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, You 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, 'Tis you must dig with Mattocke, and with Spade, 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 wrongs: 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

William Shakespeare
Classic Literature Library

All Pages of This Book