Tygers muft prey, and Rome affords no prey
But me and mine; how happy art thou then,
From these devourers to be banish'd?

But who comes with our brother Marcus here?

Mar. TIT

'ITUS, prepare thy noble eyes to weep,
Or, if not fo, thy noble heart to break:

I bring confuming forrow to thine age.

Tit. Will it confume me? let me fee it then.
Mar. This was thy daughter.

Tit. Why, Marcus, fo fhe is.

Luc. Ah me! this object kills me.

Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arife and look upon her: Speak, my Lavinia, what accurfed hand

Hath made thee handless, * in thy father's fpight?
What fool hath added water to the fea?

Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy?
My grief was at the height before thou cam'ft,
And now, like Nilus, it difdaineth bounds:
Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too,
For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain :
And they have nurs'd this woe, in feeding life :
In bootlefs prayer have they been held up,
And they have ferv'd me to effectless use.
Now all the fervice I require of them,
Is that the one will help to cut the other:
'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou haft no hands,
For hands to do Rome fervice are but vain.

Luc. Speak, gentle fifter, who hath martyr'd thee?
Mar. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts,
That blab'd them with fuch pleafing eloquence,
Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage,
Where, like a fweet melodious bird, it fung
Sweet various notes, inchanting every ear!

Luc. O, fay thou for her, who hath done this deed? * in thy father's fight] We should read spight.

Warb.

Mar.

Mar. O, thus I found her ftraying in the park,
Seeking to hide herfelf; as doth the deer,
That hath receiv'd fome unrecuring wound.

Tit. It was my Deer; and he, that wounded her,
Hath hurt me more than had he kill'd me dead;
For now I ftand, as one upon a rock,
Environ'd with a wilderness of fea,

Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave;
Expecting ever when fome envious furge
Will in his brinifh bowels fwallow him.
This way to death my wretched fons are gone:
Here ftands my other fon, a banish'd man ;
And here my brother, weeping at my woes.
But that, which gives my foul the greateft fpurn,
Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my foul.-
Had I but seen thy picture in this plight,
It would have madded me. What fhall I do,
Now I behold thy lovely body fo?

Thou haft no hands to wipe away thy tears,
Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee;
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 almost wither'd.

Mar. Perchance, the weeps because they kill'd her

hufband.

Perchance, because fhe knows them innocent.

Tit. If they did kill thy 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,

1

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 fome fountain,
Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks,

How

How they are ftain'd like meadows yet not dry
With mirey 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
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 wondred at in time to come.

Luc. Sweet father, ceafe your tears; for, at your grief,

See, how my wretched fifler 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 she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I faid to thee. His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her forrowful cheeks. Oh what a sympathy of woe is this! As far from help as Limbo is from blifs.

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 send it to the King; he for the fame
Will fend thee hither both thy fons alive,

And

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 Sun'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 ferve 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 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, whofe hand shall go along,
For fear they die before their Pardon come.
Mar. My hand shall go.

Luc. By heav'n, it shall not go.

Tit. Sirs, ftrive no more, fuch wither'd herbs as thefe

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 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 fort,

And

And that, you'll fay, ere half an hour pafs. [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 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.-Oh, 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.

[Exit.

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. Oh! brother, fpeak with poffibilities,

And do not break into these woe-extremes.

Tit. Is not my forrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my paflions bottomlefs with them. Mar. But yet let reafon govern thy Lament. Tit. If there were reason for these miferies,

Then into limits could I bind my woes.

When heav'n doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow?

If