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TAMORA. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine, Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts, Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus’ age, Th’ effects of sorrow for his valiant sons, Whose loss hath pierced him deep and scarred his heart; And rather comfort his distressed plight Than prosecute the meanest or the best For these contempts. [_Aside_.] Why, thus it shall become High-witted Tamora to gloze with all. But, Titus, I have touched thee to the quick; Thy life-blood out, if Aaron now be wise, Then is all safe, the anchor in the port.