Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Aron. Harke Tamora, the Empresse of my Soule,
Aron. Which neuer hopes more heauen, then rests in thee,
Aron. This is the day of Doome for Bassianus;
Aron. His Philomel must loose her tongue to day,
Aron. Thy Sonnes make Pillage of her Chastity,
Aron. And wash their hands in Bassianus blood.
Aron. Seest thou this Letter, take it vp I pray thee,
Aron. And giue the King this fatall plotted Scrowle,
Aron. Now question me no more, we are espied,
Aron. Heere comes a parcell of our hopefull Booty,
Aron. Which dreads not yet their liues destruction.
Aron. Enter Bassianus and Lauinia
Tamo. Tamo.
Tamo. Ah my sweet Moore:
Tamo. Sweeter to me then life.
Aron. Aron.
Aron. No more great Empresse, Bassianus comes,
Aron. Be crosse with him, and Ile goe fetch thy Sonnes
Aron. To backe thy quarrell what so ere they be.
Bassi. Bassi.