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Dem. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to
And so let's leave her to her silent walks.
Chi. An 'twere my case, I should go hang myself. Dem. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord.
[Exeunt DEMETRIUS and Chiron.
Mar. Who's this,-my niece, that flies away so
fast? Cousin, a word; Where is your husband ? If I do dream, 'would all my wealth would wake me! If I do wake, some planet strike me down, That I may slumber in eternal sleep!-Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands Have lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare Of her two branches ? those sweet ornaments, Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep
And might not gain so great a happiness,
Shall I speak for thee ? shall I say,
SCENE I. Rome. A Street.
Enter Senators, Tribunes, and Officers of Justice, with
Martius and QUINTUS, bound, passing on to the Place of Execution : Titus going before, pleading.
Tit. Hear me, grave fathers ! noble tribunes, stay! For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept ; For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed; For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd ; And for these bitter tears, which now you see Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks; Be pitiful to my condemned sons, Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought! For two and twenty sons I never wept, Because they died in honour's lofty bed. For these, these tribunes, in the dust I write
[Throwing himself on the Ground. My heart's deep languor, and my soul's sad tears. Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite; My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush.
[Exeunt Senators, Tribunes, &c. with the
Enter Lucius, with his Sword drawn.
Luc. O, noble father, you lament in vain;
Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead: Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of
you. Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak.
Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, man: if they did hear, They would not mark me; or, if they did mark, All bootless to them, they'd not pity me. Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones; Who, though they cannot answer my distress, Yet in some sort they're better than the tribunes, For that they will not intercept my tale : When I do weep, they humbly at my feet Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me; And, were they but attired in grave weeds, Rome could afford no tribune like to these. A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than stones : A stone is silent, and offendeth not; And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death. But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn?
Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their death": For which attempt, the judges have pronounc'd My everlasting doom of banishment. Tit. O happy man! they have befriended thee.
Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive,
Enter MARCUS and LAVINIA.
Mar. Titus, prepare thy noble eyes to weep ;
Tit. Will it consume me? let me see it then.
Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her:-
5 The river Nile.