Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Ti. Ti.
Ti. Ah Marcus, Marcus, Brother well I wot,
Ti. Thy napkin cannot drinke a teare of mine,
Ti. For thou poore man hast drown'd it with thine owne.
Lu. Lu.
Lu. Ah my Lauinia I will wipe thy cheekes.
Ti. Marke Marcus marke, I vnderstand her signes,
Ti. Had she a tongue to speake, now would she say
Ti. That to her brother which I said to thee.
Ti. His Napkin with her true teares all bewet,
Ti. Can do no seruice on her sorrowfull cheekes.
Ti. Oh what a simpathy of woe is this!
Ti. As farre from helpe as Limbo is from blisse,
Ti. Enter Aron the Moore alone.
Moore. Moore.
Moore. Titus Andronicus, my Lord the Emperour,
Moore. Sends thee this word, that if thou loue thy sonnes,
Moore. Let Marcus, Lucius, or thy selfe old Titus,
Moore. Or any one of you, chop off your hand,