete your honours from Andronicus,
And pray the Romane Gods confound you both.
Deme.
Gramercie louely Lucius, what's the newes?
For villanie's markt with rape. May it please you,
My Grandsire well aduis'd hath sent by me,
The goodliest weapons of his Armorie,
To gratifie your honourable youth,
The hope of Rome, for so he bad me say:
And so I do and with his gifts present
Your Lordships, when euer you haue need,
You may be armed and appointed well,
And so I leaue you both: like bloody villaines.
Exit
Deme.
What's heere? a scrole, & written round about?
Let's see.
Integer vitæ scelerisque purus, non egit maury iaculis nec arcus.
Chi.
O 'tis a verse in Horace, I know it well.
I read it in the Grammer long agoe.
Moore.
I iust, a verse in Horace: right, you haue it,
Now what a thing it is to be an Asse?
Heer's no sound iest, the old man hath found their guilt,
And sends the weapons wrapt about with lines,
That wound (beyond their feeling) to the quick:
But were our witty Empresse well a foot,
She would applaud Andronicus conceit:
But let her rest, in her vnrest a while.
And now young Lords, wa'st not a happy starre
Led vs to Rome strangers, and more then so;
Captiues, to be aduanced to this height?
It did me good before the Pallace gate,
To braue the Tribune in his brothers hearing.
Deme.
But me more good, to see so great a Lord
Basely insinuate, and send vs gifts.
Moore.
Had he not reason Lord Demetrius?
Did you not vse his daughter very friendly?
Deme.
I would we had a thousand Romane Dames
At such a bay, by turne to serue our lust.
Chi.
A charitable wish, and full of loue.
Moore.
Heere lack's but you mother for to say, Amen.
Chi.
And that would she for twenty thousand more.
Deme.
Come, let vs go, and pray to all the Gods
For our beloued mother in her paines.
Moore.
Pray to the deuils, the gods haue giuen vs ouer.
Flourish.
Dem.
Why do the Emperors trumpets flourish thus?
Chi.
Belike for ioy the Emperour hath a sonne.
Deme.
Soft, who comes heere?
Enter Nurse with a blacke a Moore childe.
Nur.
Good morrow Lords:
O tell me, did you see Aaron the Moore?
Aron.
Well, more or lesse, or nere a whit at all,
Heere Aaron is, and what with Aaron now?
Nurse.
Oh gentle Aaron, we are all vndone,
Now helpe, or woe betide thee euermore.
Aron.
Why, what a catterwalling dost thou keepe?
What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine armes?
Nurse.
O that which I would hide from heauens eye,
Our Empresse shame, and stately Romes disgrace,
She is deliuered Lords, she is deliuered.
Aron.
To whom?
Nurse.
I meane she is brought a bed?
Aron.
Wel God giue her good rest,
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Nurse.
A deuill.
Aron.
Why then she is the Deuils Dam: a ioyfull issue.
Nurse.
A ioylesse, dismall, blacke & sorrowfull issue,
Heere is the babe as loathsome as a toad,
Among'st the fairest breeders of our clime,
The Empresse sends it thee, thy stampe, thy seale,
And bids thee christen it with thy daggers point.
Aron.
Out you whore, is black so base a hue?
Sweet blowse, you are a beautious blossome sure.
Deme.
Villaine what hast thou done?
Aron.
That which thou canst not vndoe.
Chi.
Thou hast vndone our mother.
Deme.
And therein hellish dog, thou hast vndone,
Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choyce,
Accur'st the off-spring of so foule a fiend.
Chi.
It shall not liue.
Aron.
It shall not die.
Nurse.
Aaron it must, the mother wils it so.
Aron.
What, must it Nurse? Then let no man but I
Doe execution on my flesh and blood.
Deme.
Ile broach the Tadpole on my Rapiers point:
Nurse giue it me, my sword shall soone dispatch it.
Aron.
Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels vp.
Stay murtherous villaines, will you kill your brother?
Now by the burning Tapers of the skie,
That sh'one so brightly when this Boy was got,
He dies vpon my Semitars sharpe point,
That touches this my first borne sonne and heire.
I tell you young-lings, not Enceladus
With all his threatning band of Typhons broode,
Nor great Alcides, nor the God of warre,
Shall ceaze this prey out of his fathers hands:
What, what, ye sanguine shallow harted Boyes,
Ye white-limb'd walls, ye Ale-house painted signes,
Cole-blacke is better then another hue,
In that it scornes to beare another hue:
For all the water in the Ocean,
Can neuer turne the Swans blacke legs to white,
Although she laue them hourely in the flood:
Tell the Empresse from me, I am of age
To keepe mine owne, excuse it how she can.
Deme.
Wilt thou betray thy noble mistris thus?
Aron.
My mistris is my mistris: this my selfe,
The vigour, and the picture of my youth:
This, before all the world do I preferre,
This mauger all the world will I keepe safe,
Or some of you shall smoake for it in Rome.
Deme.
By this our mother is for euer sham'd.
Chi.
Rome will despise her for this foule escape.
Nur.
The Emperour in his rage will doome her death.
Chi.
I blush to thinke vpon this ignominie.
Aron.
Why ther's the priuiledge your beauty beares:
Fie trecherous hue, that will betray with blushing
The close enacts and counsels of the hart:
Heer's a young Lad fram'd of another leere,
Looke how the blacke slaue smiles vpon the father;
As who should say, old Lad I am thine owne.
He is your brother Lords, sensibly fed
Of that selfe blood that first gaue life to you,
And from that wombe where you imprisoned were
He is infranchised and come to light:
Nay he is your brother by the surer side,
Although my seale be stamped in his face.
Nurse.
Aaron what shall I say vnto the Empresse?
Dem.
Aduise thee Aaron, what is to be done,
And we will all subscribe to thy aduise:
Saue thou the child, so we may all be safe.
Aron.
Then sit we downe and let vs all consult.
My sonne and I will haue the winde of you:
Keepe there, now talke at pleasure of your safety.
Deme.
How many women saw this childe of his?
Aron.
Why so braue Lords, when we ioyne in league
I am a Lambe: but if you braue the Moore,
The chafed Bore, the mountaine Lyonesse,
The Ocean swells not so at Aaron stormes:
But say againe, how many saw the childe?
Nurse.
Cornelia, the midwife, and my selfe,
And none else but the deliuered Empresse.
Aron.
The Empresse, the Midwife, and your selfe,
Two may keepe counsell, when the third's away:
Goe to the Empresse, tell her this I said,
He kils her
Weeke, weeke, so cries a Pigge prepared to th'spit.
Deme.
What mean'st thou Aaron?
Wherefore did'st thou this?
Aron.
O Lord sir, 'tis a deed of pollicie?
Shall she liue to betray this guilt of our's:
A long tongu'd babling Gossip? No Lords no:
And now be it knowne to you my full intent.
Not farre, one Muliteus my Country-man
His wife but yesternight was brought to bed,
His childe is like to her, faire as you are:
Goe packe with him, and giue the mother gold,
And tell them both the circumstance of all,
And how by this their Childe shall be aduaunc'd,
And be receiued for the Emperours heyre,
And substituted in the place of mine,
To calme this tempest whirling in the Court,
And let the Emperour dandle him for his owne.
Harke ye Lords, ye see I haue giuen her physicke,
And you must needs bestow her funerall,
The fields are neere, and you are gallant Groomes:
This done, see that you take no longer daies
But send the Midwife presently to me.
The Midwife and the Nurse well made away,
Then let the Ladies tattle what they please.
Chi.
Aaron I see thou wilt not trust the ayre with secrets.
Deme.
For this care of Tamora,
Her selfe, and hers are highly bound to thee.
Exeunt.
Aron.
Now to the Gothes as swift as Swallow flies,
There to dispose this treasure in mine armes,
And secretly to greete the Empresse friends:
Come on you thick-lipt-slaue, Ile beare you hence,
For it is you that puts vs to our shifts:
Ile make you feed on berries, and on rootes,
And feed on curds and whay, and sucke the Goate,
And cabbin in a Caue, and bring you vp
To be a warriour, and command a Campe.
Exit
Enter Titus, old Marcus, young Lucius, and other gentlemen with bowes, and Titus beares the arrowes with Letters on the end of them.
Tit.
Come Marcus, come, kinsmen this is the way.
Sir Boy let me see your Archerie,
Looke yee draw home enough, and 'tis there straight:
Terras Astrea reliquit, be you remembred Marcus.
She's gone, she's fled, sirs take you to your tooles,
Your Cosens shall goe sound the Ocean:
And cast your nets, haply you may find her in the Sea,
Yet ther's as little iustice as at Land:
No Publius and Sempronius, you must doe it,
46
And pierce the inmost Center of the earth:
Then when you come to Plutoes Region,
I pray you deliuer him this petition,
Tell him it is for iustice, and for aide,
And that it comes from old Andronicus,
Shaken with sorrowes in vngratefull Rome.
Ah Rome! Well, well, I made thee miserable,
What time I threw the peoples suffrages
On him that thus doth tyrannize ore me.
Goe get you gone, and pray be carefull all,
And leaue you not a man of warre vnsearcht,
This wicked Emperour may haue shipt her hence,
And kinsmen then we may goe pipe for iustice.
Marc.
O Publius is not this a heauie case
To see thy Noble Vnckle thus distract?
Publ.
Therefore my Lords it highly vs concernes,
By day and night t'attend him carefully:
And feede his humour kindely as we may,
Till time beget some carefull remedie.
Marc.
Kinsmen, his sorrowes are past remedie.
Ioyne with the Gothes, and with reuengefull warre,
Take wreake on Rome for this ingratitude,
And vengeance on the Traytor Saturnine.
Tit.
Publius how now? how now my Maisters?
What haue you met with her?
Publ.
No my good Lord, but Pluto sends you word,
If you will haue reuenge from hell you shall,
Marrie for iustice she is so imploy'd,
He thinkes with Ioue in heauen, or some where else:
So that perforce you must needs stay a time.
Tit.
He doth me wrong to feed me with delayes,
Ile diue into the burning Lake below,
And pull her out of Acaron by the heeles.
Marcus we are but shrubs, no Cedars we,
No big-bon'd-men, fram'd of the Cyclops size,
But mettall Marcus, steele to the very backe,
Yet wrung with wrongs more then our backe can beare:
And sith there's no iustice in earth nor hell,
We will sollicite heauen, and moue the Gods
To send downe Iustice for to wreake our wongs:
Come to this geare, you are a good Archer Marcus.
He giues them the Arrowes.
Ad Iouem, that's for you: here ad Appollonem,
Ad Martem, that's for my selfe,
Heere Boy to Pallas, heere to Mercury,
To Saturnine, to Caius, not to Saturnine,
You were as good to shoote against the winde.
Too it Boy, Marcus loose when I bid:
Of my word, I haue written to effect,
Ther's not a God left vnsollicited.
Marc.
Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the Court,
We will afflict the Emperour in his pride.
Tit.
Now Maisters draw, Oh well said Lucius:
Good Boy in Virgoes lap, giue it Pallas.
Marc.
My Lord, I aime a Mile beyond the Moone,
Your letter is with Iupiter by this.
Tit.
Ha, ha, Publius, Publius, what hast thou done?
See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus hornes.
Mar.
This was the sport my Lord, when Publius shot,
The Bull being gal'd, gaue Aries such a knocke,
That downe fell both the Rams hornes in the Court,
And who should finde them but the Empresse villaine:
She laught, and told the Moore he should not choose
But giue them to his Maister for a present.
Tit.
Why there it goes, God giue your Lordship ioy.
Enter the Clowne with a basket and two Pigeons in it.
Titus.
Newes, newes, from heauen,
Marcus the poast is come.
Sirrah, what tydings? haue you any letters?
Shall I haue Iustice, what sayes Iupiter?
Clowne.
Ho the Iibbetmaker, he sayes that he hath taken
them downe againe, for the man must not be hang'd
till the next weeke.
Tit.
But what sayes Iupiter I aske thee?
Clowne.
Alas sir I know not Iupiter:
I neuer dranke with him in all my life.
Tit.
Why villaine art not thou the Carrier?
Clowne.
I of my Pigions sir, nothing else.
Tit.
Why, did'st thou not come from heauen?
Clowne.
From heauen? Alas sir, I neuer came there,
God forbid I should be so bold, to presse to heauen in my
young dayes. Why I am going with my pigeons to the
Tribunall Plebs, to take vp a matter of brawle, betwixt
my Vncle, and one of the Emperialls men.
Mar.
Why sir, that is as fit as can be to serue for your
Oration, and let him deliuer the Pigions to the Emperour
from you.
Tit.
Tell mee, can you deliuer an Oration to the Emperour
with a Grace?
Clowne.
Nay truely sir, I could neuer say grace in all
my life.
Tit.
Sirrah come hither, make no more adoe,
But giue your Pigeons to the Emperour,
By me thou shalt haue Iustice at his hands.
Hold, hold, meane while her's money for thy charges.
Giue me pen and inke.
Sirrah, can you with a Grace deliuer a Supplication?
Clowne.
I sir
Titus.
Then here is a Supplication for you, and when
you come to him, at the first approach you must kneele,
then kisse his foote, then deliuer vp your Pigeons, and
then looke for your reward. Ile be at hand sir, see you do
it brauely.
Clowne.
I warrant you sir, let me alone.
Tit.
Sirrah hast thou a knife? Come let me see it.
Heere Marcus, fold it in the Oration,
For thou hast made it like an humble Suppliant:
And when thou hast giuen it the Emperour,
Knocke at my dore, and tell me what he sayes.
Clowne.
God be with you sir, I will.
Exit.
Tit.
Come Marcus let vs goe, Publius follow me.
Exeunt.
Enter Emperour and Empresse, and her two sonnes, the Emperour brings the Arrowes in his hand that Titus shot at him.
Satur.
Why Lords,
What wrongs are these? was euer seene
An Emperour in Rome thus ouerborne,
Troubled, Confronted thus, and for the extent
Of eg all iustice, vs'd in such contempt?
My Lords, you know the mightfull Gods,
(How euer these disturbers of our peace
Buz in the peoples eares) there nought hath past,
But euen with law against the willfull Sonnes
Of old Andronicus. And what and if
His sorrowes haue so ouerwhelm'd his wits,
Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreakes,
His fits, his frenzie, and his bitternesse?
And now he writes to heauen for his redresse.
See, heeres to Ioue, and this to Mercury,
47
Sweet scrowles to flie about the streets of Rome:
What's this but Libelling against the Senate,
And blazoning our Iniustice euery where?
A goodly humour, is it not my Lords?
As who would say, in Rome no Iustice were.
But if I liue, his fained extasies
Shall be no shelter to these outrages:
But he and his shall know, that Iustice liues
In Saturninus health; whom if he sleepe,
Hee'l so awake, as he in fury shall
Cut off the proud'st Conspirator that liues.
Tamo.
My gracious Lord, my louely Saturnine,
Lord of my life, Commander of my thoughts,
Calme thee, and beare the faults of Titus age,
Th'effects of sorrow for his valiant Sonnes,
Whose losse hath pier'st him deepe, and scar'd his heart;
And rather comfort his distressed plight,
Then prosecute the meanest or the best
For these contempts. Why thus it shall become
High witted Tamora to glose with all:
Aside.
But Titus, I haue touch'd thee to the quicke,
Thy life blood out: If Aaron now be wise,
Then is all safe, the Anchor's in the Port.
Enter Clowne.
How now good fellow would'st thou speake with vs?
Clow.
Yea forsooth, and your Mistership be Emperiall.
Tam.
Empresse I am, but yonder sits the Emperour.
Clo.
'Tis he; God & Saint Stephen giue you good den;
I haue brought you a Letter, & a couple of Pigions heere.
He reads the Letter.
Satu.
Goe take him away, and hang him presently.
Clowne.
How much money must I haue?
Tam.
Come sirrah you must be hang'd.
Clow.
Hang'd? ber Lady, then I haue brought vp a neck
to a faire end.
Exit.
Satu.
Despightfull and intollerable wrongs,
Shall I endure this monstrous villany?
I know from whence this same deuise proceedes:
May this be borne? As if his traytrous Sonnes,
That dy'd by law for murther of our Brother.
Haue by my meanes beene butcher'd wrongfully?
Goe dragge the villaine hither by the haire,
Nor Age, nor Honour, shall shape priuiledge:
For this proud mocke, Ile be thy slaughter man:
Sly franticke wretch, that holp'st to make me great,
In hope thy selfe should gouerne Rome and me.
Enter Nuntius Emillius.
Satur.
What newes with thee Emillius?
Emil.
Arme my Lords, Rome neuer had more cause,
The Gothes haue gather'd head, and with a power
Of high resolued men, bent to the spoyle
They hither march amaine, vnder conduct
Of Lucius, Sonne to old Andronicus:
Who threats in course of this reuenge to do
As much as euer Coriolanus did.
King.
Is warlike Lucius Generall of the Gothes?
These tydings nip me, and I hang the head
As flowers with frost, or grasse beat downe with stormes:
I, now begins our sorrowes to approach,
'Tis he the common people loue so much,
My selfe hath often heard them say,
(When I haue walked like a priuate man)
That Lucius banishment was wrongfully,
And they haue wisht that Lucius were their Emperour.
Tam.
Why should you feare? Is not our City strong?
King.
I, but the Cittizens fauour Lucius,
And will reuolt from me, to succour him.
Tam.
King, be thy thoughts Imperious like thy name.
Is the Sunne dim'd, that Gnats do flie in it?
The Eagle suffers little Birds to sing,
And is not carefull what they meane thereby,
Knowing that with the shadow of his wings,
He can at pleasure stint their melodie.
Euen so mayest thou, the giddy men of Rome,
Then cheare thy spirit, for know thou Emperour,
I will enchaunt the old Andronicus,
With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous
Then baites to fish, or hony stalkes to sheepe,
When as the one is wounded with the baite,
The other rotted with delicious foode.
King.
But he will not entreat his Sonne for vs.
Tam.
If Tamora entreat him, then he will,
For I can smooth and fill his aged eare,
With golden promises, that were his heart
Almost Impregnable, his old eares deafe,
Yet should both eare and heart obey my tongue.
Goe thou before to our Embassadour,
Say, that the Emperour requests a parly
Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting.
King.
Emillius do this message Honourably,
And if he stand in Hostage for his safety,
Bid him demaund what pledge will please him best.
Emill.
Your bidding shall I do effectually.
Exit.
Tam.
Now will I to that old Andronicus,
And temper him with all the Art I haue,
To plucke proud Lucius from the warlike Gothes.
And now sweet Emperour be blithe againe,
And bury all thy feare in my deuises.
Satu.
Then goe successantly and plead for him.
Exit.
| The Lamentable Tragedy of Titus Andronicus | |