Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears,
And tears will quickly melt thy life away.
[MARCUS strikes the dish with a knife.]
What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife?
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
At that that I have kill'd, my lord; a fly.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Out on thee, murderer! thou kill'st my heart;
Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny:
A deed of death done on the innocent
Becomes not Titus' brother: get the gone:
I see thou art not for my company.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
But how, if that fly hd a father and moth?
How would he hang his slender gilded wings,
And buzz lamented doings in the air!
Poor harmless fly,
That, with his pretty buzzing melody,
Came here to make us merry! and thou hast
kill'd him.
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