Page 2182 - Shakespeare - Vol. 1
P. 2182
Ad Jovem, that’s for you; here, Ad Apollinem;
Ad Martem, that’s for myself;
Here, boy, to Pallas; here, to Mercury;
To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine;
You were as good to shoot against the wind.
To it, boy! Marcus, loose when I bid.
Of my word, I have written to effect;
There’s not a god left unsolicited. [60]
MARCUS
Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court;
We will afflict the emperor in his pride.
T IT US
Now, masters, draw. O, well said, Lucius!
Good boy, in Virgo’s lap; give it Pallas
MARCUS
My lord, I aimed a mile beyond the moon;
Your letter is with Jupiter by this.
T IT US
Ha, ha! Publius, Publius, what hast thou done!
See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus’ horns.
MARCUS
This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot,
The Bull, being galled, gave Aries such a knock [70]
That down fell both the Ram’s horns in the court;
And who should find them but the empress’ villain?
She laughed, and told the Moor he should not choose
But give them to his master for a present.
T IT US
Why, there it goes; God give his lordship joy!
Enter a Clown, with a basket, and two pigeons in it.
News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come.
Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters?
