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Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them.
Luc. Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See, how my wretched fifter sobs 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, hast drown'd it with thine own,
Luc. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks.
Tit. Mark, Martus, mark; I understand her signs;
Will send thee hither both thy fons alive,
Tit. Oh, gracious Emperor ! oh, gentle Aaron!
Luc. Stay, father, for that noble hand of thine,
Mar. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome,
Aar. Nay, come, agree, whose hand shall go along,
Mar. My hand shall go.
And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe,
Writing destruction on the enemies castle ?] This is a passage, which shows a most wonderful fagacity in our editors. They could not, sure, intend an improvement of the Art Military, by teaching us that it was ever a custom to hew down castles with the battle-axe. Or could they have a design to tell us, that they wore castles formerly on their heads for defensive armour ? there is, indeed, a passage in Troilus and Cresida, which such commentators might alledge in fupport of such a wise opinion.
Writing deftrution on the enemies' cask,
think it is much more feisible to split an belmet with a battle-axe, than to cut down a castle with it, I shall continue to fand by my emendation,
Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.
Luc. Sweet father, if I Mall be thought thy son, Let me redeem
brothers both from death. Mar. And for our father's fake, and mother's care, Now let me shew a brother's love to thee.
Tit. Agree between you, I will spare my hand.
Tit. Come hither, Aaron, I'll deceive them both,
Aar. If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so. But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that, you'll say, ere half an hour pass. [ Aside.
[He cuts off Titus's hand. Enter Lucius and Marcus again. Tit. Now ftay your strife;, 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 sons, say, 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 sons with thee : Their heads, I mean.-Oh, how this villany [Afideo Doth fat me with the very thought of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace, Aaron will have his soul black like his face. [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? Do then, dear heart, for heav'n shall hear our prayers, Or with our fighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the fun with fogs, as sometime clouds, When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. Mar. Oh! brother, speak with poflibilities,
And do not break into these deep extremes.
Tit. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them,
Mar. But yet let reason 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? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatning the welkin with his big-fwoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil ? I am the sea; hark, how her fighs 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, But, like a drunkard, must I vomit them; Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues.
Enter a Mefsenger, bringing in two heads and a hand.
Mef. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repay'd For that good hand thou sent’st the Emperor ; Here are the heads of thy two noble fons, And here's thy hand in scorn to thee sent back; Thy grief's their sport, thy resolution mockt: That woe is me to think upon thy woes, More than remembrance of my father's death. [Exit.
Mar. Now let hot Ærna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell; These miseries are more than may be borne ! To
weep with them that weep doth ease some deal, But forsow flouted at is double death.
Luc. Ah, that this fight should make so deep a wound, And yet derested life not shrink thereat; That ever death Nould let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe.
Mar. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless, As frozen waier to a starved snake, "it. When will this fearful Dumber have an end?
Mar. Now, farewel, flattery ! die, Andronicus ;
Tit. Ha, ha, ha.
Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed;
(18) Ab, now no more will I controul my grief: ;] I read, ---thy griefs. Marcus had before persuaded Titus to be reinperate and restrain the excess of his forrows : but now, says he, that so miferabl: an object is presented to your fight as a dear daughter fo heinously abusid, e’ea indulge your sorrows till they put an end to your miserable life.