Act 4 - Scene 3
The same. A public place.
Enter TITUS, bearing arrows with letters at the ends of them; with him, MARCUS, Young LUCIUS, PUBLIUS,
SEMPRONIUS, CAIUS, and other Gentlemen, with bows
Come, Marcus; come, kinsmen; this is the way.
Sir boy, now let me see your archery;
Look ye draw home
enough, and 'tis there straight.
Terras Astraea reliquit:
Be you remember'd, Marcus, she's gone, she's
Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall
Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets;
you may catch her in the sea;
Yet there's as little justice as at land:
No; Publius and Sempronius, you must
'Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade,
And pierce the inmost centre of the earth:
when you come to Pluto's region,
I pray you, deliver him this petition;
Tell him, it is for justice and for aid,
that it comes from old Andronicus,
Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome.
Ah, Rome! Well, well; I made
What time I threw the people's suffrages
On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me.
you gone; and pray be careful all,
And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch'd:
This wicked emperor may
have shipp'd her hence;
And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.
O Publius, is not this a heavy case,
To see thy noble uncle thus distract?
Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns
By day and night to attend him carefully,
And feed his humour
kindly as we may,
Till time beget some careful remedy.
Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy.
Join with the Goths; and with revengeful war
Take wreak on Rome
for this ingratitude,
And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.
Publius, how now! how now, my masters!
What, have you met with her?
No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word,
If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall:
Marry, for Justice,
she is so employ'd,
He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else,
So that perforce you must needs
stay a time.
He doth me wrong to feed me with delays.
I'll dive into the burning lake below,
And pull her out of Acheron
by the heels.
Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we
No big-boned men framed of the Cyclops' size;
metal, Marcus, steel to the very back,
Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can bear:
there's no justice in earth nor hell,
We will solicit heaven and move the gods
To send down Justice for to
wreak our wrongs.
Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus;
He gives them the arrows
'Ad Jovem,' that's for you: here, 'Ad Apollinem:'
'Ad Martem,' that's for myself:
Here, boy, to Pallas: here,
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.