TAMORA.
Farewell, my sons. See that you make her sure.
Ne’er let my heart know merry cheer indeed
Till all the Andronici be made away.
Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor,
And let my spleenful sons this trull deflower.
[Exit.]
Enter Aaron with two of Titus’ sons, Quintus and Martius.
AARON.
Come on, my lords, the better foot before.
Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit
Where I espied the panther fast asleep.
QUINTUS.
My sight is very dull, whate’er it bodes.
MARTIUS.
And mine, I promise you. Were it not for shame,
Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile.
[He falls into the pit.]
QUINTUS.
What, art thou fallen? What subtle hole is this,
Whose mouth is covered with rude-growing briers,
Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood
As fresh as morning dew distilled on flowers?
A very fatal place it seems to me.
Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall?
MARTIUS.
O brother, with the dismall’st object hurt
That ever eye with sight made heart lament!
AARON.
[Aside.] Now will I fetch the king to find them here,
That he thereby may have a likely guess
How these were they that made away his brother.