Shakespeare's First Folio Part 484

The Trees though Sommer, yet forlorne and leane, Ore-come with Mosse, and balefull Misselto.

Heere neuer shines the Sunne, heere nothing breeds, Vnlesse the nightly Owle, or fatall Rauen: And when they shew'd me this abhorred pit, They told me heere at dead time of the night, A thousand Fiends, a thousand hissing Snakes, Ten thousand swelling Toades, as many Vrchins, Would make such fearefull and confused cries, As any mortall body hearing it, Should straite fall mad, or else die suddenly.

No sooner had they told this h.e.l.lish tale, But strait they told me they would binde me heere, Vnto the body of a dismall yew, And leaue me to this miserable death.

And then they call'd me foule Adulteresse, Lasciuious Goth, and all the bitterest tearmes That euer eare did heare to such effect.

And had you not by wondrous fortune come, This vengeance on me had they executed: Reuenge it, as you loue your Mothers life, Or be ye not henceforth cal'd my Children

Dem. This is a witnesse that I am thy Sonne.

stab him.

Chi. And this for me, Strook home to shew my strength

Laui. I come Semeramis, nay Barbarous Tamora.

For no name fits thy nature but thy owne

Tam. Giue me thy poyniard, you shal know my boyes Your Mothers hand shall right your Mothers wrong

Deme. Stay Madam heere is more belongs to her, First thrash the Corne, then after burne the straw: This Minion stood vpon her chast.i.ty, Vpon her Nuptiall vow, her loyaltie.

And with that painted hope, braues your Mightinesse, And shall she carry this vnto her graue?

Chi. And if she doe, I would I were an Eunuch, Drag hence her husband to some secret hole, And make his dead Trunke-Pillow to our l.u.s.t

Tamo. But when ye haue the hony we desire, Let not this Waspe out-liue vs both to sting

Chir. I warrant you Madam we will make that sure: Come Mistris, now perforce we will enioy, That nice-preserued honesty of yours

Laui. Oh Tamora, thou bear'st a woman face

Tamo. I will not heare her speake, away with her

Laui. Sweet Lords intreat her heare me but a word

Demet. Listen faire Madam, let it be your glory To see her teares, but be your hart to them, As vnrelenting flint to drops of raine

Laui. When did the Tigers young-ones teach the dam?

O doe not learne her wrath, she taught it thee, The milke thou suck'st from her did turne to Marble, Euen at thy Teat thou had'st thy Tyranny, Yet euery Mother breeds not Sonnes alike, Do thou intreat her shew a woman pitty

Chiro. What, Would'st thou haue me proue my selfe a b.a.s.t.a.r.d?

Laui. 'Tis true, The Rauen doth not hatch a Larke, Yet haue I heard, Oh could I finde it now, The Lion mou'd with pitty, did indure To haue his Princely pawes par'd all away.

Some say, that Rauens foster forlorne children, The whil'st their owne birds famish in their nests: Oh be to me though thy hard hart say no, Nothing so kind but something pittifull

Tamo. I know not what it meanes, away with her

Lauin. Oh let me teach thee for my Fathers sake, That gaue thee life when well he might haue slaine thee: Be not obdurate, open thy deafe eares

Tamo. Had'st thou in person nere offended me.

Euen for his sake am I pittilesse: Remember Boyes I powr'd forth teares in vaine, To saue your brother from the sacrifice, But fierce Andronicus would not relent, Therefore away with her, and vse her as you will, The worse to her, the better lou'd of me

Laui. Oh Tamora, Be call'd a gentle Queene, And with thine owne hands kill me in this place, For 'tis not life that I haue beg'd so long, Poore I was slaine, when Ba.s.sia.n.u.s dy'd

Tam. What beg'st thou then? fond woman let me go?

Laui. 'Tis present death I beg, and one thing more, That womanhood denies my tongue to tell: Oh keepe me from their worse then killing l.u.s.t, And tumble me into some loathsome pit, Where neuer mans eye may behold my body, Doe this, and be a charitable murderer

Tam. So should I rob my sweet Sonnes of their fee, No let them satisfie their l.u.s.t on thee

Deme. Away, For thou hast staid vs heere too long

Lauinia. No Grace, No womanhood? Ah beastly creature, The blot and enemy to our generall name, Confusion fall- Chi. Nay then Ile stop your mouth Bring thou her husband, This is the Hole where Aaron bid vs hide him

Tam. Farewell my Sonnes, see that you make her sure, Nere let my heart know merry cheere indeed, Till all the Andronici be made away: Now will I hence to seeke my louely Moore, And let my spleenefull Sonnes this Trull defloure.

Enter.

Enter Aaron with two of t.i.tus Sonnes.

Aron. Come on my Lords, the better foote before, Straight will I bring you to the lothsome pit, Where I espied the Panther fast asleepe

Quin. My sight is very dull what ere it bodes

Marti. And mine I promise you, were it not for shame, Well could I leaue our sport to sleepe a while

Quin. What art thou fallen?

What subtile Hole is this, Whose mouth is couered with Rude growing Briers, Vpon whose leaues are drops of new-shed-blood, As fresh as mornings dew distil'd on flowers, A very fatall place it seemes to me: Speake Brother hast thou hurt thee with the fall?

Martius. Oh Brother, With the dismal'st obiect That euer eye with sight made heart lament

Aron. Now will I fetch the King to finde them heere, That he thereby may haue a likely gesse, How these were they that made away his Brother.

Exit Aaron.

Marti. Why dost not comfort me and helpe me out, From this vnhallow'd and blood-stained Hole?

Quintus. I am surprised with an vncouth feare, A chilling sweat ore-runs my trembling ioynts, My heart suspects more then mine eie can see

Marti. To proue thou hast a true diuining heart, Aaron and thou looke downe into this den, And see a fearefull sight of blood and death

Quintus. Aaron is gone, And my compa.s.sionate heart Will not permit mine eyes once to behold The thing whereat it trembles by surmise: Oh tell me how it is, for nere till now Was I a child to feare I know not what

Marti. Lord Ba.s.sia.n.u.s lies embrewed heere, All on a heape like to the slaughtred Lambe, In this detested, darke, blood-drinking pit

Quin. If it be darke, how doost thou know 'tis he?

Mart. Vpon his b.l.o.o.d.y finger he doth weare A precious Ring, that lightens all the Hole: Which like a Taper in some Monument, Doth shine vpon the dead mans earthly cheekes, And shewes the ragged intrailes of the pit: So pale did shine the Moone on Piramus, When he by night lay bath'd in Maiden blood: O Brother helpe me with thy fainting hand.

If feare hath made thee faint, as mee it hath, Out of this fell deuouring receptacle, As hatefull as Ocitus mistie mouth

Quint. Reach me thy hand, that I may helpe thee out, Or wanting strength to doe thee so much good, I may be pluckt into the swallowing wombe, Of this deepe pit, poore Ba.s.sia.n.u.s graue: I haue no strength to plucke thee to the brinke

Martius. Nor I no strength to clime without thy help

Quin. Thy hand once more, I will not loose againe, Till thou art heere aloft, or I below, Thou can'st not come to me, I come to thee.

Both fall in.

Enter the Emperour, Aaron the Moore.