To act deformity in thousand shapes,...
To please the greater monster of the two,
That cries, "Bring forth the beast, and let him tumble:"

With all variety of aping madness,

To bray, and bear more than the ass's burden:
Sometimes to whoot and scream, like midnight owls,
Then screw my limbs like a distorted satyr,
The world's grimace, th' eternal laughing-stock
Of town and court, the block, the jest of Rome;
Yet all the while not to my dearest friend,
To my own children, nor my bosom wife,
Disclose the weighty secret of my soul.

Oh Rome, Oh mother, be thou th' impartial judge
If this be virtue, which yet wants a name,
Which never any age could parallel,
And worthy of the foremost of thy sons!

Enter HORATIUS and MUTIUS.

Mut. Horatius, heard'st thou where Sextus was last night?

Hor. Yes, at Collatia: 'tis the buz of Rome; 'Tis more than guess'd that there has been foul play, Else, why should Lucrece come in this sad manner To old Lueretius' house, and summon thither Her father, husband, each distinct relation?

Enter FABRITIUS, with Courtiers.

Mut. Scatter it through the city, raise the people, And find Valerius out: Way, Horatius!

[Exeunt severally.

Fab. Pr'ythee let's talk no more on't. Look, here's Lord Brutus: come, come, we'll divert ourselves; for 'tis but just, that we who sit at the helm should now and then unruffle our state affairs with the impertinence of a fool. Pr'ythee, Brutus, what's a clock ?

Brut. Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos; the Fates are three: let them but strike, and I'll lead you a dance, my masters.

Fab. But hark you, Brutus, dost thou hear the news of Lucrece?

Brut. Yes, yes; and I heard of the wager that was laid among you, among you whoring lords, at the siege of Ardea; ha, boys! about your handsome wives. Fab. Well; and how, and how?

Brut. How you bounc'd from the board, took horse, and rode like madmen, to find the gentle Lucrece at Collatia: but how found her? why working with her maids at midnight. Was not this monstrous, and quite out of the fashion? Fine stuff indeed, to sit weaving, and pinking, and pricking of arras? Now, by this light, my Lord, your wife made better use of her pincushion.'

Fab. My wife, my Lord? By Mars, my wife!' Brut. Why should she not, when all the royal nurses do the same? What, what, my Lord, did you not find 'em at it, when you came from Collatia to Rome? Lartius, your wife; and your's, Flaminius; with Tullia's boys, turning the crystals up, dashing the windows, and the Fates defying? Now, by the Gods, I

1

think 'twas civil in you, discreetly done, Sirs, not to interrupt 'em. But for your wife, Fabritius, I'll be sworn for her, she would not keep 'em company.

Fab. No marry, would she not; she hates debauchees; how have I heard her rail at Terentia, and tell her next her heart upon the qualms, that drinking wine so late, and tippling spirits, would be the death of her?

Brut. Hark you, gentlemen, if you would but be secret now, I could unfold such a business-my life on't, a very plot upon the court.

Fab. Out with it; we swear secrecy.

Brut. Why thus, then. To morrow Tullia goes to the camp; and I being master of the household, have command to sweep the court of all its furniture, and send it packing to the wars: panders, sycophants, upstart rogues, fine knaves and surly rascals; flatterers, easy, supple, cringing, passing, smiling villains; all, all to the wars.

Fab. By Mars, I do not like this plot.

Brut. Why, is it not a plot? A plot upon your selves, your persons, families, and your relations; even to your wives, mothers, sisters, all your kindred; for whores too are included, setters too, and whoreprocurers; bag and baggage; all, all to the wars. All hence, all rubbish, lumber out; and not a bawd be left behind, to put you in hopes of hatching whores hereafter.

Fab. Hark, Lartius, he'll run from fooling to direct madnesss, and beat our brains out. The devil take

1

the hindmost. Your servant, sweet Brutus; noble, honourable Brutus.

[Exeunt.

Enter TITUS.

Titus. 'Tis done, 'tis done, auspicious Heav'n has

join'd us,

And I this night shall hold her in my arms.
Oh, Sir!-

Brut. Oh, Sir! that exclamation was too high:
Such raptures ill become the troubled times;
No more of 'em. And by the way, my Titus,
Renounce your Teraminta.

Titus. Ha, my Lord!

Brut. How now, my boy ?

Titus. Your counsel comes too late, Sir..
Brut. Your reply, Sir,

Comes too ill-manner'd, pert, and saucy, Sir.
Titus. Sir, I am marry'd.

Brut. What, without my knowledge?

Titus. My Lord, I ask your pardon; but that

Hymen

Brut. Thou liest; that honourable God would scorn it.

Some bawdy Flamen shuffled you together;
Priapus lock'd you, while the Bacchanals
Sung your detested Epithalamium.

Which of thy blood were the curs'd witnesses?
Who would be there at such polluted rites
But goats, baboons, some chatt'ring old Silenus;
Or satyrs, grinning at your slimy joys?"

Titus. Oh, all the Gods! my lord, your son is marry'd To Tarquin's

Brut. Bastard.

Titus. No, his daughter.

Brut. No matter;

To any of his blood; if it be his,
There is such natural contagion in it,
Such a congenial devil in his spirit,

Name, lineage, stock, that but to own a part
Of his relation, is to profess thyself

Sworn slave of hell, and bondman to the furies.
Thou art not marry'd.

Titus. Oh, is this possible?

This change that I behold? No part of him

The same; nor eyes, nor mien, nor voice, nor gesture! Brut. Oh, that the Gods would give my arm the

vigour

To shake this soft, effeminate, lazy soul
Forth from thy bosom! No, degenerate boy,

Brutus is not the same ; the Gods have wak'd him
From dead stupidity, to be a scourge,
A living torment to thy disobedience.

Look on my face, view my eyes flame, and tell me
If ought thou seest but glory and revenge.
A blood-shot anger, and a burst of fury,
When I but think of Tarquin. Damn the monster!
Fetch him, you judges of th' eternal deep,
Arraign him, chain him, plunge him in double fires !
If after this thou seest a tenderness,
A woman's tear come o'er my resolution,