Tygers must prey, and Rome affords no prey
But me and mine'; how happy art thou then,
From these devourers to be banish'd?
But who comes with our brother Marcus here?
Enter Marcus, and Lavinia.b
Mar. TITUS, prepare thy noble eyes to weep,
Or, if not fo, thy noble heart to break:
I bring confuming forrow to thine age.
Tit. Will it confume me? let me fee it then.
Mar. This was thy daughter.
Tit. Why, Marcus, so she is.
Luc. Ah me! this object kills me.
Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arife and look upon her:
Speak, my Lavinia, what accursed hand
Hath made thee handless, * in thy father's spight?
What fool hath added water to the fea?
Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy?
My grief was at the height before thou cam'ft,
And now, like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds:
Give me a fword, I'll chop off my hands too,
For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain :
And they have nurs'd this woe, in feeding life :
In bootless prayer have they been held up,
And they have serv'd me to effectless use.
Now all the fervice I require of them,
Is that the one will help to cut the other:
'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands,
For hands to do Rome service are but vain.
Luc. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee?
Mar. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts,
That blab'd them with fuch pleasing eloquence,
Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage,
Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it fung
Sweet various notes, inchanting every ear!
Luc. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed?
* in thy father's fight] We should read spight.
Mar. O, thus I found her straying in the park,
Seeking to hide herself; as doth the deer,
That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound.
Tit. It was my Deer; and he, that wounded her,
Hath hurt me more than had he kill'd me dead;
For now I ftand, as one upon a rock,
Environ'd with a wilderness of fea,
Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave;
Expecting ever when some envious surge
Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.
This way to death my wretched fons are gone:
Here stands my other fon, a banish'd man;
And here my brother, weeping at my woes.
But that, which gives my foul the greatest spurn,
Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my foul.
Had I but seen thy picture in this plight,
It would have madded me. What shall I do,
Now I behold thy lovely body fo?
Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears,
Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee;
Thy husband he is dead; and for his death
Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this..
Look, Marcus! ah, fon Lucius, look on her:
When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears
Stood on her cheeks; as doth the honey-dew
Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd.
Mar. Perchance, she weeps because they kill'd her
Perchance, because she knows them innocent.
Tit. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful, Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do fo foul a deed; Witness the forrow, that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips, Or make fome signs how I may do thee ease: Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, fit round about fome fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks,
How they are stain'd like meadows yet not dry
With mirey slime left on them by a flood?
And in the fountain shall we gaze fo long,
'Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness,
And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears?
Or shall we cut away our hands like thine?
Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows
Pass the remainder of our hateful days?
What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues,
Plot some device of further mifery,
To make us wondred at in time to come.
Luc. Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your
See, how my wretched sister sobs and weeps.
Mar. Patience, dear Niece; good Titus, dry thine
Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot,
Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine,
For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own.
Luc. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks.
Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark; I understand her figns;
Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say
That to her brother which I said to thee.
His napkin, with his true tears all bewet,
Can do no fervice on her forrowful cheeks.
Oh what a sympathy of woe is this !
As far from help as Limbo is from bliss.
Aar. TITUS Andronicus, my lord the Emperor
Sends thee this word; that if thou love thy
Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus,
Or any one of you, chop off your hand,
And fend it to the King; he for the fame
Will fend thee hither both thy fons alive,
And
And that shall be the ransom for their fault.
Tit. Oh, gracious Emperor! oh, gentle Aaron ! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the Sun's uprise ? With all my heart, I'll send the Emperor my hand; Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off?
Luc. Stay, father, for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down fo many enemies, Shall not be fent; my hand will serve the turn. My youth can better spare my blood than you, And therefore mine shall fave my brothers' lives.
Mar. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-ax Writing Destruction on the enemies' Castle? Oh, none of Both but are of high defert: My hand hath been but idle, let it serve To ransom my two Nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end.
Aar. Nay, come, agree, whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their Pardon come. Mar. My hand shall go.
Luc. By heav'n, it shall not go.
Tit. Sirs, strive no more, such wither'd herbs as
Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.
Luc. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy fon,
Let me redeem my brothers Both from death.
Mar. And for our father's fake, and mother's care,
Now let me shew a brother's love to thee.
Tit. Agree between you, I will spare my hand.
Luc. Then I'll go fetch an ax.
Mar. But I will use the ax.
[Exeunt Lucius and Marcus.
Tit. Come hither, Aaron I'll deceive them both, Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. Aar. If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest,
And never, whilst I live, deceive men so.
But I'll deceive you in another fort,
And that, you'll say, ere half an hour pass. [Afide. [He cuts off Titus's hand.
Enter Lucius and Marcus again.
Tit. Now stay your strife; what shall be, is dif
Good Aaron, give his Majesty my hand;
Tell him it was a hand that warded him
From thousand dangers, bid him bury it:
More hath it merited; that let it have.
As for my fons, say, I account of them
As jewels purchas'd at an easy price:
And yet dear too, because I bought mine own.
Aar. I go, Andronicus; and for thy hand
Look by and by to have thy fons with thee:
Their heads, I mean. - Oh, how this villany [Afide.
Doth fat me with the very thought of it!
Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace,
Aaron will have his foul black like his face.
Hear! I lift this one hand up to heav'n,
And bow this feeble ruin to the earth;
If any Power pities wretched tears,
To that I call: What, wilt thou kneel with me?
Do then, dear heart, for heav'n shall hear our prayers,
Or with our fighs we'll breathe the welkin dim,
And stain the fun with fogs, as sometime clouds,
When they do hug him in their melting bofoms.
Mar. Oh! brother, speak with poffibilities,
And do not break into these woe-extremes.
Tit. Is not my forrow deep, having no bottom?
Then be my passions bottomless with them.
Mar. But yet let reason govern thy Lament.
Tit. If there were reason for these miseries,
Then into limits could I bind my woes.
When heav'n doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow?
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