Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Moore. But Ile deceiue you in another sort,
Moore. And that you'l say ere halfe an houre passe.
Moore. He cuts off Titus hand
Moore. Enter Lucius and Marcus againe.
Ti. Ti.
Ti. Now stay you strife, what shall be, is dispatcht:
Ti. Good Aron giue his Maiestie me hand,
Ti. Tell him, it was a hand that warded him
Ti. From thousand dangers: bid him bury it:
Ti. More hath it merited: That let it haue.
Ti. As for my sonnes, say I account of them,
Ti. As iewels purchast at an easie price,
Ti. And yet deere too, because I bought mine owne.
Aron. Aron.
Aron. I goe Andronicus, and for thy hand,
Aron. Looke by and by to haue thy sonnes with thee:
Aron. Their heads I meane: Oh how this villany
Aron. Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it.
Aron. Let fooles doe good, and faire men call for grace,
Aron. Aron will haue his soule blacke like his face.