Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. Or make fome figns how I may do thee ease: 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 niece; good Titus, dry thine eyes. For thou, poor man, haft drown'd it with thine own, Enter Aaron. Aar. Titus Andronicus, my Lord the Emperor L Will Will fend thee hither both thy fons alive, And that shall be the ranfom for their fault. Tit. Oh, gracious Emperor! oh, gentle Aaron! That gives fweet tidings of the fun's uprise ? Luc. Stay, father, for that noble hand of thine, Mar. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aløft the bloody battle-ax, Writing deftruction on the enemies cafque? (17) 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, whofe hand shall 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, ftrive no more, fuch wither'd herbs as these (17) Which of your hands bath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing deftruction on the enemies caftle?] This is a paffage, which shows a most wonderful fagacity 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 wore caftles formerly on their heads for defenfive armour? there is, indeed, a paffage in Troilus and Creffida, which fuch commentators might alledge in support of fuch a wife opinion. And, Diomede, Stand faft, and wear a caftle on thy head, &c. 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 easily be mistaken for tl, and thus a castle was built at once. But as I think it is much more feifible to split an belmet with a battle-axe, than to cut down a caftle with it, I shall continue to ftand by my emendation. Are Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. 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. Mar. But I will use the ax. [Exe. Lucius and Marcus. But I'll deceive you in another fort, And that, you'll say, ere half an hour pass. [Afide. [He cuts off Titus's hand. Enter Lucius and Marcus again. Tit. Now ftay your ftrife; what fhall be, is difpatch'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 thy 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? L 2 And And do not break into these deep extremes. Tit. Is not my forrow deep, having no bottom? When heav'n doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? And be my heart an ever-burning hell; To weep with them that weep doth ease fome deal, [Exit. Luc. Ah, that this fight should make so deep a wound, And yet detefted life not shrink thereat; That ever death fhould let life bear his name, Mar. Alas, poor heart, that kifs is comfortless, As frozen water to a ftarved fnake. Tit. When will this fearful fumber have an end? Mar. Mar. Now, farewel, flattery! die, Andronicus; Tit. Ha, ha, ha. Mar. Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. And would ufurp upon my watry eyes, Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd in these things; [Exeunt. thy (18) Ab, now no more will I controul my griefs;] I read, griefs. Marcus had before perfuaded Titus to be temperate and reftrain the excess of his forrows: but how, fays he, that fo miferable an object is prefented to your fight as a dear daughter fo heinously abus'd, e'en indulge your forrows till they put an end to your miserable life. L 3 Manet |