Part 14

Aron. I some mad message from his mad Grandfather

Boy. My Lords, with all the humblenesse I may, I greete your honours from Andronicus, And pray the Romane Gods confound you both

Deme. Gramercie louely Lucius, what's the newes? For villanie's markt with rape. May it please you, My Grandsire well aduis'd hath sent by me, 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 vitæ 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

Chi. Thou hast vndone our mother

Deme. And therein hellish dog, thou hast vndone, Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choyce, Accur'st the off-spring of so foule a fiend

Chi. It shall not liue

Aron. It shall not die