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still.
    Wound it with sighing 15 , girl, kill it with groans,
    Or get some little knife between thy teeth
    And just against thy heart make thou a hole,
    That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall
    May run into that sink 19 , and soaking in
    Drown the lamenting fool 20 in sea-salt tears.
    MARCUS     Fie, brother, fie! Teach her not thus to lay
    Such violent hands upon her tender 22 life.
    TITUS     How now? Has sorrow made thee dote 23 already?
    Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I.
    What violent hands can she lay on her life?
    Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands
    To bid Aeneas 27 tell the tale twice o’er
    How Troy was burnt and he made miserable?
    O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands,
    Lest we remember still 30 that we have none.
    Fie, fie, how franticly I square 31 my talk,
    As if we should forget we had no hands
    If Marcus did not name the word of hands.
    Come, let’s fall to 34 , and, gentle girl, eat this.
    Here is no drink! Hark, Marcus, what she says:
    I can interpret all her martyred signs —
    She says she drinks no other drink but tears,
    Brewed with her sorrow, meshed 38 upon her cheeks.—
    Speechless complainer 39 , I will learn thy thought.
    In thy dumb action will I be as perfect 40
    As begging hermits in their holy prayers:
    Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven,
    Nor wink 43 , nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign,
    But I of these will wrest an alphabet
    And by still 45 practice learn to know thy meaning.
    BOY     Good grandsire 46 , leave these bitter deep laments:
    Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale.
    MARCUS     Alas, the tender 48 boy in passion moved
    Doth weep to see his grandsire’s heaviness. 49
    TITUS     Peace, tender sapling, thou art made of tears,
    And tears will quickly melt thy life away.
    Marcus strikes the dish with a knife
    What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife?
    MARCUS     At that that I have killed, my lord: a fly.
    TITUS      Out on thee 54 , murderer! Thou kill’st my heart:
    Mine eyes are cloyed with view of tyranny:
    A deed of death done on the innocent
    Becomes not Titus’ brother. Get thee gone:
    I see thou art not for my company.
    MARCUS     Alas, my lord, I have but killed a fly.
    TITUS     ‘But’? How if that fly had a father and mother?
    How would he hang his slender gilded wings,
    And buzz lamenting doings 62 in the air!
    Poor harmless fly,
    That with his pretty buzzing melody
    Came here to make us merry, and thou hast killed him.
    MARCUS     Pardon me, sir, it was a black ill-favoured 66 fly,
    Like to the empress’ Moor: therefore I killed him.
    TITUS     O, O, O!
    Then pardon me for reprehending thee,
    For thou hast done a charitable deed.
    Give me thy knife, I will insult on 71 him,
    Flattering myself as if 72 it were the Moor
    Come hither purposely to poison me.—
    Takes the knife and strikes
    There’s for thyself, and that’s for Tamora.
    Ah, sirrah! 75
    Yet, I think, we are not brought so low
    But that between us we can kill a fly
    That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor.
    MARCUS     Alas, poor man! Grief has so wrought on 79 him
    He takes false shadows for true substances.
    TITUS     Come, take away 81 . Lavinia, go with me:
    I’ll to thy closet 82 , and go read with thee
    Sad stories chancèd 83 in the times of old.
    Come, boy, and go with me: thy sight is young,
    And thou shalt read when mine begin to dazzle. 85
    Exeunt
Act 4 [Scene 1]
    running scene 6
    Enter Young Lucius and Lavinia running after him, and the Boy flies from her, with his books under his arm
    Enter Titus and Marcus
    He drops the books
    BOY     Help, grandsire, help! My aunt Lavinia
    Follows me everywhere, I know not why.
    Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes.
    Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean.
    MARCUS     Stand by me, Lucius: do not fear thy aunt.
    TITUS     She loves thee, boy, too well to do