Act 4, Scene 3
Rome. A public place.
- Enter Titus, old Marcus, young Lucius, and other gentlemen
- (Publius, Sempronius, Caius) with bows; and Titus bears the
- arrows with letters on the ends of them.
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- Come, Marcus, come; kinsmen, this is the way.
- Sir boy, let me see your archery.
- Look ye draw home enough, and ’tis there straight.
- Terras Astraea reliquit;
- Be you rememb’red, Marcus, she’s gone, she’s fled.
- Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall
- Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets;
- Happily you may catch her in the sea;
- Yet there’s as little justice as at land.
- No, Publius and Sempronius, you must do it,
- ’Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade,
- And pierce the inmost center of the earth;
- Then when you come to Pluto’s region,
- I pray you deliver him this petition.
- Tell him it is for justice and for aid,
- And that it comes from old Andronicus,
- Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome.
- Ah, Rome! Well, well, I made thee miserable
- What time I threw the people’s suffrages
- On him that thus doth tyrannize o’er me.
- Go get you gone, and pray be careful all,
- And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch’d.
- This wicked emperor may have shipp’d her hence,
- And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.
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- O Publius, is not this a heavy case,
- To see thy noble uncle thus distract?
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- Therefore, my lords, it highly us concerns
- By day and night t’ attend him carefully,
- And feed his humor kindly as we may,
- Till time beget some careful remedy.
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- Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy,
- Join with the Goths, and with revengeful war
- Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude,
- And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.
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- Publius, how now? How now, my masters?
- What, have you met with her?
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- No, my good lord, but Pluto sends you word,
- If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall.
- Marry, for Justice, she is so employ’d,
- He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or some where else,
- So that perforce you must needs stay a time.
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- He doth me wrong to feed me with delays.
- I’ll dive into the burning lake below,
- And pull her out of Acheron by the heels.
- Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we,
- No big-bon’d men fram’d of the Cyclops’ size,
- But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back,
- Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can bear.
- And sith there’s no justice in earth nor hell,
- We will solicit heaven and move the gods
- To send down Justice for to wreak our wrongs.
- Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus;
- He gives them the arrows.
- “Ad Jovem,” that’s for you; here, “Ad Apollinem”;
- “Ad Martem,” that’s for myself;
- Here, boy, “To Pallas”; here, “To Mercury”;
- “To Saturn,” Caius, not to Saturnine:
- You were as good to shoot against the wind.
- To it, boy! Marcus, loose when I bid.
- Of my word, I have written to effect,
- There’s not a god left unsolicited.
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- Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court,
- We will afflict the Emperor in his pride.
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- Now, masters, draw.
- They shoot.
- O, well said, Lucius!
- Good boy, in Virgo’s lap; give it Pallas.
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- My lord, I aim’d a mile beyond the moon,
- Your letter is with Jupiter by this.
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- Ha, ha!
- Publius, Publius, what hast thou done?
- See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus’ horns.
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- This was the sport, my lord. When Publius shot,
- The Bull, being gall’d, gave Aries such a knock
- That down fell both the Ram’s horns in the court,
- And who should find them but the Empress’ villain?
- She laugh’d, and told the Moor he should not choose
- But give them to his master for a present.
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- Why, there it goes. God give his lordship joy!
- Enter the Clown with a basket, and two pigeons in it.
- News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come.
- Sirrah, what tidings? Have you any letters?
- Shall I have justice? What says Jupiter?
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- Ho, the gibbet-maker? He says that he hath taken them down
- again, for the man must not be hang’d till the next week.
- But what says Jupiter, I ask thee?
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- Alas, sir, I know not Jubiter, I never drank with him in all
- my life.
- Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?
- Ay, of my pigeons, sir, nothing else.
- Why, didst thou not come from heaven?
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- From heaven! Alas, sir, I never came there. God forbid I
- should be so bold to press to heaven in my young days. Why,
- I am going with my pigeons to the tribunal plebs, to take up
- a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the Emperal’s
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- Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to serve for your
- oration, and let him deliver the pigeons to the Emperor from
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- Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the Emperor with a
- Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life.
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- Sirrah, come hither, make no more ado,
- But give your pigeons to the Emperor.
- By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.
- Hold, hold; mean while here’s money for thy charges.
- Give me pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver up
- a supplication?
- Ay, sir.
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- Then here is a supplication for you; and when you come to
- him, at the first approach you must kneel, then kiss his
- foot, then deliver up your pigeons, and then look for your
- reward. I’ll be at hand, sir, see you do it bravely.
- I warrant you, sir, let me alone.
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- Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come let me see it.
- Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration,
- For then hast made it like an humble suppliant.
- And when thou hast given it the Emperor,
- Knock at my door, and tell me what he says.
- God be with you, sir, I will.
- Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follow me.