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Titus Andronicus
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The goodliest weapons of his Armorie,
To gratifie your honourable youth,
The hope of Rome, for so he bad me say:
And so I do and with his gifts present
Your Lordships, when euer you haue need,
You may be armed and appointed well,
And so I leaue you both: like bloody villaines.
Exit
Deme. What's heere? a scrole, & written round about?
Let's see.
Integer vitć scelerisque purus, non egit maury iaculis nec arcus
Chi. O 'tis a verse in Horace, I know it well.
I read it in the Grammer long agoe
Moore. I iust, a verse in Horace: right, you haue it,
Now what a thing it is to be an Asse?
Heer's no sound iest, the old man hath found their guilt,
And sends the weapons wrapt about with lines,
That wound (beyond their feeling) to the quick:
But were our witty Empresse well a foot,
She would applaud Andronicus conceit:
But let her rest, in her vnrest a while.
And now young Lords, was't not a happy starre
Led vs to Rome strangers, and more then so;
Captiues, to be aduanced to this height?
It did me good before the Pallace gate,
To braue the Tribune in his brothers hearing
Deme. But me more good, to see so great a Lord
Basely insinuate, and send vs gifts
Moore. Had he not reason Lord Demetrius?
Did you not vse his daughter very friendly?
Deme. I would we had a thousand Romane Dames
At such a bay, by turne to serue our lust
Chi. A charitable wish, and full of loue
Moore. Heere lack's but your mother for to say, Amen
Chi. And that would she for twenty thousand more
Deme. Come, let vs go, and pray to all the Gods
For our beloued mother in her paines
Moore. Pray to the deuils, the gods haue giuen vs ouer.
Flourish.
Dem. Why do the Emperors trumpets flourish thus?
Chi. Belike for ioy the Emperour hath a sonne
Deme. Soft, who comes heere?
Enter Nurse with a blacke a Moore childe.
Nur. Good morrow Lords:
O tell me, did you see Aaron the Moore?
Aron. Well, more or lesse, or nere a whit at all,
Heere Aaron is, and what with Aaron now?
Nurse. Oh gentle Aaron, we are all vndone.
Now helpe, or woe betide thee euermore
Aron. Why, what a catterwalling dost thou keepe?
What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine armes?
Nurse. O that which I would hide from heauens eye,
Our Empresse shame, and stately Romes disgrace,
She is deliuered Lords, she is deliuered
Aron. To whom?
Nurse. I meane she is brought a bed?
Aron. Wel God giue her good rest,
What hath he sent her?
Nurse. A deuill
Aron. Why then she is the Deuils Dam: a ioyfull issue
Nurse. A ioylesse, dismall, blacke &, sorrowfull issue,
Heere is the babe as loathsome as a toad,
Among'st the fairest breeders of our clime,
The Empresse sends it thee, thy stampe, thy seale,
And bids thee christen it with thy daggers point
Aron. Out you whore, is black so base a hue?
Sweet blowse, you are a beautious blossome sure
Deme. Villaine what hast thou done?
Aron. That which thou canst not vndoe
To gratifie your honourable youth,
The hope of Rome, for so he bad me say:
And so I do and with his gifts present
Your Lordships, when euer you haue need,
You may be armed and appointed well,
And so I leaue you both: like bloody villaines.
Exit
Deme. What's heere? a scrole, & written round about?
Let's see.
Integer vitć scelerisque purus, non egit maury iaculis nec arcus
Chi. O 'tis a verse in Horace, I know it well.
I read it in the Grammer long agoe
Moore. I iust, a verse in Horace: right, you haue it,
Now what a thing it is to be an Asse?
Heer's no sound iest, the old man hath found their guilt,
And sends the weapons wrapt about with lines,
That wound (beyond their feeling) to the quick:
But were our witty Empresse well a foot,
She would applaud Andronicus conceit:
But let her rest, in her vnrest a while.
And now young Lords, was't not a happy starre
Led vs to Rome strangers, and more then so;
Captiues, to be aduanced to this height?
It did me good before the Pallace gate,
To braue the Tribune in his brothers hearing
Deme. But me more good, to see so great a Lord
Basely insinuate, and send vs gifts
Moore. Had he not reason Lord Demetrius?
Did you not vse his daughter very friendly?
Deme. I would we had a thousand Romane Dames
At such a bay, by turne to serue our lust
Chi. A charitable wish, and full of loue
Moore. Heere lack's but your mother for to say, Amen
Chi. And that would she for twenty thousand more
Deme. Come, let vs go, and pray to all the Gods
For our beloued mother in her paines
Moore. Pray to the deuils, the gods haue giuen vs ouer.
Flourish.
Dem. Why do the Emperors trumpets flourish thus?
Chi. Belike for ioy the Emperour hath a sonne
Deme. Soft, who comes heere?
Enter Nurse with a blacke a Moore childe.
Nur. Good morrow Lords:
O tell me, did you see Aaron the Moore?
Aron. Well, more or lesse, or nere a whit at all,
Heere Aaron is, and what with Aaron now?
Nurse. Oh gentle Aaron, we are all vndone.
Now helpe, or woe betide thee euermore
Aron. Why, what a catterwalling dost thou keepe?
What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine armes?
Nurse. O that which I would hide from heauens eye,
Our Empresse shame, and stately Romes disgrace,
She is deliuered Lords, she is deliuered
Aron. To whom?
Nurse. I meane she is brought a bed?
Aron. Wel God giue her good rest,
What hath he sent her?
Nurse. A deuill
Aron. Why then she is the Deuils Dam: a ioyfull issue
Nurse. A ioylesse, dismall, blacke &, sorrowfull issue,
Heere is the babe as loathsome as a toad,
Among'st the fairest breeders of our clime,
The Empresse sends it thee, thy stampe, thy seale,
And bids thee christen it with thy daggers point
Aron. Out you whore, is black so base a hue?
Sweet blowse, you are a beautious blossome sure
Deme. Villaine what hast thou done?
Aron. That which thou canst not vndoe
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