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.
SCENE III. Enter Aaron.
Aar. Titus Andronicus, my Lord the Emperor
Sends thee this word, that if thou love thy fons,
Let Marcus, Lucius, or thy felf, old Titus,
any one of you chop off your hand,
And fend it to the King; he for the fame
Will fend thee hither both thy fons alive,
And that shall be the ransom for their fault.
Tit. Oh gracious Emperor! oh gentle Aaron !
Did ever raven fing fo like a lark,
That gives sweet tidings of the fun's uprife?
With all my heart, I'll fend the Emperor
My hand; good Aaron, wilt thou 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 fpare 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 battel-ax,
Writing deftruction on the enemies cask?
Oh none of both but are of high defert:
My hand hath been but idle, let it serve
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 fpare my hand.
Lus. Then I'll go fetch an 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 that you'll fay ere half an hour pass.
[He cuts off Titus's band.
Enter Lucius and Marcus again.
Tit. Now ftay your ftrife; what fhall be, is dispatcht: 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, becaufe 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 villainy 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.
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. Oh brother, fpeak with poffibilities,
And do not break into these two extreams.
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 reafon 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-fwoln 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 must 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 must I vomit them;
Then give me leave, for lofers will have leave
To eafe their ftomachs with their bitter tongues.
Enter a Meflenger bringing in two beads and a band.
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 fent 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 Etna cool in Sicily,
And be my heart an ever-burning hell!
Thefe miferies are more than may be born.
To weep with them that weep doth ease fome deal,
But forrow flouted at is double death.
Luc. Ah that this fight fhould make fo deep a wound,
And yet detefted life not fhrink thereat;
That ever death fhould let life bear his name,
Where life hath no more intereft but to breathe!
Mar. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless,
As frozen water to a ftarved fnake.
Tit. When will this fearful flumber have an end?
Mar. Now farewel flattery! die, Andronicus;
Thou dost not flumber; fee thy two fons heads,
Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here
Thy other banifh'd fon with this dire fight
Struck pale and bloodless, and thy brother I,
Even like a ftony image, cold and numb.
Ah now no more will I controul thy griefs,
Rend off thy filver hair, thy other hand
Gnawing with thy teeth, and be this dismal fight
The closing up of our most wretched eyes;
Now is a time to ftorm, why art thou still?
Mar. Why doft thou laugh? it fits not with this hour.
Tit. Why I have not another tear to fhed;
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 thefe mifchiefs 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 employed 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 thee the Goths, and raise an army there;
And if you love me, as I think you do,
Let's kifs and part, for we have much to do.
SCENE V. Manet Lucius.
Luc. Farewel, Andronicus, my noble father,
The woful'ft man that ever liv'd in Rome;
Farewel, proud Rome; 'till Lucius come again,
He leaves his pledges dearer than his life;
Farewel, Lavinia, my noble fifter,
O would thou wert as thou tofore haft 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 Emprefs
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 VI.
An Apartment in Titus's Houfe. A Banquet.
Enter Titus, Marcus, Lavinia, and the Boy Lucius.
Tit. So, fo, now fit, and look you eat no more
Than will preferve just so much strength in us,
As will revenge thefe bitter woes of ours.
Marcus, unknit that forrow-wreathen knot;
Thy neice and I, poor creatures, want our hands,
And cannot paffionate our tenfold grief
With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine
Is left to tyrannize upon my breaft,
And when my heart, all mad with misery,
Beats in this hollow prifon of my flesh,
Then thus I thump it down.
Thou map of woe, that thus doft talk in figns,
When thy poor heart beats with outragious beating,
Thou caft not ftrike it thus to make it ftill;
Wound it with fighing, girl, kill it with groans;
Or get fome 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 fink, and foaking in,
Drown the lamenting fool in fea-falt tears.
Mar. Fie, brother, fie, teach her not thus to lay
Such violent hands upon her tender life.
Tit. How now! has forrow made thee doat already?
Why, Marcus, no man fhould be mad but I ;
What violent hands can fhe lay on her life?
Ah, wherefore doft thou urge the name of hands?
To bid Æneas tell the tale twice o'er,
How Troy was burnt, and he made miferable?
O handle not the theme, no talk of hands,
Left we remember ftill that we have none.
Fie, fie, how frantickly I fquare 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 fhe fays,
This fcene is not in the old edition.
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