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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 fome 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 taste be taken from that clearness,
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 shows
Pass 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 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.
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, Martus, mark; I understand her figns;
Had the a tongue to fpeak, now would the 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 fympathy of woe is this!
As far from help as Limbo is from blifs.

Enter Aaron.

Aar. Titus Andronicus, my Lord the Emperor
Sends thee this word; that if thou love thy fons,
Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyfelf, old Titus,
Or any one of you, chop off your hand,
And fend it to the King; he for the fame
VOL. VI.

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Will fend thee hither both thy fons alive,

And that shall be the ranfom for their fault.

Tit. Oh, gracious Emperor! oh, gentle Aaron!
Did ever raven fing fo like a lark,

That gives fweet tidings of the fun's uprise ?
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 serve the turn.
My youth can better spare my blood than you,
And therefore mine fhall fave my brothers lives.

Mar. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aløft the bloody battle-ax,

Writing deftruction on the enemies cafque? (17)
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, 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.
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. [Exe. 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, whilst I live, deceive men so.

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?
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. Óh! brother, fpeak with poffibilities,

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And do not break into these deep 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,
Threatning the welkin with his big-fwol'n 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 muft my fea be moved with her fighs,
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, muft I vomit them;
Then give me leave, for lofers will have leave
To eafe their ftomachs with their bitter tongues.
Enter a Meffenger, bringing in two heads and a hand.
Mef. 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 sent back;
Thy grief's their fport, thy refolution mockt:
That woe is me to think upon thy woes,
More than remembrance of my father's death.
Mar. Now let hot Erna 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 fome deal,
But forrow flouted at is double death.

[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,
Where life hath no more interest but to breathe.

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;
Thou dost 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 bloodless; and thy brother I,
Even like a stony image, cold and numb.
Ah, now no more will I controul thy griefs; (18)
Rend off thy filver hair, thy other hand
Gnawing with thy teeth, and be this dismal fight
The clofing up of your most wretched eyes;
Now is a time to ftorm, why art thou ftill?

Tit. Ha, ha, ha.

Mar. Why dost 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 these 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 raife 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. 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.

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