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 almoft wither'd.
Mar. Perchance fhe weeps because they kill'd her hufband;
Perchance because she knows them innocent.
Tit. If they did kill tny 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 fifter makes.
Gentle Lavinia, let me kifs thy lips,
Or make some figns how I may do thee ease.
Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius,
And thou, and I, fit round about some fountain,
Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks,
How they are ftain'd like meadows yet not dry
With miry flime left on them by a flood?
And in the fountain fhall we gaze fo long,
Till the fresh tafte be taken from that clearnefs,
And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears?
Or fhall we cut away our hands like thine?
Or fhall we bite our tongues, and in dumb fhews
Pafs the remainder of our hateful days?
What shall we do? let us that have our tongues,
Plot fome device of further misery,
To make us wond'red at in time to come.
Luc. Sweet father, ceafe your tears; for at your grief See how my wretched fifter fobs and weeps.
Mar. 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, haft drown'd it with thine own.
Luc. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks.
Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark; I understand her figns;
Had the a tongue to speak, now would fhe fay
That to her brother which I faid 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.
SCENE III. Enter Aaron.
Aar. Titus Andronicus, my Lord the Emperor
Sends thee this word, that if thou love thy fons,
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 same
Will fend thee hither both thy fons alive,
And that fhall be the ranfom for their fault.
Tit. Oh, gracious Emperor! oh, gentle Aaron!
Did ever raven fing so like a lark,
That gives fweet tidings of the fun's uprife?
With all my heart, I'll fend 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 ferve the turn.
My youth can better fpare my blood than you,
And therefore mine fhall fave my brothers' lives.
Mar. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-ax,
Writing deftruction on the enemies' caftle?
Oh, none of both but are of high defert:
My hand hath been but idle, let it ferve
To ranfom 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.
Luc. By heav'n, it shall not go.
Tit. Sirs, ftrive no more, fuch wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.
Luc. Sweet father, if I fhall 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 fhew 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 honeft,
And never, whilft I live, deceive men fo.
But I'll deceive you in another fort,
And that, you'll fay, ere half an hour pass.
[He cuts off Titus's hand.
Enter Lucius and Marcus again.
Tit. Now ftay your ftrife; what shall be, is dispatch'd.
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, fay, 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. -Óh, 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.
Tit. O hear!-I lift this one hand up to heav'n, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth.
any power pities wretched tears,
To that I call. What, wilt thou kneel with me?
Do then, dear heart, for heav'n fhall hear our prayers,
Or with our fighs we'll breathe the welkin dim,
And ftain the fun with fogs, as fometime clouds,
When they do hug him in their melting bofoms.
Mar. Oh! brother, fpeak with poffibilities,
And do not break into thefe woe-extremes.
Tit. Is not my forrow deep, having no bottom?
Then be my paffions bottomlefs with them.
Mar. But yet let reafon govern thy lament.
Tit. If there were reason for thefe miferies,
Then into limits could I bind my woes.
When heav'n doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow?
If the winds rage, doth not the fea wax mad,
Threat'ning the welkin with his big-fwoln face?
And wilt thou have a reafon for this coil?
I am the fea; hark, how her fighs do blow.
She is the weeping welkin, I the earth.
Then must my fea be moved with their fighs,
Then muft my earth with her continual tears
Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd :
For why, my bowels cannot hide her woes,←
But, like a drunkard, muft I vomit them.
Then give me leave, for lofers will have leave
To eafe their ftomachs with their bitter tongues.
Enter a Messenger, bringing in two heads and a hand.
Mel. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repay'd
For that good hand thou fent'ft the Emperor.
Here are the heads of thy two noble fons,
And here's thy hand in fcorn to thee fent back.
Thy grief's their sport, thy resolution mock'd.
That woe is me to think upon thy woes,
More then remembrance of my father's death.
Mar. Now let hot Ætna cool in Sicily,
And be my heart an ever-burning hell!
Thefe miferies are more than may be borne !
To weep with them that weep, doth ease some deal † ; But forrow flouted at, is double death.
Luc. Ah, that this fight should make fo deep a wound, And yet detefted life not shrink thereat;
That ever death fhould let life bear his name,
Where life hath no more interest but to breathe!
Mar. Alás, poor heart, that kifs is comfortless,
As frozen water to a starved fnake.
Tit. When will this fearful flumber have an end?
Mar. Now, farewel, flattery, die, Andronicus;
Thou doft not flumber; fee, thy two fons' heads,
Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter, here;
Thy other banish'd fon with this dear fight
Struck pale and bloodlefs; and thy brother I,
Even like a ftony image, cold and numb.
Ah! now no more will I controul thy griefs;
Rend off thy filver hair, thy other hand
Gnawing with thy teeth, and be this difmal fight
The closing up of your most wretched eyes!
Now is a time to ftorm, why art thou ftill?
Mar. Why doft thou laugh? it fits not with this hour.
Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed.
Befides, this forrow is an enemy,
And would ufurp upon my watry eyes,
And make them blind with tributary tears.
Then which way fhall I find Revenge's cave?
For thefe two heads do feem to speak to me,
And threat me, I fhall never come to blifs,
Till all these mischiefs be return❜d again,
Even in their throats that have committed them.
Come, let me fee, what task I have to do-
You heavy people, circle me about,
That I may turn me to each one of you,
And fwear unto my foul 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 employ'd in these things;
Bear thou my hand, fweet wench, between thy teeth.
As for thee, boy, go get thee from my fight,
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 kifs and part, for we have much to do. [Exeunt.
SCENE V. Manet Lucius.
Luc. Farewel, Andronicus, my noble father,
The wofull'ft man that ever liv'd in Rome;
Farewel, proud Rome; till Lucius come again,
He leaves his pledges dearer than his life;
Farewel, Lavinia, my noble fifter,
O, would thou wert as thou tofore haft 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 Saturninus 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 Lucius.
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