of Titus Andronicus.
12621216Witnes the
sorrow that their
sister makes.
12631217Gentle
Lauinia, let me ki
sse thy lips,
12641218Or make
some
signe how I may doe thee ea
se:
12651219Shall thy good Vncle, and thy brother L
ucius,
12661220And thou, and I,
sit round about
some Fountaine,
12671221Looking all downewards to behold our cheekes,
12681222How they are
staind like meadowes yet not drie,
12691223With mierie
slime left on them by a
flood?
12701224And in the fountaine
shall wee gaze
so long,
12711225Till the fre
sh ta
st be taken from that clearenes,
12721226And made a brine pit with our bitter teares?
12731227Or
shall we cut away our hands like thine?
12741228Or
shall we bite our tongues? and in dumbe
showes
12751229Pa
sse the remainder of our hatefull daies?
12761230What
shall we doe? Let vs that haue our tongues,
12771231Plot
some deui
se of further mi
serie,
12781232To make vs wonderd at in time to come.
12791233Lucius. Sweete father cea
se your teares, for at your grief
12801234See how my wretched
sister
sobs and weepes.
12811235Marcus. Patience deare niece, good
Titus dry thine eies.
12821236Titus. Ah M
arcus, M
arcus, Brother well I wote,
12841237Thy napkin cannot drinke a teare of mine,
12851238For thou poore man, ha
st drownd it with thine owne.
12861239Lucius. Ah my L
auinia, I will wipe thy cheekes.
12871240Titus. Marke M
arcus, marke, I vnder
stand her
signes,
12881241Had
shee a tongue to
speake, now would
shee
say
12891242That to her Brother, which I
said to thee.
12901243His napking with her true teares all bewet,
12911244Can doe no
seruice on her
sorrowfull cheekes,
+
12921245Oh what a
simpathie of woe is this,
12931246As farre from helpe, as Lymbo is from bli
sse.
12951248Moore. Titus Andronicus, My Lord the Emperour,
12961249Sends thee this word, that if thou loue thy
sonnes,
12971250Let M
arcus, L
ucius, or thy
selfe olde T
itus,
F Or