Tit. Give Signs, fweet Girl, for here are none but Friends, What Roman Lord it was durft do the deed;

Or funk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst,

That left the Camp to fin in Lucrece Bed?

Mar. Sit down, fweet Neece; Biother, fit down by me, Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,

Inspire me, that I may this Treafon find.

My Lord, look here; look here Lavinia.

He writes his Name with his Staff, and guides it with his Feet and Mouth.

This fandy Plot is plain, guide, if thou canst,
This after me, when I have writ my Name,
Without the help of any Hand at all.

Curft be that Heart that forc'd us to this fhift!
Write thou, good Niece, and here difplay at least,
What God will have difcover'd for Revenge;
Heaven guide thy Pen, to print thy Sorrows plain,
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. Oh do you read, my Lord, what she hath writ? Stuprum, Chiron, Demetrius.

Mar. What, what! the luftful Sons of Tamora, Performers of this hateful bloody deed?

Tit. Magni Dominator Poli,

Tam lentus audis fcelera! tam lentus vides!

Mar. Oh calm thee, gentle Lord; although I know
There is enough written upon this Earth,
To ftir a Mutiny in the mildeft Thoughts,
And arm the minds of Infants to Exclaims.
My Lord, kneel down with me: Lavinia kneel,
And kneel, fweet Boy, the Roman Hector's hope,
And fwear with me, as with the woful Peer,
And Father of that chaft dishonoured Dame,
Lord Junius Brutus fware for Lucroce Rape,
That we will profecute (by good Advice)
Mortal revenge upon thefe Traiterous Goths,
And fee their Blood, or die with this Reproach.

Tit. 'Tis fure enough, and you knew how.
But if you hurt thefe Bear-whelps, then beware,
The Dam will wake, and if the wind you once,

She's

Ran mad through forrow, 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 flie
Caufe'ets perhaps; bur pardon me, fweet Aunt,
And, Madain, if my Uncle Marcus go,

I will moft willingly attend your Ladyship.
Mar Lucius, I will.

Tit. How now, Lavinia? Marcus,what means this?
Some Book there is that the d files to fee,
Which is it, Girl, of th fe? Open them, Boy,
But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd,
Come and make choice of all my Library,
And fo beguile thy Sorrow, 'till the Heavens
Reveal the dama'd contriver of this deed:
What Book?

Why lifts the up her Arms in fequence thus ?

Mar, I think the mears that there was more than one
Confederate in the Fact. Ay, more there was :
Or else to Heaven the heaves them, to revenge.
Tit. Lucius, what Book is that the toffes fo?
Boy. Grand-fire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphofis,
My Mother gave it me.

Mar. For love of her that's gone,

Perhaps the cull'd it from among the reft.

Tit. Soft! fee how bufily fhe turns the Leaves!

Help her: What would the find? Lavinia, fhall I read?

This is the tragick Tale of Philomel,

And treats of Tereus Treafon and his Rape;

And Rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy.

Mar. See, Brother, fec, note how the quores the Leaves, Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus furpriz'd, fweet Girl,

Ravish'd and wrong'd, as Philomela was,

Forc'd in the ruthlefs, vaft, and gloomy Woods?

See, fee; Ay, fuch a P ace there is, where we did hunt,

(O had we never never hunted there)

Pattern'd by that the Poet here defcribes,

By Nature made for Murders and for Rapes.

Mar. O hy should Nature build fo foul a Den, Unless the Gods delight in Tragedies?

Tit. Give Signs, fweet Girl, for here are none but Friends, What Roman Lord it was durft do the deed;

Or funk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erft,

That left the Camp to fin in Lucrece Bed?

Mar. Sit down, fweet Neece; Brother, fit down by me, Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,

Inspire me, that I may this Treason find.
My Lord, look here; look here Lavinia.

He writes his Name with his Staff, and guides it with his Feet

and Mouth.

This fandy Plot is plain, guide, if thou canft,
This after me, when I have writ my Name,
Without the help of any Hand at all.

Curft be that Heart that forc'd us to this fhift!
Write thou, good Niece, and here display at least,
What God will have difcover'd for Revenge;
Heaven guide thy Pen, to print thy Sorrows plain,
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. Oh do you read, my Lord, what she hath writ? Stuprum, Chiron, Demetrius.

Mar. What,what! the luftful Sons of Tamora, Performers of this hateful bloody deed?

Tit. Magni Dominator Poli,

Tam lentus audis fcelera! tam lentus vides!

Mar. Oh calm thee, gentle Lord; although I know
There is enough written upon this Earth,
To ftir a Mutiny in the mildeft Thoughts,
And arm the minds of Infants to Exclaims.
My Lord, kneel down with me: Lavinia kneel,
And kneel, fweet Boy, the Roman Hector's hope,
And fwear with me, as with the woful Peer,
And Father of that chaft dishonoured Dame,
Lord Junius Brutus fware for Lucroce Rape,
That we will profecute (by good Advice)
Mortal revenge upon thefe Traiterous Goths,
And fee their Blood, or die with this Reproach.
Tit. 'Tis fure enough, and you knew how.
But if you hurt thefe Bear-whelps, then beware,
The Dam will wake, and if fhe wind you once,

She's

She's with the Lion deeply ftill in League,
And lulls him whilft fhe playeth on her Back,
And when he fleeps will fhe do what she lift.
You are a young Huntfman, Marcus, let it alone;
And come, I will go get a leaf of Brass,

And with a Gad of Steel will write thefe Words,
And lay it by; the angry Northern Wind
Will blow thefe Sands like Sybils leaves abroad,
And where's your Leffon then? Boy, what fay you!
Boy. I fay, my Lord, that if I were a Man,
Their Mother's Bed-chamber fhould not be fafe,
For these bad Bond-men to the Yoak of Rome,
Mar. Ay, that's my Boy, thy Father hath full oft
For his ungrateful Country done the like.

Boy. And, Uncle, fo will I, and if I live.
Tit. Come, go with me into mine Arinory,
Lucius I'll fit thee, and withal, my Boy
Shall carry from me to the Empress Sons,
Prefents that I intend to fend them both,

Come, come, thou'lt do my Meffage, wilt thou not?

Boy. Ay, with my Dagger in their Bofom, Grandfire. Tit. No, Boy, not fo, I'll teach thee another Course, Lavinia, come; Marcus, look to my House,

Lucius and I'll go brave it at the Court,

Ay, marry will we, Sir, and we'll be waited on. [Exeunt.
Mar. O Heavens, can you hear a good Man groan,
And not relent, or not compaffion him?

Marcus attend him in his Extafie,

That hath more Scars of Sorrow in his Heart,

Than Foe-mens Marks upon his batter'd Shield,
But yet fo juft, that he will not revenge,
Revenge the Heavens for old Andronicus.

[Exit.

Enter Aaron, Chiron, and Demetrius at one Door: And at another Door young Lucius and another, with a bundle of Weapons, and Verfes writ upon them.

Chi. Demetrius, here's the Son of Lucius,

He hath fome Meffage to deliver us.

Aar. Ay, fome mad Meffage from his mad Grandfather,
Boy. My Lords, with all the humbleness I may,

I greet your Honours from Andronicus,

And pray the Roman Gods confound you both.

Dem.

Dem. Gramercy lovely Lucius, what's the News?

Boy. For Villains mark'd with Rape. May it please you, My Grandfire well advis'd hath fent by me, The goodliest Weapons of his Armory, To gratifie your honourable Youth, The hope of Rome, for fo he bad me fay: And fo I do, and with his Gifts present Your Lordships, when ever you have need, You may be armed and appointed well, And fo I leave you both, like bloody Villains.

[Exit.

Dem. What's here, a Scrole, and written round about?
Let's fee.

Integer vita fcelerifque purus, non eget Mauri jaculis nec arcu.
Chi. O'tis a Verfe in Horace, I know it well:

I read it in the Grammar long ago.

Aar. Ay juft, a Verfe in Horace--right, you have it---Now what a thing it is to be an Afs?

Here's no found Jeft, th' old Man hath found their Guilt,
And fends the Weapons wrap'd about with Lines,
That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick:
But were our witty Empress well a-foot,
She would applaud Andronicus conceit :
But let her reft, in her unreft a while.
And now, young Lords, was't not a happy Star
Led us to Rome, Strangers, and more than fo,
Captives, to be advanced to this height?
It did me good, before the Palace Gate
To brave the Tribune in his Brother's hearing.
Dem. But me more good, to fee fo great a Lord
Bafely infinuate, and fend us Gifts.

Aar. Had he not reafon, Lord Demetrius?
Did you not use his Daughter very friendly?
Dem. I would we had a thoufand Roman Dames
At fuch a Bay, by turn to ferve our Luft.
Chi. A charitable with, and full of Love.

Aar. Here lacks but your Mother for to fay, Amen.
Chi. And that would fhe for twenty thousand more.
Dem. Come, let us go, and pray to all the Gods
For our beloved Mother in her Pains.

Aar. Pray to the Devils, the Gods have given us over.

Flourish.

Dem.