12621216Witnes the sorrow that their sister makes.

12631217Gentle Lauinia, let me kisse thy lips,

12641218Or make some signe how I may doe thee ease:

12651219Shall thy good Vncle, and thy brother Lucius,

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 fresh tast 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

12751229Passe the remainder of our hatefull daies?

12761230What shall we doe? Let vs that haue our tongues,

12771231Plot some deuise of further miserie,

12781232To make vs wonderd at in time to come.

12791233Lucius. Sweete father cease 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 Marcus, Marcus, Brother well I wote,

12841237Thy napkin cannot drinke a teare of mine,

12851238For thou poore man, hast drownd it with thine owne.

12861239Lucius. Ah my Lauinia, I will wipe thy cheekes.

12871240Titus. Marke Marcus, marke, I vnderstand 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 blisse.

12951248Moore. Titus Andronicus, My Lord the Emperour,

12961249Sends thee this word, that if thou loue thy sonnes,

12971250Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyselfe olde Titus,

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