The Bodleian First Folio

Reference: dd3r - Tragedies, p. 41

Left Column

The Lamentable Tragedie of Titus Andronicus. Expecting euer when some enuious surge,

[1170]

Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. This way to death my wretched sonnes are gone: Heere stands my other sonne, a banisht man, And heere my brother weeping at my woes. But that which giues my soule the greatest spurne,

[1175]

Is deere Lauinia, deerer then my soule. Had I but seene thy picture in this plight, It would haue madded me. What shall I doe? Now I behold thy liuely body so? Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy teares,

[1180]

Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee: Thy husband he is dead, and for his death Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this. Looke Marcus, ah sonne Lucius looke on her: When I did name her brothers, then fresh teares

[1185]

Stood on her cheekes, as doth the hony dew, Vpon a gathred Lillie almost withered. Mar. Perchance she weepes because they kil'd her husband, Perchance because she knowes him innocent. Ti. If they did kill thy husband then be ioyfull,

[1190]

Because the law hath tane reuenge on them. No, no, they would not doe so foule a deede, Witnes the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lauinia let me kisse thy lips, Or make some signes how I may do thee ease:

[1195]

Shall thy good Vncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou and I sit round about some Fountaine, Looking all downewards to behold our cheekes How they are stain'd in meadowes, yet not dry With miery slime left on them by a flood:

[1200]

And in the Fountaine shall we gaze so long, Till the fresh taste be taken from that cleerenes, And made a brine pit with our bitter teares? Or shall we cut away our hands like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumbe shewes

[1205]

Passe the remainder of our hatefull dayes? What shall we doe? Let vs that haue our tongues Plot some deuise of further miseries To make vs wondred at in time to come. Lu. Sweet Father cease your teares, for at your griefe

[1210]

See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. Mar.

Patience deere Neece, good Titus drie thine

eyes.

Ti. Ah Marcus, Marcus, Brother well I wot, Thy napkin cannot drinke a teare of mine,

[1215]

For thou poore man hast drown'd it with thine owne. Lu.

Ah my Lauinia I will wipe thy cheekes.

Ti. Marke Marcus marke, I vnderstand her signes, Had she a tongue to speake, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee.

[1220]

His Napkin with her true teares all bewet, Can do no seruice on her sorrowfull cheekes. Oh what a simpathy of woe is this! As farre from helpe as Limbo is from blisse, Enter Aron the Moore alone. Moore. Titus Andronicus, my Lord the Emperour,

[1225]

Sends thee this word, that if thou loue thy sonnes, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thy selfe old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the King: he for the same, Will send thee hither both thy sonnes aliue,

[1230]

And that shall be the ransome for their fault.

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[full image]

Right Column

Ti. Oh gracious Emperour, oh gentle Aaron. Did euer Rauen sing so like a Larke, That giues sweet tydings of the Sunnes vprise? With all my heart, Ile send the Emperour my hand,

[1235]

Good Aron wilt thou help to chop it off? Lu. Stay Father, for that noble hand of thine, That hath throwne downe so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serue the turne, My youth can better spare my blood then you,

[1240]

And therfore mine shall saue my brothers liues. Mar. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody Battleaxe, Writing destruction on the enemies Castle? Oh none of both but are of high desert:

[1245]

My hand hath bin but idle, let it serue To ransome my two nephewes from their death, Then haue I kept it to a worthy end. Moore. Nay come agree, whose hand shall goe along For feare they die before their pardon come. Mar.

[1250]

My hand shall goe.

Lu.

By heauen it shall not goe.

Ti. Sirs striue no more, such withered hearbs as these Are meete for plucking vp, and therefore mine. Lu. Sweet Father, if I shall be thought thy sonne,

[1255]

Let me redeeme my brothers both from death. Mar. And for our fathers sake, and mothers care, Now let me shew a brothers loue to thee. Ti.

Agree betweene you, I will spare my hand.

Lu.

Then Ile goe fetch an Axe.

Mar.

[1260]

But I will vse the Axe.

Exeunt Ti. Come hither Aaron, Ile deceiue them both, Lend me thy hand, and I will giue thee mine, Moore. If that be cal'd deceit, I will be honest, And neuer whil'st I liue deceiue men so:

[1265]

But Ile deceiue you in another sort, And that you'l say ere halfe an houre passe. He cuts off Titus hand Enter Lucius and Marcus againe. Ti. Now stay you strife, what shall be, is dispatcht: Good Aron giue his Maiestie me hand, Tell him, it was a hand that warded him

[1270]

From thousand dangers: bid him bury it: More hath it merited: That let it haue. As for my sonnes, say I account of them, As iewels purchast at an easie price, And yet deere too, because I bought mine owne. Aron.

[1275]

I goe Andronicus, and for thy hand, Looke by and by to haue thy sonnes with thee: Their heads I meane: Oh how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it. Let fooles doe good, and faire men call for grace,

[1280]

Aron will haue his soule blacke like his face. Exit. Ti. O heere I lift this one hand vp to heauen, And bow this feeble ruine to the earth, If any power pitties wretched teares, To that I call: what wilt thou kneele with me?

[1285]

Doe then deare heart, for heauen shall heare our prayers, Or with our sighs weele breath the welkin dimme, And staine the Sun with fogge as somtime cloudes, When they do hug him in their melting bosomes. Mar. Oh brother speake with possibilities,

[1290]

And do not breake into these deepe extreames. Ti. Is not my sorrow deepe, hauing no bottome? dd3 Then

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Actus Tertius. [Act 3, Scene 1] Enter the Iudges and Senatours with Titus two sonnes bound, passing on the Stage to the place of execution, and Titus going before pleading. Ti. Heare me graue fathers, noble Tribunes stay,

[1070]

For pitty of mine age, whose youth was spent In dangerous warres, whilst you securely slept: For all my blood in Romes great quarrell shed, For all the frosty nights that I haue watcht, And for these bitter teares, which now you see,

[1075]

Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheekes, Be pittifull to my condemned Sonnes, Whose soules is not corrupted as 'tis thought: For two and twenty sonnes I neuer wept, Because they died in honours lofty bed. Andronicus lyeth downe, and the Iudges passe by him.

[1080]

For these, Tribunes, in the dust I write My harts deepe languor, and my soules sad teares: Let my teares stanch the earths drie appetite. My sonnes sweet blood, will make it shame and blush: O earth! I will be friend thee more with raine Exeunt.

[1085]

That shall distill from these two ancient ruines, Then youthfull Aprill shall with all his showres In summers drought: Ile drop vpon thee still, In Winter with warme teares Ile melt the snow, And keepe eternall spring time on thy face,

[1090]

So thou refuse to drinke my deare sonnes blood. Enter Lucius, with his weapon drawne. Oh reuerent Tribunes, oh gentle aged men, Vnbinde my sonnes, reuerse the doome of death, And let me say (that neuer wept before) My teares are now preualing Oratours. Lu.

[1095]

Oh noble father, you lament in vaine, The Tribunes heare not, no man is by, And you recount your sorrowes to a stone. Ti. Ah Lucius for thy brothers let me plead, Graue Tribunes, once more I intreat of you. Lu.

[1100]

My gracious Lord, no Tribune heares you speake.

Ti. Why 'tis no matter man, if they did heare They would not marke me: oh if they did heare They would not pitty me. Therefore I tell my sorrowes bootles to the stones.

[1105]

Who though they cannot answere my distresse, Yet in some sort they are better then the Tribunes, For that they will not intercept my tale; When I doe weepe, they humbly at my feete Receiue my teares, and seeme to weepe with me,

[1110]

And were they but attired in graue weedes, Rome could afford no Tribune like to these. A stone is as soft waxe, Tribunes more hard then stones: A stone is silent, and offendeth not,

[1115]

And Tribunes with their tongues doome men to death. But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawne? Lu. To rescue my two brothers from their death, For which attempt the Iudges haue pronounc'st My euerlasting doome of banishment. Ti.

[1120]

O happy man, they haue befriended thee: Why foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceiue That Rome is but a wildernes of Tigers? Tigers must pray, and Rome affords no prey But me and mine: how happy art thou then,

[1125]

From these deuourers to be banished? But who comes with our brother Marcus heere? Enter Marcus and Lauinia. Mar. Titus, prepare thy noble eyes to weepe, Or if not so, thy noble heart to breake: I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. Ti.

[1130]

Will it consume me? Let me see it then.

Mar.

This was thy daughter.

Ti.

Why Marcus so she is.

Luc.

Aye me this obiect kils me.

Ti. Faint‑harted boy, arise and looke vpon her,

[1135]

Speake Lauinia, what accursed hand Hath made thee handlesse in thy Fathers sight? What foole hath added water to the Sea? Or brought a faggot to bright burning Troy? My griefe was at the height before thou cam'st,

[1140]

And now like Nylus it disdaineth bounds: Giue me a sword, Ile chop off my hands too, For they haue fought for Rome, and all in vaine: And they haue nur'st this woe, In feeding life:

[1145]

In bootelesse prayer haue they bene held vp, And they haue seru'd me to effectlesse vse. Now all the seruice I require of them, Is that the one will helpe to cut the other: 'Tis well Lauinia, that thou hast no hands,

[1150]

For hands to do Rome seruice, is but vaine. Luci.

Speake gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee?

Mar. O that delightfull engine of her thoughts, That blab'd them with such pleasing eloquence, Is torne from forth that pretty hollow cage,

[1155]

Where like a sweet mellodius bird it sung, Sweet varied notes inchanting euery eare. Luci. Oh say thou for her, Who hath done this deed? Marc. Oh thus I found her straying in the Parke,

[1160]

Seeking to hide herselfe as doth the Deare That hath receiude some vnrecuring wound. Tit. It was my Deare, And he that wounded her, Hath hurt me more, then had he kild me dead:

[1165]

For now I stand as one vpon a Rocke, Inuiron'd with a wildernesse of Sea. Who markes the waxing tide, Grow waue by waue, Expecting euer when some enuious surge,

[1170]

Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. This way to death my wretched sonnes are gone: Heere stands my other sonne, a banisht man, And heere my brother weeping at my woes. But that which giues my soule the greatest spurne,

[1175]

Is deere Lauinia, deerer then my soule. Had I but seene thy picture in this plight, It would haue madded me. What shall I doe? Now I behold thy liuely body so? Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy teares,

[1180]

Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee: Thy husband he is dead, and for his death Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this. Looke Marcus, ah sonne Lucius looke on her: When I did name her brothers, then fresh teares

[1185]

Stood on her cheekes, as doth the hony dew, Vpon a gathred Lillie almost withered. Mar. Perchance she weepes because they kil'd her husband, Perchance because she knowes him innocent. Ti. If they did kill thy husband then be ioyfull,

[1190]

Because the law hath tane reuenge on them. No, no, they would not doe so foule a deede, Witnes the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lauinia let me kisse thy lips, Or make some signes how I may do thee ease:

[1195]

Shall thy good Vncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou and I sit round about some Fountaine, Looking all downewards to behold our cheekes How they are stain'd in meadowes, yet not dry With miery slime left on them by a flood:

[1200]

And in the Fountaine shall we gaze so long, Till the fresh taste be taken from that cleerenes, And made a brine pit with our bitter teares? Or shall we cut away our hands like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumbe shewes

[1205]

Passe the remainder of our hatefull dayes? What shall we doe? Let vs that haue our tongues Plot some deuise of further miseries To make vs wondred at in time to come. Lu. Sweet Father cease your teares, for at your griefe

[1210]

See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. Mar.

Patience deere Neece, good Titus drie thine

eyes.

Ti. Ah Marcus, Marcus, Brother well I wot, Thy napkin cannot drinke a teare of mine,

[1215]

For thou poore man hast drown'd it with thine owne. Lu.

Ah my Lauinia I will wipe thy cheekes.

Ti. Marke Marcus marke, I vnderstand her signes, Had she a tongue to speake, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee.

[1220]

His Napkin with her true teares all bewet, Can do no seruice on her sorrowfull cheekes. Oh what a simpathy of woe is this! As farre from helpe as Limbo is from blisse, Enter Aron the Moore alone. Moore. Titus Andronicus, my Lord the Emperour,

[1225]

Sends thee this word, that if thou loue thy sonnes, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thy selfe old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the King: he for the same, Will send thee hither both thy sonnes aliue,

[1230]

And that shall be the ransome for their fault. Ti. Oh gracious Emperour, oh gentle Aaron. Did euer Rauen sing so like a Larke, That giues sweet tydings of the Sunnes vprise? With all my heart, Ile send the Emperour my hand,

[1235]

Good Aron wilt thou help to chop it off? Lu. Stay Father, for that noble hand of thine, That hath throwne downe so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serue the turne, My youth can better spare my blood then you,

[1240]

And therfore mine shall saue my brothers liues. Mar. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody Battleaxe, Writing destruction on the enemies Castle? Oh none of both but are of high desert:

[1245]

My hand hath bin but idle, let it serue To ransome my two nephewes from their death, Then haue I kept it to a worthy end. Moore. Nay come agree, whose hand shall goe along For feare they die before their pardon come. Mar.

[1250]

My hand shall goe.

Lu.

By heauen it shall not goe.

Ti. Sirs striue no more, such withered hearbs as these Are meete for plucking vp, and therefore mine. Lu. Sweet Father, if I shall be thought thy sonne,

[1255]

Let me redeeme my brothers both from death. Mar. And for our fathers sake, and mothers care, Now let me shew a brothers loue to thee. Ti.

Agree betweene you, I will spare my hand.

Lu.

Then Ile goe fetch an Axe.

Mar.

[1260]

But I will vse the Axe.

Exeunt Ti. Come hither Aaron, Ile deceiue them both, Lend me thy hand, and I will giue thee mine, Moore. If that be cal'd deceit, I will be honest, And neuer whil'st I liue deceiue men so:

[1265]

But Ile deceiue you in another sort, And that you'l say ere halfe an houre passe. He cuts off Titus hand Enter Lucius and Marcus againe. Ti. Now stay you strife, what shall be, is dispatcht: Good Aron giue his Maiestie me hand, Tell him, it was a hand that warded him

[1270]

From thousand dangers: bid him bury it: More hath it merited: That let it haue. As for my sonnes, say I account of them, As iewels purchast at an easie price, And yet deere too, because I bought mine owne. Aron.

[1275]

I goe Andronicus, and for thy hand, Looke by and by to haue thy sonnes with thee: Their heads I meane: Oh how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it. Let fooles doe good, and faire men call for grace,

[1280]

Aron will haue his soule blacke like his face. Exit. Ti. O heere I lift this one hand vp to heauen, And bow this feeble ruine to the earth, If any power pitties wretched teares, To that I call: what wilt thou kneele with me?

[1285]

Doe then deare heart, for heauen shall heare our prayers, Or with our sighs weele breath the welkin dimme, And staine the Sun with fogge as somtime cloudes, When they do hug him in their melting bosomes. Mar. Oh brother speake with possibilities,

[1290]

And do not breake into these deepe extreames. Ti. Is not my sorrow deepe, hauing no bottome? Then be my passions bottomlesse with them. Mar.

But yet let reason gouerne thy lament.

Titus. If there were reason for these miseries,

[1295]

Then into limits could I binde my woes: When heauen doth weepe, doth not the earth oreflow? If the windes rage, doth not the Sea wax mad, Threatning the welkin with his big‑swolne face? And wilt thou haue a reason for this coile?

[1300]

I am the Sea. Harke how her sighes doe flow: Shee is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my Sea be moued with her sighes, Then must my earth with her continuall teares, Become a deluge: ouerflow'd and drown'd:

[1305]

For why, my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them: Then giue me leaue, for loosers will haue leaue, To ease their stomackes with their bitter tongues, Enter a messenger with two heads and a hand. Mess. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid,

[1310]

For that good hand thou sentst the Emperour: Heere are the heads of thy two noble sonnes. And heeres thy hand in scorne to thee sent backe: Thy griefes, their sports: Thy resolution mockt, That woe is me to thinke vpon thy woes,

[1315]

More then remembrance of my fathers death. Exit. Marc. Now let hot ætna coole in Cicilie, And be my heart an euer‑burning hell: These miseries are more then may be borne. To weepe with them that weepe, doth ease some deale,

[1320]

But sorrow flouted at, is double death. Luci. Ah that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrinke thereat: That euer death should let life beare his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breath. Mar.

[1325]

Alas poore hart that kisse is comfortlesse, As frozen water to a starued snake. Titus.

When will this fearefull slumber haue an end?

Mar. Now farwell flatterie, die Andronicus, Thou dost not slumber, see thy two sons heads,

[1330]

Thy warlike hands, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banisht sonnes with this deere sight Strucke pale and bloodlesse, and thy brother I, Euen like a stony Image, cold and numme. Ah now no more will I controule my griefes,

[1335]

Rent off thy siluer haire, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth, and be this dismall sight The closing vp of our most wretched eyes: Now is a time to storme, why art thou still? Titus.

Ha, ha, ha,

Mar.

[1340]

Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this houre.

Ti. Why I haue not another teare to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would vsurpe vpon my watry eyes, And make them blinde with tributarie teares.

[1345]

Then which way shall I finde Reuenges Caue? For these two heads doe seeme to speake to me, And threat me, I shall neuer come to blisse, Till all these mischiefes be returned againe, Euen in their throats that haue committed them.

[1350]

Come let me see what taske I haue to doe, You heauie people, circle me about, That I may turne me to each one of you, And sweare vnto my soule to right your wrongs. The vow is made, come Brother take a head,

[1355]

And in this hand the other will I beare. And Lauinia thou shalt be employd in these things: Beare thou my hand sweet wench betweene thy teeth: As for thee boy, goe get thee from my sight, Thou art an Exile, and thou must not stay,

[1360]

Hie to the Gothes, and raise an army there, And if you loue me, as I thinke you doe, Let's kisse and part, for we haue much to doe. Exeunt. Manet Lucius. Luci. Farewell Andronicus my noble Father: The woful'st man that euer liu'd in Rome:

[1365]

Farewell proud Rome, til Lucius come againe, He loues his pledges dearer then his life: Farewell Lauinia my noble sister, O would thou wert as thou to fore hast beene, But now, nor Lucius nor Lauinia liues

[1370]

But in obliuion and hateful griefes: If Lucius liue, he will requit your wrongs, And make proud Saturnine and his Empresse Beg at the gates like Tarquin and his Queene. Now will I to the Gothes and raise a power,

[1375]

To be reueng'd on Rome and Saturnine. Exit Lucius

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<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<div type="scene" n="1" rend="notPresent">
   <head rend="italic center">Actus Tertius.</head>
   <head type="supplied">[Act 3, Scene 1]</head>
   <stage rend="italic" type="entrance">Enter the Iudges and Senatours with Titus two sonnes bound,
      <lb/>passing on the Stage to the place of execution, and Titus going
      <lb/>before pleading.</stage>
   <sp who="#F-tit-and">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ti.</speaker>
      <l n="1069">Heare me graue fathers, noble Tribunes stay,</l>
      <l n="1070">For pitty of mine age, whose youth was spent</l>
      <l n="1071">In dangerous warres, whilst you securely slept:</l>
      <l n="1072">For all my blood in Romes great quarrell shed,</l>
      <l n="1073">For all the frosty nights that I haue watcht,</l>
      <l n="1074">And for these bitter teares, which now you see,</l>
      <l n="1075">Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheekes,</l>
      <l n="1076">Be pittifull to my condemned Sonnes,</l>
      <l n="1077">Whose soules is not corrupted as 'tis thought:</l>
      <l n="1078">For two and twenty sonnes I neuer wept,</l>
      <l n="1079">Because they died in honours lofty bed.</l>
      <stage rend="italic center" type="business">Andronicus lyeth downe, and the Iudges passe by him.</stage>
      <l n="1080">For these, Tribunes, in the dust I write</l>
      <l n="1081">My harts deepe languor, and my soules sad teares:</l>
      <l n="1082">Let my teares stanch the earths drie appetite.</l>
      <l n="1083">My sonnes sweet blood, will make it shame and blush:</l>
      <l n="1084">O earth! I will be friend thee more with raine</l>
      <stage rend="italic rightJustified" type="exit">Exeunt.</stage>
      <l n="1085">That shall distill from these two ancient ruines,</l>
      <l n="1086">Then youthfull Aprill shall with all his showres</l>
      <l n="1087">In summers drought: Ile drop vpon thee still,</l>
      <l n="1088">In Winter with warme teares Ile melt the snow,</l>
      <l n="1089">And keepe eternall spring time on thy face,</l>
      <l n="1090">So thou refuse to drinke my deare sonnes blood.</l>
   </sp>
   <stage rend="italic center" type="entrance">Enter Lucius, with his weapon drawne.</stage>
   <l n="1091">Oh reuerent Tribunes, oh gentle aged men,</l>
   <l n="1092">Vnbinde my sonnes, reuerse the doome of death,</l>
   <l n="1093">And let me say (that neuer wept before)</l>
   <l n="1094">My teares are now preualing Oratours.</l>
   <sp who="#F-tit-luc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Lu.</speaker>
      <l n="1095">Oh noble father, you lament in vaine,</l>
      <l n="1096">The Tribunes heare not, no man is by,</l>
      <l n="1097">And you recount your sorrowes to a stone.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-and">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ti.</speaker>
      <l n="1098">Ah<hi rend="italic">Lucius</hi>for thy brothers let me plead,</l>
      <l n="1099">Graue Tribunes, once more I intreat of you.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-luc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Lu.</speaker>
      <p n="1100">My gracious Lord, no Tribune heares you speake.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-and">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ti.</speaker>
      <l n="1101">Why 'tis no matter man, if they did heare</l>
      <l n="1102">They would not marke me: oh if they did heare</l>
      <l n="1103">They would not pitty me.</l>
      <l n="1104">Therefore I tell my sorrowes bootles to the stones.</l>
      <cb n="2"/>
      <l n="1105">Who though they cannot answere my distresse,</l>
      <l n="1106">Yet in some sort they are better then the Tribunes,</l>
      <l n="1107">For that they will not intercept my tale;</l>
      <l n="1108">When I doe weepe, they humbly at my feete</l>
      <l n="1109">Receiue my teares, and seeme to weepe with me,</l>
      <l n="1110">And were they but attired in graue weedes,</l>
      <l n="1111">Rome could afford no Tribune like to these.</l>
      <l n="1112">A stone is as soft waxe,</l>
      <l n="1113">Tribunes more hard then stones:</l>
      <l n="1114">A stone is silent, and offendeth not,</l>
      <l n="1115">And Tribunes with their tongues doome men to death.</l>
      <l n="1116">But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawne?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-luc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Lu.</speaker>
      <l n="1117">To rescue my two brothers from their death,</l>
      <l n="1118">For which attempt the Iudges haue pronounc'st</l>
      <l n="1119">My euerlasting doome of banishment.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-and">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ti.</speaker>
      <l n="1120">O happy man, they haue befriended thee:</l>
      <l n="1121">Why foolish<hi rend="italic">Lucius</hi>, dost thou not perceiue</l>
      <l n="1122">That Rome is but a wildernes of Tigers?</l>
      <l n="1123">Tigers must pray, and Rome affords no prey</l>
      <l n="1124">But me and mine: how happy art thou then,</l>
      <l n="1125">From these deuourers to be banished?</l>
      <l n="1126">But who comes with our brother<hi rend="italic">Marcus</hi>heere?</l>
   </sp>
   <stage rend="italic center" type="entrance">Enter Marcus and Lauinia.</stage>
   <sp who="#F-tit-mrc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mar.</speaker>
      <l n="1127">
         <hi rend="italic">Titus</hi>, prepare thy noble eyes to weepe,</l>
      <l n="1128">Or if not so, thy noble heart to breake:</l>
      <l n="1129">I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-and">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ti.</speaker>
      <p n="1130">Will it consume me? Let me see it then.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-mrc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mar.</speaker>
      <p n="1131">This was thy daughter.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-and">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ti.</speaker>
      <p n="1132">Why<hi rend="italic">Marcus</hi>so she is.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-luc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Luc.</speaker>
      <p n="1133">Aye me this obiect kils me.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-and">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ti.</speaker>
      <l n="1134">Faint‑harted boy, arise and looke vpon her,</l>
      <l n="1135">Speake<hi rend="italic">Lauinia</hi>, what accursed hand</l>
      <l n="1136">Hath made thee handlesse in thy Fathers sight?</l>
      <l n="1137">What foole hath added water to the Sea?</l>
      <l n="1138">Or brought a faggot to bright burning Troy?</l>
      <l n="1139">My griefe was at the height before thou cam'st,</l>
      <l n="1140">And now like<hi rend="italic">Nylus</hi>it disdaineth bounds:</l>
      <l n="1141">Giue me a sword, Ile chop off my hands too,</l>
      <l n="1142">For they haue fought for Rome, and all in vaine:</l>
      <l n="1143">And they haue nur'st this woe,</l>
      <l n="1144">In feeding life:</l>
      <l n="1145">In bootelesse prayer haue they bene held vp,</l>
      <l n="1146">And they haue seru'd me to effectlesse vse.</l>
      <l n="1147">Now all the seruice I require of them,</l>
      <l n="1148">Is that the one will helpe to cut the other:</l>
      <l n="1149">'Tis well<hi rend="italic">Lauinia</hi>, that thou hast no hands,</l>
      <l n="1150">For hands to do Rome seruice, is but vaine.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-luc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Luci.</speaker>
      <p n="1151">Speake gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee?</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-mrc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mar.</speaker>
      <l n="1152">O that delightfull engine of her thoughts,</l>
      <l n="1153">That blab'd them with such pleasing eloquence,</l>
      <l n="1154">Is torne from forth that pretty hollow cage,</l>
      <l n="1155">Where like a sweet mellodius bird it sung,</l>
      <l n="1156">Sweet varied notes inchanting euery eare.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-luc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Luci.</speaker>
      <l n="1157">Oh say thou for her,</l>
      <l n="1158">Who hath done this deed?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-mrc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Marc.</speaker>
      <l n="1159">Oh thus I found her straying in the Parke,</l>
      <l n="1160">Seeking to hide herselfe as doth the Deare</l>
      <l n="1161">That hath receiude some vnrecuring wound.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-and">
      <speaker rend="italic">Tit.</speaker>
      <l n="1162">It was my Deare,</l>
      <l n="1163">And he that wounded her,</l>
      <l n="1164">Hath hurt me more, then had he kild me dead:</l>
      <l n="1165">For now I stand as one vpon a Rocke,</l>
      <l n="1166">Inuiron'd with a wildernesse of Sea.</l>
      <l n="1167">Who markes the waxing tide,</l>
      <l n="1168">Grow waue by waue,</l>
      <pb facs="FFimg:axc0659-0.jpg" n="41"/>
      <cb n="1"/>
      <l n="1169">Expecting euer when some enuious surge,</l>
      <l n="1170">Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.</l>
      <l n="1171">This way to death my wretched sonnes are gone:</l>
      <l n="1172">Heere stands my other sonne, a banisht man,</l>
      <l n="1173">And heere my brother weeping at my woes.</l>
      <l n="1174">But that which giues my soule the greatest spurne,</l>
      <l n="1175">Is deere<hi rend="italic">Lauinia</hi>, deerer then my soule.</l>
      <l n="1176">Had I but seene thy picture in this plight,</l>
      <l n="1177">It would haue madded me. What shall I doe?</l>
      <l n="1178">Now I behold thy liuely body so?</l>
      <l n="1179">Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy teares,</l>
      <l n="1180">Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee:</l>
      <l n="1181">Thy husband he is dead, and for his death</l>
      <l n="1182">Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this.</l>
      <l n="1183">Looke<hi rend="italic">Marcus</hi>, ah sonne<hi rend="italic">Lucius</hi>looke on her:</l>
      <l n="1184">When I did name her brothers, then fresh teares</l>
      <l n="1185">Stood on her cheekes, as doth the hony dew,</l>
      <l n="1186">Vpon a gathred Lillie almost withered.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-mrc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mar.</speaker>
      <l n="1187">Perchance she weepes because they kil'd her
      <lb/>husband,</l>
      <l n="1188">Perchance because she knowes him innocent.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-and">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ti.</speaker>
      <l n="1189">If they did kill thy husband then be ioyfull,</l>
      <l n="1190">Because the law hath tane reuenge on them.</l>
      <l n="1191">No, no, they would not doe so foule a deede,</l>
      <l n="1192">Witnes the sorrow that their sister makes.</l>
      <l n="1193">Gentle<hi rend="italic">Lauinia</hi>let me kisse thy lips,</l>
      <l n="1194">Or make some signes how I may do thee ease:</l>
      <l n="1195">Shall thy good Vncle, and thy brother<hi rend="italic">Lucius</hi>,</l>
      <l n="1196">And thou and I sit round about some Fountaine,</l>
      <l n="1197">Looking all downewards to behold our cheekes</l>
      <l n="1198">How they are stain'd in meadowes, yet not dry</l>
      <l n="1199">With miery slime left on them by a flood:</l>
      <l n="1200">And in the Fountaine shall we gaze so long,</l>
      <l n="1201">Till the fresh taste be taken from that cleerenes,</l>
      <l n="1202">And made a brine pit with our bitter teares?</l>
      <l n="1203">Or shall we cut away our hands like thine?</l>
      <l n="1204">Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumbe shewes</l>
      <l n="1205">Passe the remainder of our hatefull dayes?</l>
      <l n="1206">What shall we doe? Let vs that haue our tongues</l>
      <l n="1207">Plot some deuise of further miseries</l>
      <l n="1208">To make vs wondred at in time to come.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-luc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Lu.</speaker>
      <l n="1209">Sweet Father cease your teares, for at your griefe</l>
      <l n="1210">See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-mrc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mar.</speaker>
      <p n="1211">Patience deere Neece, good<hi rend="italic">Titus</hi>drie thine
      <lb n="1212"/>eyes.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-and">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ti.</speaker>
      <l n="1213">Ah<hi rend="italic">Marcus</hi>,<hi rend="italic">Marcus</hi>, Brother well I wot,</l>
      <l n="1214">Thy napkin cannot drinke a teare of mine,</l>
      <l n="1215">For thou poore man hast drown'd it with thine owne.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-luc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Lu.</speaker>
      <p n="1216">Ah my<hi rend="italic">Lauinia</hi>I will wipe thy cheekes.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-and">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ti.</speaker>
      <l n="1217">Marke<hi rend="italic">Marcus</hi>marke, I vnderstand her signes,</l>
      <l n="1218">Had she a tongue to speake, now would she say</l>
      <l n="1219">That to her brother which I said to thee.</l>
      <l n="1220">His Napkin with her true teares all bewet,</l>
      <l n="1221">Can do no seruice on her sorrowfull cheekes.</l>
      <l n="1222">Oh what a simpathy of woe is this!</l>
      <l n="1223">As farre from helpe as Limbo is from blisse,</l>
   </sp>
   <stage rend="italic center" type="entrance">Enter Aron the Moore alone.</stage>
   <sp who="#F-tit-aar">
      <speaker rend="italic">Moore.</speaker>
      <l n="1224">
         <hi rend="italic">Titus Andronicus</hi>, my Lord the Emperour,</l>
      <l n="1225">Sends thee this word, that if thou loue thy sonnes,</l>
      <l n="1226">Let<hi rend="italic">Marcus, Lucius,</hi>or thy selfe old<hi rend="italic">Titus</hi>,</l>
      <l n="1227">Or any one of you, chop off your hand,</l>
      <l n="1228">And send it to the King: he for the same,</l>
      <l n="1229">Will send thee hither both thy sonnes aliue,</l>
      <l n="1230">And that shall be the ransome for their fault.</l>
   </sp>
   <cb n="2"/>
   <sp who="#F-tit-and">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ti.</speaker>
      <l n="1231">Oh gracious Emperour, oh gentle<hi rend="italic">Aaron</hi>.</l>
      <l n="1232">Did euer Rauen sing so like a Larke,</l>
      <l n="1233">That giues sweet tydings of the Sunnes vprise?</l>
      <l n="1234">With all my heart, Ile send the Emperour my hand,</l>
      <l n="1235">Good<hi rend="italic">Aron</hi>wilt thou help to chop it off?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-luc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Lu.</speaker>
      <l n="1236">Stay Father, for that noble hand of thine,</l>
      <l n="1237">That hath throwne downe so many enemies,</l>
      <l n="1238">Shall not be sent: my hand will serue the turne,</l>
      <l n="1239">My youth can better spare my blood then you,</l>
      <l n="1240">And therfore mine shall saue my brothers liues.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-mrc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mar.</speaker>
      <l n="1241">Which of your hands hath not defended Rome,</l>
      <l n="1242">And rear'd aloft the bloody Battleaxe,</l>
      <l n="1243">Writing destruction on the enemies Castle?</l>
      <l n="1244">Oh none of both but are of high desert:</l>
      <l n="1245">My hand hath bin but idle, let it serue</l>
      <l n="1246">To ransome my two nephewes from their death,</l>
      <l n="1247">Then haue I kept it to a worthy end.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-aar">
      <speaker rend="italic">Moore.</speaker>
      <l n="1248">Nay come agree, whose hand shall goe along</l>
      <l n="1249">For feare they die before their pardon come.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-mrc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mar.</speaker>
      <p n="1250">My hand shall goe.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-luc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Lu.</speaker>
      <p n="1251">By heauen it shall not goe.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-and">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ti.</speaker>
      <l n="1252">Sirs striue no more, such withered hearbs as these</l>
      <l n="1253">Are meete for plucking vp, and therefore mine.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-luc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Lu.</speaker>
      <l n="1254">Sweet Father, if I shall be thought thy sonne,</l>
      <l n="1255">Let me redeeme my brothers both from death.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-mrc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mar.</speaker>
      <l n="1256">And for our fathers sake, and mothers care,</l>
      <l n="1257">Now let me shew a brothers loue to thee.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-and">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ti.</speaker>
      <p n="1258">Agree betweene you, I will spare my hand.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-luc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Lu.</speaker>
      <p n="1259">Then Ile goe fetch an Axe.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-mrc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mar.</speaker>
      <p n="1260">But I will vse the Axe.</p>
   </sp>
   <stage rend="italic rightJustified" type="exit">Exeunt</stage>
   <sp who="#F-tit-and">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ti.</speaker>
      <l n="1261">Come hither<hi rend="italic">Aaron</hi>, Ile deceiue them both,</l>
      <l n="1262">Lend me thy hand, and I will giue thee mine,</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-aar">
      <speaker rend="italic">Moore.</speaker>
      <l n="1263">If that be cal'd deceit, I will be honest,</l>
      <l n="1264">And neuer whil'st I liue deceiue men so:</l>
      <l n="1265">But Ile deceiue you in another sort,</l>
      <l n="1266">And that you'l say ere halfe an houre passe.</l>
   </sp>
   <stage rend="italic center" type="business">He cuts off Titus hand</stage>
   <stage rend="italic center" type="entrance">Enter Lucius and Marcus againe.</stage>
   <sp who="#F-tit-and">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ti.</speaker>
      <l n="1267">Now stay you strife, what shall be, is dispatcht:</l>
      <l n="1268">Good<hi rend="italic">Aron</hi>giue his Maiestie me hand,</l>
      <l n="1269">Tell him, it was a hand that warded him</l>
      <l n="1270">From thousand dangers: bid him bury it:</l>
      <l n="1271">More hath it merited: That let it haue.</l>
      <l n="1272">As for my sonnes, say I account of them,</l>
      <l n="1273">As iewels purchast at an easie price,</l>
      <l n="1274">And yet deere too, because I bought mine owne.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-aar">
      <speaker rend="italic">Aron.</speaker>
      <l n="1275">I goe<hi rend="italic">Andronicus</hi>, and for thy hand,</l>
      <l n="1276">Looke by and by to haue thy sonnes with thee:</l>
      <l n="1277">Their heads I meane: Oh how this villany</l>
      <l n="1278">Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it.</l>
      <l n="1279">Let fooles doe good, and faire men call for grace,</l>
      <l n="1280">
         <hi rend="italic">Aron</hi>will haue his soule blacke like his face.</l>
   </sp>
   <stage rend="italic rightJustified" type="exit">Exit.</stage>
   <sp who="#F-tit-and">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ti.</speaker>
      <l n="1281">O heere I lift this one hand vp to heauen,</l>
      <l n="1282">And bow this feeble ruine to the earth,</l>
      <l n="1283">If any power pitties wretched teares,</l>
      <l n="1284">To that I call: what wilt thou kneele with me?</l>
      <l n="1285">Doe then deare heart, for heauen shall heare our prayers,</l>
      <l n="1286">Or with our sighs weele breath the welkin dimme,</l>
      <l n="1287">And staine the Sun with fogge as somtime cloudes,</l>
      <l n="1288">When they do hug him in their melting bosomes.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-mrc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mar.</speaker>
      <l n="1289">Oh brother speake with possibilities,</l>
      <l n="1290">And do not breake into these deepe extreames.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-and">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ti.</speaker>
      <l n="1291">Is not my sorrow deepe, hauing no bottome?</l>
      <pb facs="FFimg:axc0660-0.jpg" n="42"/>
      <cb n="1"/>
      <l n="1292">Then be my passions bottomlesse with them.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-mrc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mar.</speaker>
      <p n="1293">But yet let reason gouerne thy lament.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-and">
      <speaker rend="italic">Titus.</speaker>
      <l n="1294">If there were reason for these miseries,</l>
      <l n="1295">Then into limits could I binde my woes:</l>
      <l n="1296">When heauen doth weepe, doth not the earth oreflow?</l>
      <l n="1297">If the windes rage, doth not the Sea wax mad,</l>
      <l n="1298">Threatning the welkin with his big‑swolne face?</l>
      <l n="1299">And wilt thou haue a reason for this coile?</l>
      <l n="1300">I am the Sea. Harke how her sighes doe flow:</l>
      <l n="1301">Shee is the weeping welkin, I the earth:</l>
      <l n="1302">Then must my Sea be moued with her sighes,</l>
      <l n="1303">Then must my earth with her continuall teares,</l>
      <l n="1304">Become a deluge: ouerflow'd and drown'd:</l>
      <l n="1305">For why, my bowels cannot hide her woes,</l>
      <l n="1306">But like a drunkard must I vomit them:</l>
      <l n="1307">Then giue me leaue, for loosers will haue leaue,</l>
      <l n="1308">To ease their stomackes with their bitter tongues,</l>
   </sp>
   <stage rend="italic center" type="entrance">Enter a messenger with two heads and a hand.</stage>
   <sp who="#F-tit-mes">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mess.</speaker>
      <l n="1309">Worthy<hi rend="italic">Andronicus</hi>, ill art thou repaid,</l>
      <l n="1310">For that good hand thou sentst the Emperour:</l>
      <l n="1311">Heere are the heads of thy two noble sonnes.</l>
      <l n="1312">And heeres thy hand in scorne to thee sent backe:</l>
      <l n="1313">Thy griefes, their sports: Thy resolution mockt,</l>
      <l n="1314">That woe is me to thinke vpon thy woes,</l>
      <l n="1315">More then remembrance of my fathers death.</l>
   </sp>
   <stage rend="italic rightJustified" type="exit">Exit.</stage>
   <sp who="#F-tit-mrc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Marc.</speaker>
      <l n="1316">Now let hot ætna coole in Cicilie,</l>
      <l n="1317">And be my heart an euer‑burning hell:</l>
      <l n="1318">These miseries are more then may be borne.</l>
      <l n="1319">To weepe with them that weepe, doth ease some deale,</l>
      <l n="1320">But sorrow flouted at, is double death.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-luc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Luci.</speaker>
      <l n="1321">Ah that this sight should make so deep a wound,</l>
      <l n="1322">And yet detested life not shrinke thereat:</l>
      <l n="1323">That euer death should let life beare his name,</l>
      <l n="1324">Where life hath no more interest but to breath.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-mrc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mar.</speaker>
      <l n="1325">Alas poore hart that kisse is comfortlesse,</l>
      <l n="1326">As frozen water to a starued snake.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-and">
      <speaker rend="italic">Titus.</speaker>
      <p n="1327">When will this fearefull slumber haue an end?</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-mrc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mar.</speaker>
      <l n="1328">Now farwell flatterie, die<hi rend="italic">Andronicus</hi>,</l>
      <l n="1329">Thou dost not slumber, see thy two sons heads,</l>
      <l n="1330">Thy warlike hands, thy mangled daughter here:</l>
      <l n="1331">Thy other banisht sonnes with this deere sight</l>
      <l n="1332">Strucke pale and bloodlesse, and thy brother I,</l>
      <l n="1333">Euen like a stony Image, cold and numme.</l>
      <l n="1334">Ah now no more will I controule my griefes,</l>
      <l n="1335">Rent off thy siluer haire, thy other hand</l>
      <l n="1336">Gnawing with thy teeth, and be this dismall sight</l>
      <l n="1337">The closing vp of our most wretched eyes:</l>
      <l n="1338">Now is a time to storme, why art thou still?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-and">
      <speaker rend="italic">Titus.</speaker>
      <p n="1339">Ha, ha, ha,</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-mrc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mar.</speaker>
      <p n="1340">Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this houre.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-tit-and">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ti.</speaker>
      <l n="1341">Why I haue not another teare to shed:</l>
      <l n="1342">Besides, this sorrow is an enemy,</l>
      <l n="1343">And would vsurpe vpon my watry eyes,</l>
      <l n="1344">And make them blinde with tributarie teares.</l>
      <l n="1345">Then which way shall I finde Reuenges Caue?</l>
      <l n="1346">For these two heads doe seeme to speake to me,</l>
      <l n="1347">And threat me, I shall neuer come to blisse,</l>
      <l n="1348">Till all these mischiefes be returned againe,</l>
      <l n="1349">Euen in their throats that haue committed them.</l>
      <l n="1350">Come let me see what taske I haue to doe,</l>
      <l n="1351">You heauie people, circle me about,</l>
      <l n="1352">That I may turne me to each one of you,</l>
      <l n="1353">And sweare vnto my soule to right your wrongs.</l>
      <l n="1354">The vow is made, come Brother take a head,</l>
      <cb n="2"/>
      <l n="1355">And in this hand the other will I beare.</l>
      <l n="1356">And<hi rend="italic">Lauinia</hi>thou shalt be employd in these things:</l>
      <l n="1357">Beare thou my hand sweet wench betweene thy teeth:</l>
      <l n="1358">As for thee boy, goe get thee from my sight,</l>
      <l n="1359">Thou art an Exile, and thou must not stay,</l>
      <l n="1360">Hie to the<hi rend="italic">Gothes</hi>, and raise an army there,</l>
      <l n="1361">And if you loue me, as I thinke you doe,</l>
      <l n="1362">Let's kisse and part, for we haue much to doe.</l>
   </sp>
   <stage rend="italic rightJustified" type="exit">Exeunt.</stage>
   <stage rend="italic center" type="business">Manet Lucius.</stage>
   <sp who="#F-tit-luc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Luci.</speaker>
      <l n="1363">Farewell<hi rend="italic">Andronicus</hi>my noble Father:</l>
      <l n="1364">The woful'st man that euer liu'd in Rome:</l>
      <l n="1365">Farewell proud Rome, til<hi rend="italic">Lucius</hi>come againe,</l>
      <l n="1366">He loues his pledges dearer then his life:</l>
      <l n="1367">Farewell<hi rend="italic">Lauinia</hi>my noble sister,</l>
      <l n="1368">O would thou wert as thou to fore hast beene,</l>
      <l n="1369">But now, nor<hi rend="italic">Lucius</hi>nor<hi rend="italic">Lauinia</hi>liues</l>
      <l n="1370">But in obliuion and hateful griefes:</l>
      <l n="1371">If<hi rend="italic">Lucius</hi>liue, he will requit your wrongs,</l>
      <l n="1372">And make proud<hi rend="italic">Saturnine</hi>and his Empresse</l>
      <l n="1373">Beg at the gates like<hi rend="italic">Tarquin</hi>and his Queene.</l>
      <l n="1374">Now will I to the Gothes and raise a power,</l>
      <l n="1375">To be reueng'd on Rome and<hi rend="italic">Saturnine</hi>.</l>
   </sp>
   <stage rend="italic rightJustified" type="exit">Exit Lucius</stage>
</div>

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The Bodleian First Folio

A digital facsimile of the First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Bodleian Arch. G c.7.

Text and Image

Reference: dd3r - Tragedies, p. 41