Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Satur. His fits, his frenzie, and his bitternesse?
Satur. And now he writes to heauen for his redresse.
Satur. See, heeres to Ioue, and this to Mercury,
Satur. This
Satur. The Lamentable Tragedie of Titus Andronicus.
Satur. This to Apollo, this to the God of warre:
Satur. Sweet scrowles to flie about the streets of Rome:
Satur. What's this but Libelling against the Senate,
Satur. And blazoning our Iniustice euery where?
Satur. A goodly humour, is it not my Lords?
Satur. As who would say, in Rome no Iustice were.
Satur. But if I liue, his fained extasies
Satur. Shall be no shelter to these outrages:
Satur. But he and his shall know, that Iustice liues
Satur. In Saturninus health; whom if he sleepe,
Satur. Hee'l so awake, as he in fury shall
Satur. Cut off the proud'st Conspirator that liues.
Tamo. Tamo.
Tamo. My gracious Lord, my louely Saturnine,
Tamo. Lord of my life, Commander of my thoughts,