Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, To make us wondred 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 neice; 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. Enter Aaron. Aar. Titus Andronicus, my lord the Emperor That gives fweet tings of the Sun'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, Writing Deftruction on the enemies' Cafque? (10) To raniom my two Nephews from their death; Aar. Nay, come, agree, whofe hand fhall go along, For fear they die before their Pardon come. Mar. My hand fhall go. Luc. By heav'n, it fhall not go. Tit. Sirs, frive 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. (10) Which of your Hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody Battle-axe, Writing Deftruction on the Enemies' Caftle?] This is a Paffage, which fhews a most wonderful Sagacity in our Editors. They could not, fure, intend an Improvement of the Art Military, by teaching us that it was ever a Custom to hew down Caftles with the Battle-Axe. Or could they have a Defign to tell us, that they were Caftles formerly on their heads for defenfive Armour? I ventur'd, fome time ago, to correct the Paffage thus ; Writing Deftruction on the Enemies' Cask. i. e. an Helmet; from the French Word, une Cafque. A broken k in the Manufcript might eafily be mistaken for tl, and thus a Caftle was built at once. But as I think it is much more feasible to fplit an Helmet with a Battle-axe, than to cut down a Cafile with it, I fhall continue to stand by my Emendation. Now Now let me fhew a brother's love to thee. Mar. But I will ufe 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, whilft I live, deceive men fo. But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that, you'll fay, ere half an hour pass. [Afide. [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 Majefty 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 eafy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. Aar. I go, Andronicus; and for thy hand Look by and by to have thỳ fons with thee: Their heads, I mean.-Oh, how this villany 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. [Afide. [Exit. Tit. O 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? Mar. Mar. But yet let reafon 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? Enter a Messenger, bringing in two heads and Mef. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repay'd More than remembrance of my father's death. [Exit. And be my heart an ever-burning hell; These miseries are more than may be borne ! But forrow flouted at is double death. Luc. Ah, that this fight fhould make fo deep a wound, And yet detefted life not fhrink thereat; That ever death fhould let life bear his name, Tit. When will this fearful flumber have an end? Thy Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here; Tit. Ha, ha, ha! Mar. Why doft thou laugh it fits not with this hour. And would ufurp upon my watry eyes, -- come, Brother, take a head, And in this hand the other will I bear; Lavinia, thou fhalt be employ'd in these things; Let's kifs and part, for we have much to do. [Exeunt. (11) Ab, now no more will I controul my Griefs; ]. I read,tby Griefs. Marcus had before perfuaded Titus to be temperate and restrain the Excess of his Sorrows: but now, says be, that fo miferable an Object is prefented to your Sight, as a dear Daughter so heinously abus'd, e'en indulge your Sorrows till they put an end to your miferable Life. Manet |