In winter, with warm tears I'll melt the snow,
And keep eternal spring-time on thy face,
So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood.

Enter LUCIUS, with his sword drawn.

O, reverend tribunes! O, gentle, aged men!
Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death;
And let me say, that never wept before,
My tears are now prevailing orators!

*

Luc. O, noble father, you lament in vain; The tribunes hear you not; no man is by; And you recount your sorrows to a stone.

TIT. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me pleadGrave tribunes, once more I entreat of you u! Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak.

TIT. Why, 'tis no matter, man; if they did hear,
They would not mark me; or, if they did mark,
They would not pity me; yet plead I must,
And bootless unto them:

Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones,*
Who, though they cannot answer my distress,
Yet in some sort they 're better than the tribunes,
For that they will not intercept my tale:
When I do weep, they, humbly at my feet,
Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me;
And, were they but attired in grave weeds,
Rome could afford no tribune like to these.

A stone is as soft wax,-tribunes more hard than stones;

A stone is silent, and offendeth not;And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.[Rises.

But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn?

Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their death: For which attempt, the judges have pronounc'd My everlasting doom of banishment.

TIT. O, happy man! they have befriended thee. Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers? Tigers must prey; and Rome affords no prey But me and mine: how happy art thou, then, From these devourers to be banished!But who comes with our brother Marcus here?

TIT. Will it consume me? let me see it, then. MARC. This was thy daughter.

TIT.

Why, Marcus, so she is. Luc. Ay me! this object kills me! TIT. Faint-hearted boy, arise and look upon her.

b

Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand

Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight?
What fool hath added water to the sea?

Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy?
My grief was at the height before thou cam❜st,
And now, like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds.—
Give me a sword, 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 service I require of them
Is, that the one will help to cut the other.—
'T is 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?

MARC. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts, That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage, Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear! Luc. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed?

MARC. 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 stand as one upon a rock,
Environ'd with a wilderness of sea,
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 sons are gone;
Here stands my other son, a banish'd man;
And here my brother, weeping at my woes:
But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn
Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul.-
Had I but seen thy picture in this plight
It would have madded me: what shall I do
Now I behold thy lively body so?
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

b Speak, Lavinia, &c.] The second folio reads, and perhaps correctly,

"Speak, my Lavinia," &c. clively body- That is, "living body." So in Massinger's "Fatal Dowry," Act II. Sc. 1,

"That his dear father might interment have, See, the young son enter'd a lively grave!

Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this.-
Look, Marcus! ah, son 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 withered.

MARC. Perchance, she weeps because they kill'd her husband;

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 so foul a deed;
Witness the sorrow that their sister makes.-
Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips,

Or make some sign how I may do thee ease:
Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius,
And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain,
Looking all downwards, to behold our cheeks
How they are stain'd likea meadows yet not dry,
With miry slime left on them by a flood?
And in the fountain shall we gaze so 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 miseries

To make us wonder'd at in time to come.

Luc. Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at

your grief,

See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARC. Patience, dear niece.-Good Titus, dry

thine eyes.

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

And send it to the king: he for the same
Will send thee hither both thy sons alive;
And that shall be the ransom for their fault.

TIT. O, gracious emperor ! O, 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 so many enemies,
Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn:
My youth can better spare my blood than you,
And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives.
MARC. Which of your hands hath not defended
Rome,

And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe,
Writing destruction on the enemy's castle ?
O, none of both but are of high desert:
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.

AARON. Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along,

For fear they die before their pardon come.
MARC. My hand shall go.

Luc.

By heaven, it shall not go! TIT. Sirs, strive no more; such wither'd herbs as these

Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.
Luc. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy

son,

Let me redeem my brothers both from death. MARC. And for our father's sake and mother's care,

Now let me show a brother's love to thee.
TIT. Agree between you; I will spare my hand.
Luc. Then I'll go fetch an axe.
MARC.

But I will use the axe. [Exeunt Lucius and MARCUS. TIT. Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both :

Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON. If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so :[Aside.] But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you '11 say, ere half an hour pass. [He cuts of TITUS's hand.

Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS.

TIT. Now, stay your strife: what shall be, is despatch'd:

Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand:

have,

"her true tears," &c.

- limbo-] See note (a), p. 696, Vol. II. castle?] Helmet.

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 sons, say I account of them
As jewels purchas'd at an easy price;
And yet dear too, because I bought mine own.

AARON. I go, Andronicus; and, for thy hand,
Look by-and-by to have thy sons with thee :-
[Aside.] Their heads I mean. O, how this villany
Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it!
Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace,
Aaron will have his soul black like his face. [Exit.
TIT. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven,
And bow this feeble ruin to the earth:
If any power pities wretched tears,
To that I call!-What, wilt thou kneel with me?
[TO LAVINIA.

Do, then, dear heart, for heaven shall hear our prayers,

Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim,

ahark how her sighs do blow !] A correction in the second folio; former copies all reading, flow.

And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds, When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. MARC. O, brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes.

TIT. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them.

MARC. But yet let reason govern thy lament.
TIT. If there were reason for these miseries,
Then into limits could I bind my woes :
When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'er-
flow?

If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,
Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swoln face?
And wilt thou have a reason for this coil?
I am the sea; hark how her sighs do blow!"
She is the weeping welkin, I the earth:
Then must my sea be moved with her sighs;
Then must my earth with her continual tears
Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd:
For why my bowels cannot hide her woes,

b For why-] Because.

MARC. Now farewell flattery: die Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads; Thy warlike hand; thy mangled daughter here; Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy* griefs: Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes: Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? TIT. Ha, ha, ha!

MARC. Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour.

TIT. Why, I have not another tear to shed:
Besides, this sorrow is an enemy,
And would usurp upon my watery eyes,
And make them blind with tributary tears:
Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave?
For these two heads do seem to speak to me,
And threat me, I shall never come to bliss
Till all these mischiefs be return❜d again

(*) Old text, my. Corrected by Theobald.

adear sight-] See note (d), p. 449, Vol. I., and note (6), p. 398, of the present volume.

b Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these things.] So the first folio, except that by inadvertence it has And at the beginning of the line. The quartos read,

"And Lavinia thou shalt be imployd in these armes," &c.

Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do.—

You heavy people, circle me about,
That I may turn me to each one of you,
And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs.-
The vow is made.-Come, brother, take a head,
And in this hand the other will I bear.-
Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these things.
Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy
teeth.-

As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight;
Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay:
Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there;
And, if you love me, as I think you do,
Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do.

[Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA.
Luc. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father,—
The woefull'st man that ever liv'd in Rome :
Farewell, proud Rome; till Lucius come again,
He leaves his pledges, dearer than his life:
Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister;

O, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been!
But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives
But in oblivion and hateful griefs.

If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs,
And make proud Saturnine and his empress
Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen.
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 Than will preserve just so much strength in us As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot; Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands, And cannot passionate our tenfold grief With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine Is left to tyrannize upon my breast; And when my heart, all mad with misery, Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, Then thus I thump it down.—

Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs! [TO LAVINIA.

When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating,

Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still.
Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans;
Or get some little knife between thy teeth,
And just against thy heart make thou a hole;
That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall
May run into that sink, and, soaking in,
Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears.

MARC. Fie, brother, fie! teach her not thus to lay

Such violent hands upon her tender life.

TIT. How now! has sorrow made thee dote already?

Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I.
What violent hands can she lay on her life?

Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands;-
To bid Æneas tell the tale twice o'er,
How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable?
O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands,
Lest we remember still that we have none.--
Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk,-
As if we should forget we had no hands,

If Marcus did not name the word of hands!-
Come, let's fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this:-
Here is no drink!-Hark, Marcus, what she
says;-

I can interpret all her martyr'd signs;-
She says she drinks no other drink but tears,
Brew'd with her sorrow, mesh'd upon her
cheeks:-

Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought;
In thy dumb action will I be as perfect
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 sign,
But I, of these, will wrest an alphabet,
And, by still practice, learn to know thy meaning.
Box. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep
laments:

Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale.
MARC. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd,
Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness.

TIT. Out on thee, murderer! thou kill'st my heart;

b

Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny:
A deed of death, done on the innocent,
Becomes not Titus' brother: get thee gone;
I see thou art not for my company.

MARC. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. TIT. But how if that fly had a father and mother?

How would he hang his slender gilded wings,
And buzz lamenting 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.

MARC. Pardon me, sir; it was a black illfavour'd fly,

Like to the empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him.
TIT. 0, 0, 0!

Then pardon me for reprehending thee,
For thou hast done a charitable deed.
Give me thy knife, I will insult on him,
Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor,
Come hither purposely to poison me.-
There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora.-
Ah, sirrah!

Yet, I think we are not brought so low,
But that, between us, we can kill a fly,
That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor.
MARC. Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought
on him,

He takes false shadows for true substances.

TIT. Come, take away.-Lavinia, go with me: I'll to thy closet; and go read with thee Sad stories, chanced in the times of old.Come, boy, and go with me: thy sight is young, And thou shalt read when mine begins to dazzle. [Exeunt.

(*) First folio, begin.

*