« PreviousContinue »
SCENE V. The same.
For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd ;
ed; her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out. Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks;
[Throwing himself on the ground.
(Exeunt Senators, Tribunes, etc. with (Exeunt Demetrius and Chiron.
the prisoners. Enter Marcus.
O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain, Mar. Who's this, – my piece, that flies away so fast? That-shall distil from these two ancient urns, Cousin, a word! where is your husband? – Than youthful April shall with all his showers; If I do dream, 'would all my wealth would wake me! In summer's drought, I'll drop upon thee still! If I do wake, some planet strike me down,
In winter, with warm tears I'll melt the snow, That I may slumber in eternal sleep!
And keep eternal spring-time on thy face,
And let me say, that never wept before,
Luc. O, noble father, you lament in vain!
And you recount your sorrows to a stone!
Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead:
Who, though they cannot answer my distress,
When I do weep, they humbly at my feet
Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me;
Rome could afford no tribune like to these.
A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than stones!
And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death!
But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn? That better could have sew'd than Philomel. Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their death : 0, had the monster seen those lily hands
For which attempt, the judges have pronounc'd
My everlasting doom of banishment.
That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers ?
Tigers must prey; and Rome affords no prey,
From these devourers to be banished?
Enter Marcus and Lavinia.
Mar. This was thy daughter.
Tit. Why, Marcus, so she is.
Luc. Ah me! this object kills me!
Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her!
For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain; Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs:
prayer have they been held up, That to her brother which I said to thee; And they have serv'd me to ellectless use: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Now, all the service I require of them
Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. Is, that the one will help to cut the other.
o, what a sympathy of woe is this? 'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands; As far from help as limbo is from bliss ! For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain !
Enter A ARON. Luc. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee? Aar. Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Mar. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts, Sends thee this word, - That if thou love thy sons, That blab'd them with such pleasing eloquence, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage; Or any one of you, chop off your hand, Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung And send it to the king: he for the same, Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear!
Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; Luc. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed? And that shall be the ransome for their fault. Mar. 0, thus I found her, straying in the park, Tit. O, gracious emperor! 0, gentle Aarou! Seeking to hide herself; as doth the deer,
Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound. That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise ? Tit. It was my deer; and he, that wounded her, With all my heart, I'll send the emperor Hath hurt me more, than had he kill'd me dead: My hand! For now I stand as one upon a rock,
Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? Environ'd with a wilderness of sea;
Luc. Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Expecting ever when some envious surge
Shall not be sent; my hand will serve the turn: Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.
My youth can better spare my blood than yon; This way to death iny wretched sons are gone! And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. Here stands my other son, a banislı'd man;
Mar. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And here my brother, weeping at my woes! And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, But that, which gives my soul the greatest spurn, Writing destruction on the enemics' castles ? Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul!
0, none of both but are of high desert; Had I but seen thy picture in this plight,
My hand hath been but idle; let it serve It would have madded me! What shall I do
To ransome my two nephews from their death; Now I behold thy lively body 30 ?
Then have I kept it to a worthy end. Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears ; Aar. Nay, come agree, whose hand shall go along, Nor tongue, to tell me who hath martyr'd thee; For fear they die before their pardon come. Thy husband he is dead; and, for his death, Mar. My hand shall go. Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this : Luc. By heaven, it shall not go! Look, Marcus! ah, son Lucius, look on her! Tit. Sirs, strive no more; such wither'd herbs as these When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. Stood on her cheeks; as doth the honey dew Luc. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd.
Let me redeem my brothers both from death. Mar. Perchance, she weeps because they kill'd her Mur. And, for our father's sake, and mother's care, husband :
Now let me show a brother's love to thee.
Tit. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful, Luc. Then I'll go fetch an axe.
(Exeunt Lucius and Marcus. Witness the sorrow that their sister makes,
Tit. Come hither, Aaron! I'll deceive them both; Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips;
Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. Or make some signs how I may do thee ease! Aar. If that be call’d deceit, I will be honest, Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so;And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain; But I'll deceive you in another sort, Looking all downwards, to behold our cheeks And that you'll say, ere half an hoor can passo How they are stain'd; like meadows, yet not dry
(Aside. He cuts off Titus's hand. With miry slime lest on them by a ílood ?
Enter Lucius and Marcus. And in the fountain shall we gaze so long,
Tit. Now, stay your strife ; what shall be, is disa Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, patch'd! And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Good Aaron, give his majesty my baod: Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Tell him, it was a hand that warded him Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows From thousand dangers: bid him bury it; Pass the remainder of our hateful days?
More hath it merited, that let it have. What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, As for my sons, say, I 'account of them Plot some device of further misery,
As jewels purchas'd at an easy price;. To make us wonder'd at in time to come.
And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. Lucy Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your Aur. I go, Andronicus: and, for thy hand, grief,
Look by and by to have thy sons with thee:See, how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. Their lieads, I mean. Mar. Patience, dear niece! Good Titus, dry Doth fat me with the very thonght of it! thine eyes!
Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace, Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot, Aaron will have his soul black like his facr. (Exit. Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine,
Tit. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: Luc. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. If any power pities wretched tears,
o, how this villainy (-Aside.
To that I call. – What, wilt thou kneel with me? And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs.
[To Lavinia. The vow is made! - Come, brother, take a head !
Mar. 0 brother, speak with possibilities, Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay :
Tit. Is hot my sorrow deep, having no bottom? And, if you love me, as I think you do,
(Exeunt Titus, Marcus and Lavinia.
The woeful'st man that ever liv'd in Rome!
0, 'would thou wert as thou 'tofore hast beep !
But in oblivion, and hateful griefs.
Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power,
To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine! [Exit.
Tit. So, so! now sit! and look, you eat no more
Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot;
And cannot passionate our ten-fold grief
With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine
Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,
Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs!
[To Lavinia. That ever death should let life bear his name, When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still.
(Lavinia kisses him. Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans;
And just against thy heart make thou a hole;
Why, Marcus, no man shonld be mad but I.
What violent hands can she lay on her life?
Ah, wherefore dost thou urge thename of hands; –
Lest we remember still, that we have none. —
Tf Marcus did not name the word of hands!
Come, let's fall to! and, gentle girl, eat this !
Brew'd with her sorrows, mesh'd upon her cheeks ;
Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought;
As begging hermits in their holy prayers :
Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven,
Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a siga,
But I, of these, will wrest an alphabet,
Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt
Boy.Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments: And would not, but in fury, fright my youth:
Mar. Lucins, I will.
(Lavinia turns over the books which LuWhat dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife?
cius has let fall.
But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd;
And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens
Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and mother? Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus? How would he hang his slender gilded wings, Mar.I think, she means, that there was more than one And buz lamenting doings in the air ?
Confederate in the fact; — ay, more there was; – Poor harmless fly!
Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge, That with his pretty buzzing melody,
Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so? Came here to make us merry: and thou hast kill'd Boy. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphosis; him.
My mother gave't me.
Tit. Sost! see, how busily she turas the leaves! Then pardon me for reprehending thee,
Help her! For thou hast done a charitable deed.
What would she find? –Lavinia, shall I read? Give me thy knife, I will insult on him;
This is the tragic tale of Philomel, Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor,
And treats of Tereus' treason, and his rape; Come hither purposely to poison me.-
And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy. There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora. — Mar. See, brother, see! note, how she quotes the Ah, sirrah!
leaves. Yet I do think we are not brought so losv,
Tit. Lavinia, wert thoa thus surprised, sweet girl, But that, between us, we can kill a fly,
Ravish'd, and wrong'd, as Philomela was,
Mar. Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on him, See, see! -
Tit. Come, take away!-Lavinia, go with me! (0, had we never, never hunted there!)
Pattern’d by that the poet here describes,
By nature made for murders and for rapes. Come, boy, and go with me! thy sight is young, Mar. 0, why should nature build so foul a den, And thou shalt read, when mine begins to dazzle. Unless the gods delight in tragedies !
[Exeunt. Tit. Give sigos, sweet girl, --- for here are none but
What Roman lord it was durst do the deed : IV.
Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, SCENE I. — The same. Before Titus's house. That left the camp to sin in Lucreco bed? Enter Titus and Marces. T'hen enter young Lucius, Mar. Sit down, sweet niece! brother, sit down by Lavinia running after him.
me! Boy. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, Follows me every where, I know not why!
Inspire me, that I may this treason find! Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes ! My lord, look here! - look here, Lavinia! Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean. This sandy plot is plain; guide, it thou canst, Mar. Stand by me, Lucius! do not fear thine aunt. This after me, when I have writ my name Tic. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. Without the help of any hand at all. Boy. Ay, when my father was in Rome, she did.
(He writes his name with his staff, and Mar. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs? Tit. Fear her not, Lucius! - Somewhat doth she Curs'd be that heart, that forc'd us to this shili!
guides it with his feet and mouth.
Write thou, good niece; and here display, at last, See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee:
What God will have discover'd for revenge: Somewhither would she have thee go with her. Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain
, Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care
That we may know the traitors, and the truth! Read to her sons, than she hath read to thee,
[She takes the staff in her mouth, and Sweet poetry, and Tully's Orator.
guides it with her stumps, and writes
, Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus?
Tit. 0, do you read, my lord, what she hath writ? Boy. My lord, I know not, 1, nor can I
guess, Stuprum-Chirun-- Demetrius. Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her:
Mar. What, what!- the lustful sons of Tamora For I have heard my grandsire say full oft, Performers of this heinous, bloody deed ? Extremity of griefs would make men mad;
Tit. Magne Dominator poli, And I have read, that Hecuba of Troy
Tam lentus audis scelera tai lentus vides? Ran, mad through sorrow: that made me to sear; Mur. O, calm thee, gentle lord! althougla i kaos,
There is enough written upon this earth,
And so I leave you both, [ Aside.)like bloody villains. To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts,
[Exeunt Boy and Attendunt. And arm the minds of infants to exclaims.
Dem. What's here? a scroll; and written round
Non eget Mauri jaculis, nec arcu.
read it in the grammar long ago.
Aar. Ay, just! - a verse in Horace; - right, you And see their blood, or die with this reproach.
Now, what a thing it is to be an ass!
And sends the weapons wrapp'd about
That wound, beyond their feeling, to
But were our witty empress well a-foot,
But let her rest in her unrest a while.
Boy. I say, my lord, that if I were a man, Captires, to be advanced to this height?
Basely insinuate, and send us gifts.
Aar. Had he not reason, lord Demetrius?
Dem. I would, we had a thousand Roman dames
At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust.
Chi. A charitable wish, and full of love.
Aar. Pray to the devils; the gods have given us
[.4side. Flourisha [Exeunt Thus, Lavinia, and Boy. Dem. Why do the emperor's trumpets flourish Mar. O heavens, cau you hear a good man groan, thus? Aud not relent, or not compassion him?
Chi. Belike, for joy the emperor hath a son.
Dem. Soft! who comes here?
Enter a Nurse, with a black-a-moar child in her
Nur. Good-morrow, lords !
Aar. Well, more, or less, or ne'er a whit at all,
What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine arms? Chi. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius;
Nur. O, that which I would hide from heaven's Be huth some message to deliver to 118.
She is deliver'd, lords, she is deliver'd!
Nur. I mean, she's brought to bed.
both! Aar. Well, God
[.4 side. Give her good rest! What hath le sent her? Dem. Gramercy, lovely Lucius! What's the news? Nur. A devil. Boy. Thut you are both decypher'd, that's the Aar. Why, then she's the devil's dam; a joyful news,
Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad
The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy scal,
And bids three christen it with thy dagger's point. The hope of Rome; for so he bade me say, Aur. Out, out, you whore! is black so base a And so I do, and with his gists present
hue? Your lordships, that, whenever you liave need, Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom, sure! You may be armed and appoiuted welk:
Dem. Villain, what hast thou doue?