News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come.
Sirrah, what tidings? Have you any letters?
Shall I have justice? What says Jupiter?
CLOWN.
Ho, the gibbet-maker? He says that he hath taken them down again, for the man must not be hanged till the next week.
TITUS.
But what says Jupiter, I ask thee?
CLOWN.
Alas, sir, I know not Jubiter; I never drank with him in all my life.
TITUS.
Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?
CLOWN.
Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else.
TITUS.
Why, didst thou not come from heaven?
CLOWN.
From heaven? Alas, sir, I never came there. God forbid I should be so bold to press to heaven in my young days. Why, I am going with my pigeons to the tribunal plebs, to take up a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the emperal’s men.
MARCUS.
Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to serve for your oration; and let him deliver the pigeons to the emperor from you.
TITUS.
Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the emperor with a grace?