‘To Saturn’, Caius—not ‘to Saturnine’)

You were as good to shoot against the wind.

To it, boy! Marcus, loose when I bid.

Of my word, I have written to effect.

There’s not a god left unsolicited.

MARCUS

Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court.

We will afflict the Emperor in his pride.

TITUS

Now, masters, draw.

They shoot

O, well said, Lucius!

Good boy, in Virgo’s lap ! Give it Pallas.

MARCUS

My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon.

Your letter is with Jupiter by this.

TITUS

Ha, ha! Publius, Publius, what hast thou done?

See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus’ horns.

MARCUS

This was the sport, my lord. When Publius shot,

The Bull, being galled, gave Aries such a knock

That down fell both the Ram’s horns in the court,

And who should find them but the Empress’ villain!

She laughed, and told the Moor he should not choose

But give them to his master for a present.

TITUS

Why, there it goes. God give his lordship joy.

Enter the Clown with a basket and two pigeons in it

News, news from heaven; Marcus, the post is come.

Sirrah, what tidings? Have you any letters?

Shall I have justice? What says Jupiter?

CLOWN Ho, the gibbet-maker? He says that he hath taken them down again, for the man must not be hanged till the next week.

TITUS

But what says Jupiter, I ask thee?

CLOWN Alas, sir, I know not ‘Jupiter’. I never drank with him in all my life.

TITUS

Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?

CLOWN Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else.

TITUS Why, didst thou not come from heaven?

CLOWN From heaven? Alas, sir, I never came there. God forbid I should be so bold to press to heaven in my young days. Why, I am going with my pigeons to the tribunal plebs to take up a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the Emperal’s men.

TITUS

Sirrah, come hither. Make no more ado,

But give your pigeons to the Emperor.

By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.

Hold, hold—(giving money) meanwhile, here’s money

for thy charges.

Give me pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a grace

Deliver up a supplication?

CLOWN Ay, sir.

TITUS (writing and giving the Clown a paper) Then here is a supplication for you, and when you come to him, at the first approach you must kneel, then kiss his foot, then deliver up your pigeons, and then look for your reward. I’ll be at hand, sir; see you do it bravely. CLOWN I warrant you, sir. Let me alone.

TITUS

Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come, let me see it.

Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration,

For thou hast made it like an humble suppliant.

And when thou hast given it to the Emperor,

Knock at my door and tell me what he says.

CLOWN God be with you, sir. I will. Exit

TITUS

Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follow me. Exeunt

4.4 Enter Saturninus, the Emperor, and Tamora, the Empress, and Chiron and Demetrius, her two sons, and others. The Emperor brings the arrows in his hand that Titus shot at him

SATURNINUS

Why, lords, what wrongs are these! Was ever seen

An emperor in Rome thus overborne,

Troubled, confronted thus, and for the extent

Of egall justice used in such contempt?

My lords, you know, as know the mightful gods,

However these disturbers of our peace

Buzz in the people’s ears, there naught hath passed

But even with law against the wilful sons

Of old Andronicus. And what an if

His sorrows have so overwhelmed his wits?

Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks,

His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness?

And now he writes to heaven for his redress.

See, here’s ‘to Jove’ and this ‘to Mercury’,

This ‘to Apollo’, this ‘to the god of war’—

Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome!

What’s this but libelling against the Senate

And blazoning our unjustice everywhere?

A goodly humour, is it not, my lords?—

As who would say, in Rome no justice were.

But, if I live, his feigned ecstasies

Shall be no shelter to these outrages,

But he and his shall know that justice lives

In Saturninus’ health, whom if he sleep

He’ll so awake as he in fury shall

Cut off the proud’st conspirator that lives.

TAMORA

My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine,

Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts,

Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus’ age,

Th’effects of sorrow for his valiant sons

Whose loss hath pierced him deep and scarred his

heart;

And rather comfort his distressed plight

Than prosecute the meanest or the best

For these contempts. (Aside) Why, thus it shall become

High-witted Tamora to gloze with all.

But, Titus, I have touched thee to the quick.

Thy life blood out if Aaron now be wise,

Then is all safe, the anchor in the port.

Enter Clown

How now, good fellow, wouldst thou speak with us?

CLOWN Yea, forsooth, an your mistress-ship be Emperial.

TAMORA Empress I am, but yonder sits the Emperor.

CLOWN ’Tis he. God and Saint Stephen give you good-e’ en. I have brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here.

Saturninus reads the letter

SATURNINUS (to an attendant)

Go, take him away, and hang him presently.

CLOWN How much money must I have?

TAMORA Come, sirrah, you must be hanged.

CLOWN Hanged, by’ Lady? Then I have brought up a neck to a fair end. Exit ⌈with attendant⌉

SATURNINUS

Despiteful and intolerable wrongs!