Do then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our
prayers;
Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin 3 dim,
And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds,
When they do hug him in their melting bosoms.
Marc. O brother, speak with possibilities,
And do not break into these deep extremes.
Tit. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom?
Then be my passions 4 bottomless with them.
Marc. But yet let reason govern thy lament.
Tit. If there were reason for these miseries,
Then into limits could I bind my woes:
When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow?
If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,
Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swoln face?
And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? 5
I am the sea; hark, how her signs 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.
Enter a Messenger, with two Heads and a Hand.
Mess. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid
For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor.
Here are the heads of thy two noble sons;
And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back;
Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd:
That woe is me to think upon thy woes,
More than remembrance of my father's death.
Marc. Now let hot Etna cool in Sicily,
And be my heart an ever-burning fire!
These miseries are more than may be borne !
To weep with them that weep, doth ease some deal,
But sorrow flouted at is double death.
Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a
wound,
And yet detested life not shrink thereat!
That ever death should let life bear his name,
Where life hath no more interest but to breathe!
[LAVINIA kisses him.
Marc. Alas, poor heart that kiss is comfortless,
As frozen water to a starved snake.
Tit. When will this fearful slumber have an end?
Marc. Now, farewell, flattery: Die, Andronicus:
Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads;
Thy warlike hand; thy mangled daughter here;
Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight
Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I,
Even like a stony image, cold and numb.
Ah! now no more will I control thy griefs :
Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand
Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight
The closing up of our most wretched eyes!
Now is a time to storm; why art thou still?
You heavy people, circle me about;
That I may turn me to each one of you,
And swear unto my soul 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 employed in these things;
Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth..
As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight:
Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay:
Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there:
And, if you love me, as I think you do,
Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do.
[Exeunt Tirus, MARCUS, and LAVINIA.
Luc. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father;
The woeful'st man that ever liv'd in Rome!
Farewell, proud Rome! till Lucius come again,
He leaves his pledges dearer than his life.
Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister;
O, 'would thou wert as thou 'tofore hast been!
But now nor Lucius, nor Lavinia lives,
But in oblivion, and hateful griefs,
If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs;
And make proud Saturninus and his empress
Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen.
Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power,
To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine.
SCENE II. - A Room in Titus's House.
A Banquet set out.
Enter TITUS, MARCUS, LAVINIA, and young Lucius,
a Boy.
Tit. So, so; now sit and look you eat no more
Than will preserve just so much strength in us
As will revenge these bitter woes of ours.
Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot;
Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands
And cannot passionate our tenfold grief
With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine
Is left to tyrannize upon my breast;
And when my heart, all mad with misery,
Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,
Then thus I thump it down.
Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs!
[To LAVINIA.
When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating,
Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still.
Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans;
Or get some little knife between thy teeth,
And just against thy heart make thou a hole;
That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall,
May run into that sink, and soaking in,
Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears.
Marc. Fye, brother, fye! teach her not thus to lay
Such violent hands upon her tender life.
Tit. How, now! has sorrow made thee dote
already?
Marc. Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I,
Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed:
Besides this sorrow is an enemy,
And would usurp upon my wat❜ry eyes,
And make them blind with tributary tears;
Then which way shall I find revenge's cave?
For these two heads do seem to speak to me;
And threat me, I shall never come to bliss,
Till all these mischiefs be return'd again,
Even in their throats that have committed them.
Come, let me see what task I have to do. -
'The sky.
4 Sufferings. 5 Stir, bustic.
What violent hands can she lay on her life!
Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands; -
To bid Æneas tell the tale twice o'er,
How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable?
O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands;
Lest we remember still, that we have none. —
Fye, fye, how frantickly I square my talk!
As if we should forget we had no hands,
If Marcus did not name the word of hands!
Come, let's fall to; and,`gentle girl, eat this:
Here is no drink! Hark, Marcus, what she says;
I can interpret all her martyr'd signs;
She says, she drinks no other drink but tears,
Brew'd with her sorrows, mesh'd upon her cheeks:
Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought;
In thy dumb action will I be as perfect,
As begging hermits in their holy prayers:
Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven,
Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign,
But I, of these, will wrest an alphabet,
And, by still practice, learn to know thy meaning.
Boy. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep
laments:
Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale.
Marc. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd,
Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness.
Tit. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears, And tears will quickly melt thy life away.
[MARCUS strikes the Dish with a Knife. What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife? Marc. At that that I have kill'd, my lord; a fly. Tit. Out on thee, murderer! thou kill'st my heart; Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny: A deed of death, done on the innocent, Becomes not Titus' brother: Get thee gone; I see thou art not for my company.
Marc. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and mother? How would he hang his slender gilded wings,
![[blocks in formation]](https://books.google.cl/books/content?id=4xg4AAAAYAAJ&output=html_text&pg=PA776&img=1&zoom=3&hl=en&q=hand&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U3jebpmOSmuBrEN540wKy8XQwdH9w&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=511,106,412,101)
Marc. Pardon me, sir; 'twas a black ill-favour'dfly, Like to the empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him. Tit. 0, 0, 0,
Then pardon me for reprehending thee,
For thou hast done a charitable deed.
Give me thy knife, I will insult on him;
Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor,
Come hither purposely to poison me.
There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora.
Ah, sirrah! 9.
Yet I do think we are not brought so low,
But that, between us, we can kill a fly,
That comes in likness of a coal-black Moor.
Marc. Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on
him,
He takes false shadows for true substances.
Tit. Come, take away. — Lavinia, go with me: I'll to thy closet; and go read with thee Sad stories, chanced in the times of old. — Come, boy, and go with me; thy sight is young, And thou shalt read, when mine begins to dazzle. [Exeunt.
SCENE I. Before Titus's House. Enter TITUS and MARCUS. Then enter young LUCIUS, LAVINIA running after him. Boy. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia Follows me every where, I know not why Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes! Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean. Marc. Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear thine
Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. Boy. Ay, when my father was in Rome, she did. Marc. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs?
Some book there is that she desires to see: -
Which is it, girl, of these? Open them, boy. -
But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd;
Come, and take choice of all my library,
And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens
Reveal the vile contriver of this deed. ·
Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus?
Marc. I think, she means, that there was more
than one
Tit. Fear her not, Lucius: — Somewhat doth she Confederate in the fact :
:- Ay, more there was: -
See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee:
Somewhither would she have thee go with her.
Ay, boy, Cornelia never with more care
Read to her sons, than she hath read to thee,
Sweet poetry, and Tully's Orator.
Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus?
Boy. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess,
Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her:
For I have heard my grandsire say full oft,
Extremity of griefs would make men mad;
And I have read that Hecuba of Troy
Ran mad through sorrow: That made me to fear:
Although, my lord, I know, my noble aunt
Loves me as dear as e'er iny mother did,
And would not, but in fury, fright my youth:
Which made me down to throw my books, and fly;
Causeless, perhaps; But pardon me, sweet aunt:
And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go,
I will most willingly attend your ladyship.
An allusion to brewing. 7 Constant or continual practice. Tully's Treatise on Eloquence, entitled Orator.
Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge. Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so? Boy. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphosis; My mother gave 't me.
For love of her that's gone, Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest.
Tit. Soft! see, how busily she turns the leaves! Help her :
What would she find; - Lavinia, shall I read? This is the tragic tale of Philomel,
And treats of Tereus' treason, and his rape;
And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy.
Marc. See, brother, see; note, how she quotes 1
Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,
Inspire me, that I may this treason find!
My lord, look here ; · Look here, Lavinia :
This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst,
This after me, when I have writ my name
Without the help of any hand at all.
[He writes his Name with his Staff, and guides
it with his Feet and Mouth.
Curs'd be that heart, that forc'd us to this shift! Write thou, good niece; and here display, at last, What Heaven will have discover'd for revenge: Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain, That we may know the traitors, and the truth!
[She takes the Staff in her Mouth, and guides it with her Stumps, and writes.
Tit. O, do you read, my lord, what she hath writ? Stuprum Chiron Demetrius. Marc. What, what! - the lustful sons of Tamora Performers of this heinous, bloody deed?
Tit. Magne Dominator poli,
Tam lentus audis scelera? tam lentus vides?
Tit. No, boy, not so; I'll teach thee another
Lavinia, come : Marcus, look to my house;
Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court;
Ay, marry, will we, sir: and we'll be waited on.
[Exeunt Tirus, LAVINIA, and Boy.
Marc. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan,
And not relent, or not compassion him?
Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy;
That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart,
Than foe-men's marks upon his batter'd shield:
But yet so just, that he will not revenge:
Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus!
SCENE II. A Room in the Palace. Enter AARON, CHIRON, and DEMETRIUS, at one Door; at another Door, young Lucius, and an Attendant, with a bundle of Weapons, and Verses writ upon them.
Chi. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius; He hath some message to deliver to us.
Aar. Ay, some mad message from his mad grandfather.
Boy. My lords, with all the humbleness I may, I greet your honours from Andronicus; And pray the Roman gods, confound you both.
Dem. Gramercy 5, lovely Lucius: What's the news? Boy. That you are both decipher'd, that's the news, For villains mark'd with rape. [Aside.] May it please you,
My grandsire, well advis'd, hath sent by me
Marc. O, calm thee, gentle lord! although I The goodliest weapons of his armoury,
There is enough written upon this earth,
To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts,
And arm the minds of infants to exclaims.
My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel;
And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope;
And swear with me,—as with the woeful feere 3,
And father, of that chaste dishonour'd dame,
Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape,
That we will prosecute, by good advice,
Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths,
And see their blood, or die with this reproach.
Tit. 'Tis sure enough, an you knew how,
But if you hurt these bear-whelps, then beware:
The dam will wake; and, if she wind you once,
She's with the lion deeply still in league,
And, when he sleeps, will she do what she list.
You're a young huntsman, Marcus; let it alone;
And, come, I will go get a leaf of brass,
And with a gad of steel will write these words,
And lay it by: the angry northern wind
Will blow these sands, like Sibyl's leaves, abroad,
And where's your lesson then?-Boy, what say you?
Boy. I say, my lord, that if I were a man,
Their mother's bed-chamber should not be safe
For these bad bondmen to the yoke of Rome.
To gratify your honourable youth,
The hope of Rome; for so he bade me say;
And so I do, and with his gifts present
Your lordships, that whenever you have need,
You may be armed and appointed well :
And so I leave you both, [Aside.] like bloody villains.
[Exeunt Boy and Attendant.
Dem. What's here? A scroll; and written round about?
Marc. Ay, that's my boy! thy father hath full oft And now, young lords, was't not a happy star
Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so,
Captives, to be advanced to this height?
It did me good, before the palace gate
To brave the tribune in his brother's hearing.
Dem. But me more good, to see so great a lord
Basely insinuate, and send us gifts.
Aar. Had he not reason, lord Demetrius?
Did you not use his daughter very friendly?
5 i. c. Grand merci; great thanks.
Dem. Why do the emperor's trumpets flourish thus? | This, before all the world, do I prefer ;
Chi. Belike for joy the emperor hath a son.
Dem. Soft; who comes here?
Enter a Nurse, with a Black-a-moor Child in her
Good morrow, lords: O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor? Aar. Well, more, or less, or ne'er a whit at all, Here Aaron is: and what with Aaron now? Nur. O, gentle Aaron, we are all undone ! Now help, or woe betide thee evermore!
Aar. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep? What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine arms? Nur. O, that which I would hide from heaven's eye,
Our empress' shame, and stately Rome's disgrace; — She is deliver'd, lords, she is deliver'd.
Nur. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue: Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad Amongst the fairest breeders of our clime. The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal, And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point. Aar. Out, out, you wretch! is black so base a hue?
This, maugre 7 all the world, will I keep safe
Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome.
Dem. By this our mother is for ever sham'd.
Chi. Rome will despise her for this foul escape.
Nur. The emperor, in his rage, will doom her death.
Chi. I blush to think upon this ignomy. 8
Aar. Why, there's the privilege your beauty bears:
Fye, treacherous hue! that will betray with blushing
The close enacts and counsels of the heart!
Here's a young lad fram'd of another leer?:
Look how the black slave smiles upon the father;
As who should say, Old lad, I am thine own.
He is your brother, lords; sensibly fed
Of that self-blood that first gave life to you;
Although my seal be stamped in his face.
Nur. Aaron, what shall I say unto the empress?
Dem. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done,
And we will all subscribe to thy advice;
Save thou the child, so we may all be safe.
Aar. Then sit we down, and let us all consult. My son and I will have the wind of you : Keep there: Now talk at pleasure of your safety. [They sit on the Ground. Dem. How many women saw this child of his? Aar. Why so, brave lords! when we all join in league,
I am a lamb but if you brave the Moor,
The chafed boar, the mountain lioness,
The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms. —
But, say again, how many saw the child?
Nur. Cornelia the midwife, and myself,
And no one else but the deliver'd empress.
Aar. The emperess, the midwife, and yourself:
Done! that which thou Two may keep counsel when the third's away:
Go to the empress; tell her, this I said:
Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom, sure. Dem. Villain, what hast thou done? dar.
Thou hast undone our mother.
Dem. Woe to her chance, accurs'd her loathed choice!
Woe to the offspring of so foul a fiend!
Chi. It shall not live.
![[blocks in formation]](https://books.google.cl/books/content?id=4xg4AAAAYAAJ&output=html_text&pg=PA778&img=1&zoom=3&hl=en&q=hand&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U3uQcVcT5KgcRJ_GvmBjfG-jbOuJw&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=110,869,355,20)
Nur. Aaron, it must: the mother wills it so. Aar. What, must it, nurse? then let no man but I, Do execution on my flesh and blood.
Dem. I'll broach the tadpole on my rapier's point;
Nurse, give it me; my sword shall soon despatch it.
Aar. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up.
[Takes the Child from the Nurse, and draws.
Stay, murderous villains! will you kill your brother?
Now, by the burning tapers of the sky,
He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point,
That touches this my first-born son and heir!
I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus,
With all his threat'ning band of Typhon's brood,
Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war,
Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands.
What, what; ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys!
Ye white-lim'd walls! ye ale-house painted signs!
Coal black is better than another hue,
In that it scorns to bear another hue:
For all the water in the ocean
Can never turn a swan's black legs to white,
Although she lave them hourly in the flood.
Tell the empress from me, I am of age
To keep mine own; excuse it how she can.
Dem. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus?
Aar. My mistress is my mistress; this, myself;
The vigour and the picture of my youth:
![[blocks in formation]](https://books.google.cl/books/content?id=4xg4AAAAYAAJ&output=html_text&pg=PA778&img=1&zoom=3&hl=en&q=hand&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U3uQcVcT5KgcRJ_GvmBjfG-jbOuJw&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=287,1393,49,19)
[Stabbing her. Weke, Weke! - so cries a pig prepar'd to the spit. Dem. What mean'st thou, Aaron! Wherefore didst thou this?
Aar. O, lord, sir, 'tis a deed of policy : Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours? A long-tongu'd babbling gossip? no, lords, no. And now be it known to you my full intent. Not far, one Muliteus lives, my countryman ; His wife but yesternight was brought to bed; His child is like to her, fair as you are : Go pack with him, and give the mother gold, And tell them both the circumstance of all ; And how by this their child shall be advanc'd And be received for the emperor's heir, And substituted in the place of mine, To calm this tempest whirling in the court; And let the emperor dandle him for his own. Hark ye, lords, ye see, that I have given her physick, [Pointing to the Nurse. And you must needs bestow her funeral; The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms: This done, see that you take no longer days, But send the midwife presently to me. The midwife, and the nurse well made away, Then let the ladies tattle what they please. Chi. Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air With secrets. Dem. For this care of Tamora, Herself, and hers, are highly bound to thee. [Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON bearing of the Nurse.
![[blocks in formation]](https://books.google.cl/books/content?id=4xg4AAAAYAAJ&output=html_text&pg=PA778&img=1&zoom=3&hl=en&q=hand&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U3uQcVcT5KgcRJ_GvmBjfG-jbOuJw&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=564,1379,213,19)
1 Contrive, bargain with.
Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus.
[He gives them the Arrows.
Ad Jovem, that's for you:- Here, ad Apollinem:
Ad Martem, that's for myself:
Aar. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies; | To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs: There to dispose this treasure in mine arms, And secretly to greet the empress' friends. Come on, you thick-lipp'd slave, I'll bear you hence; For it is you that puts us to our shifts: I'll make you feed on berries, and on roots, And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat, And cabin in a cave; and bring you up To be a warrior, and command a camp.
SCENE III. — A Publick Place.
Enter TITUS, bearing Arrows, with Letters at the Ends of them; with him MARCUS, young LUCIUS, and other Gentlemen, with Bows.
Tit. Come, Marcus, come; - Kinsman, this is the way:
Sir boy, now let me see your archery;
Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight:
Terras Astræa reliquit :
Be you remembered, Marcus, she's gone, she's fled.
Sir, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall
Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets;
Happily you may find her in the sea;
Yet there's as little justice as at land:
No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it;
'Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade,
And pierce the inmost centre of the earth:
Then, when you come to Pluto's region,
I pray you, deliver him this petition:
Tell him, it is for justice, and for aid :
And that it comes from old Andronicus,
Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome.
Ah, Rome! Well, well; I made thee miserable,
What time I threw the people's suffrages
On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me. —
Go, get you gone; and pray be careful all,
And leave you not a man of war unsearch'd;
This wicked emperor may have shipp'd her hence,
And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.
Marc. O, Publius, is this not a heavy case,
To see thy noble uncle thus distract?
Pub. Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns,
By day and night to attend him carefully;
And feed his humour kindly as we may,
Till time beget some careful remedy.
Marc. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy.
Join with the Goths; and with revengeful war
Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude,
And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.
Tit. Publius, how now? how now, my masters?
What,
Have you met with her?
Pub. No, my good lord; but Plutus sends you
word
If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall:
Marry, for Justice, she is so employ'd,
Here, boy, to Pallas: - Here, to Mercury:
To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine, -
You were as good to shoot against the wind.
To it, boy. Marcus, loose when I bid:
O' my word I have written to effect;
There's not a god left unsolicited.
Marc. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court;
We will afflict the emperor in his pride.
Tit. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot.] O, well said, Lucius!
Marc. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon ; Your letter is with Jupiter by this.
Tit. Why, there it goes: Jove give your lordship joy.
Enter a Clown, with a Basket and two Pigeons. News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is
Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters?
Shall I have justice? what says Jupiter?
Clo. Ho! the gibbet-maker? he says, that he hath taken them down again, for the man must not be hanged till the next week.
Tit. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee? Clo. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank with him in all my life.
Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier? Clo. Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else. Tit. Why didst thou not come from heaven? Clo. From heaven? alas, sir, I never came there. Why, I am going with my pigeons to the tribunal plebs, to take up a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the emperial's men.
Marc. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be, to serve for your oration; and let him deliver the pigeons to the emperor from you.
Tit. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the emperor with a grace?
Clo. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all
Tit. Sirrah, come hither, make no more ado,
But give your pigeons to the emperor :
By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.
Hold, hold; - mean while, here's money for thy
charges.
He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else, pigeons; and then look for your reward, I'll be at So that perforce you must needs stay a time.
hand, sir: see you do it bravely.
Clo. I warrant you, sir; let me alone.
Tit. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come, let me
|