Act 2 - Scene 3
A lonely part of the forest.
Enter AARON, with a bag of gold
He that had wit would think that I had none,
To bury so much gold under a tree,
And never after to inherit
Let him that thinks of me so abjectly
Know that this gold must coin a stratagem,
Which, cunningly effected,
A very excellent piece of villany:
And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest
Hides the gold
That have their alms out of the empress' chest.
My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad,
When every thing doth make a gleeful boast?
chant melody on every bush,
The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun,
The green leaves quiver with the
And make a chequer'd shadow on the ground:
Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit,
whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds,
Replying shrilly to the well-tuned horns,
As if a double hunt
were heard at once,
Let us sit down and mark their yelping noise;
And, after conflict such as was supposed
wandering prince and Dido once enjoy'd,
When with a happy storm they were surprised
with a counsel-keeping cave,
We may, each wreathed in the other's arms,
Our pastimes done, possess a
Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds
Be unto us as is a nurse's song
lullaby to bring her babe asleep.
Madam, though Venus govern your desires,
Saturn is dominator over mine:
What signifies my deadly-
My silence and my cloudy melancholy,
My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls
Even as an
adder when she doth unroll
To do some fatal execution?
No, madam, these are no venereal signs:
is in my heart, death in my hand,
Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.
Hark Tamora, the empress
of my soul,
Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee,
This is the day of doom for Bassianus:
Philomel must lose her tongue to-day,
Thy sons make pillage of her chastity
And wash their hands in
Seest thou this letter? take it up, I pray thee,
And give the king this fatal plotted scroll.
question me no more; we are espied;
Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty,
Which dreads not yet
their lives' destruction.
Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life!
No more, great empress; Bassianus comes:
Be cross with him; and I'll go fetch thy sons
To back thy quarrels,
whatsoe'er they be.
Enter BASSIANUS and LAVINIA
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