Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
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,
Moore. And send it to the King: he for the same,
Moore. Will send thee hither both thy sonnes aliue,
Moore. And that shall be the ransome for their fault.
Ti. Ti.
Ti. Oh gracious Emperour, oh gentle Aaron.
Ti. Did euer Rauen sing so like a Larke,
Ti. That giues sweet tydings of the Sunnes vprise?
Ti. With all my heart, Ile send the Emperour my hand,
Ti. Good Aron wilt thou help to chop it off?
Lu. Lu.
Lu. Stay Father, for that noble hand of thine,
Lu. That hath throwne downe so many enemies,