1116That could haue better sowed then Philomel.

1117Oh had the monster seene those Lilly hands,

1118Tremble like Aspen leaues vpon a Lute,

1119And make the silken strings delight to kisse them,

1120He would not then haue toucht them for his life.

1121Or had he heard the heauenly Harmony,

1122Which that sweet tongue hath made:

1123He would haue dropt his knife and fell asleepe,

1124As Cerberus at the Thracian Poets feete.

1125Come, let vs goe, and make thy father blinde,

1126For such a sight will blinde a fathers eye.

1127One houres storme will drowne the fragrant meades,

1128What, will whole months of teares thy Fathers eyes?

1129Doe not draw backe, for we will mourne with thee:

1130Oh could our mourning ease thy misery. Exeunt

1135Ti. Heare me graue fathers, noble Tribunes stay,

1136For pitty of mine age, whose youth was spent

1137In dangerous warres, whilst you securely slept:

1138For all my blood in Romes great quarrell shed,

1139For all the frosty nights that I haue watcht,

1140And for these bitter teares, which now you see,

1141Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheekes,

1142Be pittifull to my condemned Sonnes,

1143Whose soules is not corrupted as 'tis thought:

1144For two and twenty sonnes I neuer wept,

1145Because they died in honours lofty bed.

1147For these, Tribunes, in the dust I write

1148My harts deepe languor, and my soules sad teares:

1149Let my teares stanch the earths drie appetite.

1150My sonnes sweet blood, will make it shame and blush:

1151O earth! I will befriend thee more with raine Exeunt

1152That shall distill from these two ancient ruines,

1153Then youthfull Aprill shall with all his showres

1154In summers drought: Ile drop vpon thee still,

1155In Winter with warme teares Ile melt the snow,

1156And keepe erernall springtime on thy face,

1157So thou refuse to drinke my deare sonnes blood.

1159Oh reuerent Tribunes, oh gentle aged men,

1160Vnbinde my sonnes, reuerse the doome of death,

1161And let me say (that neuer wept before)

1162My teares are now preualing Oratours.

1163Lu. Oh noble father, you lament in vaine,

1164The Tribunes heare not, no man is by,

1165And you recount your sorrowes to a stone.

1166Ti. Ah Lucius for thy brothers let me plead,

1167Graue Tribunes, once more I intreat of you.

1168Lu. My gracious Lord, no Tribune heares you speake.

1169Ti. Why 'tis no matter man, if they did heare

1170They would not marke me: oh if they did heare

1171They would not pitty me.

1172Therefore I tell my sorrowes bootles to the stones.

1173Who though they cannot answere my distresse,

1174Yet in some sort they are better then the Tribunes,

1175For that they will not intercept my tale;

1176When I doe weepe, they humbly at my feete

1177Receiue my teares, and seeme to weepe with me,

1178And were they but attired in graue weedes,

1179Rome could afford no Tribune like to these.

1180A stone is as soft waxe,

1181Tribunes more hard then stones:

1182A stone is silent, and offendeth not,

1183And Tribunes with their tongues doome men to death.

1184But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawne?

1185Lu. To rescue my two brothers from their death,

1186For which attempt the Iudges haue pronounc'st

1187My euerlasting doome of banishment.

1188Ti. O happy man, they haue befriended thee:

1189Why foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceiue

1190That Rome is but a wildernes of Tigers?

1191Tigers must pray, and Rome affords no prey

1192But me and and mine: how happy art thou then,

1193From these deuourers to be banished?

1194But who comes with our brother Marcus heere?

1196Mar. Titus, prepare thy noble eyes to weepe,

1197Or if not so, thy noble heart to breake:

1198I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.

1199Ti. Will it consume me? Let me see it then.

1200Mar. This was thy daughter.

1201Ti. Why Marcus so she is.

1202Luc. Aye me this obiect kils me.

1203Ti. Faint-harted boy, arise and looke vpon her,

1204Speake Lauinia, what accursed hand

1205Hath made thee handlesse in thy Fathers sight?

1206What foole hath added water to the Sea?

1207Or brought a faggot to bright burning Troy?

1208My griefe was at the height before thou cam'st,

1209And now like Nylus it disdaineth bounds:

1210Giue me a sword, Ile chop off my hands too,

1211For they haue fought for Rome, and all in vaine:

1212And they haue nur'st this woe,

1213In feeding life:

1214In bootelesse prayer haue they bene held vp,

1215And they haue seru'd me to effectlesse vse.

1216Now all the seruice I require of them,

1217Is that the one will helpe to cut the other:

1218'Tis well Lauinia, that thou hast no hands,

1219For hands to do Rome seruice, is but vaine.

1220Luci. Speake gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee?

1221Mar. O that delightfull engine of her thoughts,

1222That blab'd them with such pleasing eloquence,

1223Is torne from forth that pretty hollow cage,

1224Where like a sweet mellodius bird it sung,

1225Sweet varied notes inchanting euery eare.

1226Luci. Oh say thou for her,

1227Who hath done this deed?

1228Marc. Oh thus I found her straying in the Parke,

1229Seeking to hide herselfe as doth the Deare

1230That hath receiude some vnrecuring wound.

1231Tit. It was my Deare,

1232And he that wounded her,

1233Hath hurt me more, then had he kild me dead:

1234For now I stand as one vpon a Rocke,

1235Inuiron'd with a wildernesse of Sea.

1236Who markes the waxing tide,

1237Grow waue by waue,