AARON. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top,

          Safe out of Fortune's shot, and sits aloft,

          Secure of thunder's crack or lightning flash,

          Advanc'd above pale envy's threat'ning reach.

          As when the golden sun salutes the morn,

          And, having gilt the ocean with his beams,

          Gallops the zodiac in his glistening coach

          And overlooks the highest-peering hills,

          So Tamora.

          Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait,

          And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown.

          Then, Aaron, arm thy heart and fit thy thoughts

          To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress,

          And mount her pitch whom thou in triumph long.

          Hast prisoner held, fett'red in amorous chains,

          And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes

          Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus.

          Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts!

          I will be bright and shine in pearl and gold,

          To wait upon this new-made emperess.

          To wait, said I? To wanton with this queen,

          This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph,

          This siren that will charm Rome's Saturnine,

          And see his shipwreck and his commonweal's.

          Hullo! what storm is this?

        DEMETRIUS. Chiron, thy years wants wit, thy wits wants edge

          And manners, to intrude where I am grac'd,

          And may, for aught thou knowest, affected be.

        CHIRON. Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all;

          And so in this, to bear me down with braves.

          'Tis not the difference of a year or two

          Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate:

          I am as able and as fit as thou

          To serve and to deserve my mistress' grace;

          And that my sword upon thee shall approve,

          And plead my passions for Lavinia's love.

        AARON. [Aside] Clubs, clubs! These lovers will not keep the

          peace.

        DEMETRIUS. Why, boy, although our mother, unadvis'd,

          Gave you a dancing rapier by your side,

          Are you so desperate grown to threat your friends?

          Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath

          Till you know better how to handle it.

        CHIRON. Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I have,

          Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare.

        DEMETRIUS. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave? [They draw]

        AARON. [Coming forward] Why, how now, lords!

          So near the Emperor's palace dare ye draw

          And maintain such a quarrel openly?

          Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge:

          I would not for a million of gold

          The cause were known to them it most concerns;

          Nor would your noble mother for much more

          Be so dishonoured in the court of Rome.

          For shame, put up.

        DEMETRIUS. Not I, till I have sheath'd

          My rapier in his bosom, and withal

          Thrust those reproachful speeches down his throat

          That he hath breath'd in my dishonour here.

        CHIRON. For that I am prepar'd and full resolv'd,

          Foul-spoken coward, that thund'rest with thy tongue,

          And with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform.

        AARON. Away, I say!

          Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore,

          This pretty brabble will undo us all.

          Why, lords, and think you not how dangerous

          It is to jet upon a prince's right?

          What, is Lavinia then become so loose,

          Or Bassianus so degenerate,

          That for her love such quarrels may be broach'd

          Without controlment, justice, or revenge?

          Young lords, beware; an should the Empress know

          This discord's ground, the music would not please.

        CHIRON. I care not, I, knew she and all the world:

          I love Lavinia more than all the world.

        DEMETRIUS. Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner choice:

          Lavina is thine elder brother's hope.

        AARON. Why, are ye mad, or know ye not in Rome

          How furious and impatient they be,

          And cannot brook competitors in love?

          I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths

          By this device.

        CHIRON. Aaron, a thousand deaths

          Would I propose to achieve her whom I love.

        AARON.