SCENE III. The same. A public Place. Enter TITUS, bearing arrows, with letters at the ends of them; with him MARCUS, young Lucius, and other Gentlemen, with bows. Tit. Come, Marcus, come ;-kinsmen, this is the way; Sir boy, now let me see your archery; Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight. Be you remembered, Marcus, she's gone, she's fled. Yet there's as little justice as at land.— To see thy noble uncle thus distract? Pub. Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns, By day and night to attend him carefully; And feed his humor kindly as we may, Till time beget some careful remedy. Mar. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy. Join with the Goths; and with revengeful war Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude, Tit. Publius, how now? how now, my masters? What, Have you met with her? If Pub. No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word you will have revenge from hell, you shall. Marry, for Justice, she is so employed, He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or some where else, So that perforce you must needs stay a time. Tit. He doth me wrong, to feed me with delays. I'll dive into the burning lake below, And pull her out of Acheron by the heels.— 1 Yet wrung with wrongs, more than our backs can bear. Here, boy, to Pallas ;-here, to Mercury; To Saturn, Caius,3 not to Saturnine, You were as good to shoot against the wind. To it, boy. Marcus, loose when I bid. O' my word, I have written to effect; There's not a god left unsolicited. Mar. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court; We will afflict the emperor in his pride. Tit. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot.] O, well said, Lucius ! Good boy, in Virgo's lap; give it Pallas. Mar. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon; Your letter is with Jupiter by this. 1 Revenge. 2 Gear is here put for matter, business. 3 Caius appears to have been one of the kinsmen of Titus. Tit. Ha! Publius, Publius, what hast thou done? The bull, being galled, gave Aries such a knock, Tit. Why, there it goes; God give your lordship joy. Enter a Clown, with a basket and two pigeons. News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come. Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters? Shall I have justice? what says Jupiter? Clo. Ho! the gibbet-maker? He says, that he hath taken them down again, for the man must not be hanged till the next week. Tit. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee? Clo. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank with him in all my life. Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier? Clo. From heaven? Alas, sir, I never came there. God forbid, I should be so bold to press to heaven 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 serve for 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? Clo. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life. 1 The clown means to say, plebeian tribune; i. e. tribune of the people. Hanmer supposes that he means tribunus plebis, 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;-meanwhile, here's money for thy charges. Give me a pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a supplication? Clo. Ay, sir. Tit. Then here is a supplication for you. And when you come to him, at the first approach, you must kneel; then kiss his foot; then deliver up your pigeons; and then look for your reward; I'll be at hand, sir. See you do it bravely. Clo. I warrant you, sir; let me alone. Tit. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come, let me see it. Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration ; For thou hast made it like an humble suppliant.- Tit. Come, Marcus, let's go ;-Publius, follow me. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. The same. Before the Palace. Enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, CHIRON, DEMETRius, Lords, and others; SATURNINUS with the arrows in his hand that TITUS shot. Sat. Why, lords, what wrongs are these? Was ever seen An emperor of Rome thus overborne, Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent My lords, you know, as do the mightful gods, Buzz in the people's ears, there nought hath passed, 1 Equal. His sorrows have so overwhelmed his wits, Shall be no shelter to these outrages; Tam. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine, Whose loss hath pierced him deep, and scarred his heart; And rather comfort his distressed plight, Than prosecute the meanest, or the best, But, Titus, I have touched thee to the quick, Enter Clown. [Aside. How now, good fellow? Wouldst thou speak with us? Clo. Yes, forsooth, an your mistership be imperial. Tam. Empress I am, but yonder sits the emperor. Clo. 'Tis he.-God, and saint Stephen, give you 1 Flatter, |