1070Deme. So now goe tell and if thy tongue can speake,

1071Who t'was that cut thy tongue and rauisht thee.

1072Chi. Write downe thy mind, bewray thy meaning so,

1073And if thy stumpes will let thee play the Scribe.

1074Dem. See how with signes and tokens she can scowle.

1075Chi. Goe home,

1076Call for sweet water, wash thy hands.

1077Dem. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash.

1078And so let's leaue her to her silent walkes.

1079Chi. And t'were my cause, I should goe hang myselfe.

1080Dem. If thou had'st hands to helpe thee knit the cord.

1084Who is this, my Neece that flies away so fast?

1085Cosen a word, where is your husband?

1086If I do dreame, would all my wealth would wake me;

1087If I doe wake, some Planet strike me downe,

1088That I may slumber in eternall sleepe.

1089Speake gentle Neece, what sterne vngentle hands

1090Hath lopt, and hew'd, and made thy body bare

1091Of her two branches, those sweet Ornaments

1092Whose circkling shadowes, Kings haue sought to sleep in

1093And might not gaine so great a happines

1094As halfe thy Loue: Why doost not speake to me?

1095Alas, a Crimson riuer of warme blood,

1096Like to a bubling fountaine stir'd with winde,

1097Doth rise and fall betweene thy Rosed lips,

1098Comming and going with thy hony breath.

1099But sure some Tereus hath defloured thee,

1100And least thou should'st detect them, cut thy tongue.

1101Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame:

1102And not wihstanding all this losse of blood,

1103As from a Conduit with their issuing Spouts,

1104Yet doe thy cheekes looke red as Titans face,

1105Blushing to be encountred with a Cloud,

1106Shall I speake for thee? shall I say 'tis so?

1107Oh that I knew thy hart, and knew the beast

1108That I might raile at him to ease my mind.

1109Sorrow concealed, like an Ouen stopt,

1110Doth burne the hart to Cinders where it is.

1111Faire Philomela she but lost her tongue,

1112And in a tedious Sampler sowed her minde.

1113But louely Neece, that meane is cut from thee,

1114A craftier Tereus hast thou met withall,

1115And he hath cut those pretty fingers off,

dd 2 That

40The Tragedie of Titus Andronicus.

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