Titus. What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife?
Marc. At that that I have kill’d, my lord—a fly.
Tit. Out on thee, murderer! thou kill’st my heart;
A deed of death done on the innocent
Becomes not Titus’ brother: get thee gone;
I see thou art not for my company.
Marc. Alas! my lord, I have but kill’d a fly.
Tit. ‘But’! How if that fly had a father and mother?
How would he hang his slender gilded wings
And buzz lamenting doings in the air!
Poor harmless fly!
That, with his pretty buzzing melody
Came here to make us merry! and thou hast kill’d him.
Marc. Pardon me, sir; it was a black ill-favour’d fly
Like to the Empress’ Moor; therefore I kill’d him.
Tit. O, O, O.
Then pardon me for reprehending thee,
For thou hast done a charitable deed.
* * * * * * *
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.[31]
“The poor harmless Fly”