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In winter, with warm tears I'll melt the snow, Tit. Will it consume me ? let me see it, then. And keep eternal spring-time on thy face,
Marc. This was thy daughter. So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood.
Why, Marcus, so she is.
Luc. Ay me! this object kills me! Enter Lucius, with his sword drawn.
Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arise and look upon
her.O, reverend tribunes ! O, gentle, aged men ! Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand Unbind
my sons, reverse the doom of death ; Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight? And let me say, that never wept before,
What fool hath added water to the sea ? My tears are now prevailing orators !
Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy? Luc. O, noble father, you lament in vain ; My grief was at the height before thou cam’st, The tribunes hear you* not; no man is by; And now, like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds.And you recount your sorrows to a stone.
Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too ; Tır. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead- For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain ; Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you ! And they have nurs’d this woe, in feeding life; Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you In bootless prayer have they been held up, speak.
And they have serv'd me to effectless use: Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, man; if they did hear, Now all the service I require of them They would not mark me; or, if they did mark, Is, that the one will help to cut the other._ They would not pity me; yet plead I must, 'T is well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands; And bootless unto them :
For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain. Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones,
Luc. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd Who, though they cannot answer my distress,
thee? Yet in some sort they're better than the tribunes, MARC. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts, For that they will not intercept my
That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence When I do weep, they, humbly at my feet, Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage, Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me; Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung And, were they but attired in grave weeds, Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear! Rome could afford no tribune like to these.
Luc. O, say thou for her, who hath done this A stone is as soft wax,—tribunes more hard than
deed ? stones ;
MARC. O, thus I found her, straying in the ;
Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer death.
[Riscs. That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound. But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon Tit. It was my deer; and he that wounded her drawn?
Hath hurt me more than had he kill'd me dead : Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their death: For now I stand as one upon a rock, For which attempt, the judges have pronounc'd Environ'd with a wilderness of sea, My everlasting doom of banishment.
Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, Tir. O, happy man! they have befriended thee.
Expecting ever when some envious surge Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers ?
This way to death my wretched sons are gone; Tigers must prey ; and Rome affords no prey Here stands my other son, a banish'd man; But me and mine : how happy art thou, then, And here my brother, weeping at my woes : From these devourers to be banished !
But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn But who comes with our brother Marcus here? Is dear Lavinia,
dearer than my
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 ? Marc. Titus, prepare thy aged † eyes to weep; Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears ; Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break :
Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee; I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.
Thy husband he is dead, and for his death
And tribunes with their tongues doom men to s
(*) First folio omits, you. (+) First folio, noble.
- to the stones, &c.] The lection of the earliest quarto; the folio has,
“ Why 't is no matter man, if they did heare
b Speak, Lavinia, &c.] The second folio reads, and perhaps correctly,
“Speak, my Lavinia," &c.
“ That his dear father might interment have,
Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead hy this.- And send it to the king : he for the same Look, Marcus ! ah, son Lucius, look on her! Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears And that shall be the ransom for their fault. Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew
Tir. O, gracious emperor !0, gentle Aaron! Upon a gather'd lily almost withered.
Did ever raven sing so like a lark, Marc. Perchance, she weeps because they That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise ? kill’d her husband ;
With all my heart, I'll send the emperor my hand ; Perchance, because she knows them * innocent. Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? Tit. If they did kill thy husband, then be Luc. Stay, father ! for that noble hand of thine, joyful,
That hath thrown down so many enemies, Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them.- Shall not be sent : my hand will serve the turn : No, no, they would not do so foul a deed ;
My youth can better spare my blood than you, Witness the sorrow that their sister makes.- And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips,
MARC. Which of your hands hath not defended Or make some sign how I may do thee ease :
Rome, Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle ?d Looking all downwards, to behold our cheeks O, none of both but are of high desert : How they are stain'd like meadows yet not dry, My hand hath been but idle ; let it serve With miry slime left on them by a flood ?
To ransom my two nephews from their death, And in the fountain shall we gaze so long
Then have I kept it to a worthy end.
By heaven, it shall not go ! What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, Tit. Sirs, strive no more ; such wither'd herbs Plot some device of further miseries To make us wonder'd at in time to come.
Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. Luc. Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at Luc. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy your grief,
son, See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. Let me redeem my brothers both from death. Marc. Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry MARC. And for our father's sake and mother's
care, Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcus ! brother, well I wot Now let me show a brother's love to thee. Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine,
Tit. Agree between you; I will spare my hand. For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. Luc. Then I'll go fetch an axe. Luc. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. Marc.
But I will use the axe. Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her
[Exeunt Lucius and Marcus. signs :
Tit. Come hither, Aaron ; I'll deceive them Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say
both : That to her brother which I said to thee :
Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. His napkin, with his true tears all bewet,
Aaron. If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks.
And never, whilst I live, deceive men so:O, what a sympathy of woe is this,
[Aside.] But I'll deceive you in another sort, As far from help as limboo is from bliss !
[He cuts off Titus's hand.
Tell him it was a hand that warded him
And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds, From thousand dangers: bid him bury it;
When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. More hath it merited,—that let it have.
MARC. O, brother, speak with possibilities, As for my sons, say I account of them
And do not break into these deep extremes. As jewels purchas’d at an easy price;
Tit. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom ? And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. Then be my passions bottomless with them.
AARON. I go, Andronicus; and, for thy hand, MARC. But yet let reason govern thy lament. Look by-and-by to have thy sons with thee :- Tit. If there were reason for these miseries, [Aside.] Their heads I mean. O, how this villany Then into limits could I bind my woes : Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it!
When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erLet fools do good, and fair men call for grace,
flow? Aaron will have his soul black like his face. [Exit. If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,
Tit. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swoln face? And bow this feeble ruin to the earth :
And wilt thou have a reason for this coil ? If any power pities wretched tears,
I am the sea; hark how her sighs do blow ! * To that I call !- What, wilt thou kneel with me? She is the weeping welkin, I the earth :
[To LAVINIA. Then must my sea be moved with her sighs ; Do, then, dear heart, for heaven shall hear our Then must my earth with her continual tears prayers,
Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd: Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, For why my bowels cannot hide her wocs,
a – hark how her sighs do blow !) A correction in the second folio; former copies all reading, now.
b For why-] Because.
But like a drunkard must I vomit them.
Even in their throats that have committed them. Then give me leave ; for losers will have leave Come, let me see what task I have to do.To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. 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.Enter a Messenger with two heads and a hand. The vow is made.—Come, brother, take a head,
And in this hand the other will I bear.Mess. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these things." For that good hand thou sent’st the emperor. Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy Here are the heads of thy two noble sons,
teeth. And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back ;- As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock’d, Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: That woe is me to think upon thy woes,
Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there; More than remembrance of my father's death. And, if you love me, as I think you do,
[Exit. Let 's kiss and part, for we have much to do. Marc. Now let hot Ætna cool in Sicily,
[Exeunt Titus, Marcus, and LAVINIA. And be my heart an ever-burning hell!
Luc. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father, These miseries are more than may be borne. The woefull'st man that ever liv'd in Rome : Το
weep with them that weep doth ease some deal ; Farewell, proud Rome; till Lucius come again, But sorrow flouted at is double death.
He leaves * his pledges, dearer than his life : Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister; wound,
O, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been ! And yet detested life not shrink thereat !
But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives
[LAVINIA kisses TITUS. And make proud Saturnine and his empress Marc. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen. As frozen water to a starved snake.
Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power, Tit. When will this fearful slumber have an To be reveng’d on Rome and Saturnine. [Exit.
Banquet set out.
Enter Titus, MARCUS, LAVINIA, and Young Ih, now no more will I control thy* griefs :
Lucius, a Boy. Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth ; and be this dismal sight Tit. So, so; now sit: and look you eat no more The closing up of our most wretched eyes : Than will preserve just so much strength in us Now is a time to storm ; why art thou still ? As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. Tit. Ha, ha, ha!
Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot ; Marc. Why dost thou laugh ? it fits not with Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands, this hour.
And cannot passionate our tenfold grief Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed : With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine Besides, this sorrow is an enemy,
Is left to tyrannize upon my breast ; And would usurp upon my watery eyes,
Andt when my heart, all mad with misery, And make them blind with tributary tears : Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? Then thus I thump it down.For these two heads do seem to speak to me, Thou map of woe," that thus dost talk in signs ! And threat me, I shall never come to bliss
[To LAVINIA. Till all these mischiefs be return’d again
When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating,
(*) Old text, my. Corrected by Theobald. A - dear sighl-) See note (1), 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 hy inadvertence it has And at the beginning of the line. The quartos read, “ And Lavinia thou shalt be imployd in these armes," &c.
(*) Old text, loves. Corrected by Rowe.
(1) Old text, who. Corrected by Rowe. C SCENE II.-) This scene is first given in the folio of 1623.
d Thou map of woe,-) Compare, “Richard II." Act V. Sc. 1,
“Thou map of honour," &c.
Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still. And tears will quickly melt thy life away:-
[Marcus strikes the dish with a knife. Or get some little knife between thy teeth, What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife ? And just against thy heart make thou a hole ; MARC. At that that I have kill'd, my lord,— That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall
a fly. May run into that sink, and, soaking in,
Tit. Out on thee, murderer ! thou kill’st my Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears.
heart; Marc. Fie, brother, fie! teach her not thus to Mine eyes
cloy'd with view of tyranny : lay
A deed of death, done on the innocent, Such violent hands upon her tender life.
Becomes not Titus' brother : get thee gone ; Tit. How now! has sorrow made thee dote I see thou art not for my company. already?
MARC. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I.
Tit. But ? how if that fly had a father and What violent hands can she lay on her life?
mother? Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands ;- How would he hang his slender gilded wings, To bid Æneas tell the tale twice o‘er,
And buzz lamenting doings in the air ! How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable ? Poor harmless fly! O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands, That, with his pretty buzzing melody, Lest we remember still that we have none.-- Came here to make us merry! and thou hast Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk,I
kill'd him. As if we should forget we had no hands,
Marc. Pardon me, sir; it was a black illIf Marcus did not name the word of hands!
favour'd fly, Come, let's fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this :- Like to the empress’ Moor; therefore I kill'd him. Here is no drink !-Hark, Marcus, what she Tir. 0, 0, 0! says;
Then pardon me for reprehending thee, I can interpret all her martyr'd signs ;
For thou hast done a charitable deed. She says she drinks no other drink but tears, Give me thy knife, I will insult on him, Brew'd with her sorrow, mesh'd upon
her Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor, cheeks :
Come hither purposely to poison me.Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought; There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora.In thy dumb action will I be as perfect
Ah, sirrah! As begging hermits in their holy prayers :
Yet, I think we are not brought so low, Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven, But that, between us, we can kill a fly, Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign, That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. But I, of these, will wrest an alphabet,
MARC. Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought And, by still practice, learn to know thy meaning.
on him, Boy. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep He takes false shadows for true substances. laments :
Tit. Come, take away.—Lavinia, go with me: Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. I'll to thy closet; and go read with thee
MARC. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd, Sad stories, chanced in the times of old.Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness. Come, boy, and go with me: thy sight is young, Tit. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of And thou shalt read when mine begins* to dazzle.
- thy knife?) “Thy" is from the second folio.
(*) First folio, hegir.