Marc. My Lord, I aime a Mile beyond the Moone,
Your letter is with Iupiter by this

Tit. Ha, ha, Publius, Publius, what hast thou done?
See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus hornes

Mar. This was the sport my Lord, when Publius shot,
The Bull being gal'd, gaue Aries such a knocke,
That downe fell both the Rams hornes in the Court,
And who should finde them but the Empresse villaine:
She laught, and told the Moore he should not choose
But giue them to his Maister for a present

Tit. Why there it goes, God giue your Lordship ioy.
Enter the Clowne with a basket and two Pigeons in it.

Titus. Newes, newes, from heauen,
Marcus the poast is come.
Sirrah, what tydings? haue you any letters?
Shall I haue Iustice, what sayes Iupiter?
Clowne. Ho the Iibbetmaker, he sayes that he hath taken
them downe againe, for the man must not be hang'd
till the next weeke

Tit. But what sayes Iupiter I aske thee?
Clowne. Alas sir I know not Iupiter:
I neuer dranke with him in all my life

Tit. Why villaine art not thou the Carrier?