Actus Tertius.
My gracious Lord, no Tribune heares you speake.
Will it consume me? Let me see it then.
This was thy daughter.
Why Marcus so she is.
Aye me this obiect kils me.
Speake gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee?
To the extent possible under law, the Text Creation Partnership has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to this keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above, according to the terms of the CC0 1.0 Public Domain Dedication (http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/). This waiver does not extend to any page images or other supplementary files associated with this work, which may be protected by copyright or other license restrictions. Please go to http://www.textcreationpartnership.org/ for more information.
My gracious Lord, no Tribune heares you speake.
Will it consume me? Let me see it then.
This was thy daughter.
Why Marcus so she is.
Aye me this obiect kils me.
Speake gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee?
Patience deere Neece, good Titus drie thine eyes.
Ah my Lauinia I will wipe thy cheekes.
My hand shall goe.
By heauen it shall not goe.
Agree betweene you, I will spare my hand.
Then Ile goe fetch an Axe.
But I will vse the Axe.
But yet let reason gouerne thy lament.
When will this fearefull slumber haue an end?
Ha, ha, ha,
Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this houre.
At that that I haue kil'd my Lord, a Flys
Alas (my Lord) I haue but kild a flie.