Direct reading · Original
Section 658
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Luci.
Oh worthy Goth, this is the incarnate deuill,
That rob'd Andronicus of his good
hand:
This is the Pearle that pleas'd your Empresse eye,
And heere's the Base Fruit of his burning lust.
Say wall‑ey'd slaue, whether would'st
thou conuay
This growing Image of thy fiend‑like face?
Why dost not speake? what deafe? Not a word?
A halter Souldiers, hang him on this Tree,
And by his side his Fruite of Bastardie.