Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Mar. Strucke pale and bloodlesse, and thy brother I,
Mar. Euen like a stony Image, cold and numme.
Mar. Ah now no more will I controule my griefes,
Mar. Rent off thy siluer haire, thy other hand
Mar. Gnawing with thy teeth, and be this dismall sight
Mar. The closing vp of our most wretched eyes:
Mar. Now is a time to storme, why art thou still?
Titus. Titus.
Titus. Ha, ha, ha,
Mar. Mar.
Mar. Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this houre.
Ti. Ti.
Ti. Why I haue not another teare to shed:
Ti. Besides, this sorrow is an enemy,
Ti. And would vsurpe vpon my watry eyes,
Ti. And make them blinde with tributarie teares.
Ti. Then which way shall I finde Reuenges Caue?
Ti. For these two heads doe seeme to speake to me,
Ti. And threat me, I shall neuer come to blisse,
Ti. Till all these mischiefes be returned againe,