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twg_000000027100 | your mightiness; And shall she carry this unto her grave? CHIRON. And if she do, I would I were an eunuch. Drag hence her husband to some secret hole, And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust. TAMORA. But when ye have the honey ye desire, Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting. CHIRON. I warrant you, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027101 | madam, we will make that sure. Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy That nice-preserved honesty of yours. LAVINIA. O Tamora, thou bearest a womans face, TAMORA. I will not hear her speak; away with her! LAVINIA. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word. DEMETRIUS. Listen, fair madam: let it be your glory To see her tears; but | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027102 | be your heart to them As unrelenting flint to drops of rain. LAVINIA. When did the tigers young ones teach the dam? O, do not learn her wrath; she taught it thee; The milk thou suckst from her did turn to marble; Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny. Yet every mother breeds not sons alike. [_To Chiron_.] Do | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027103 | thou entreat her show a womans pity. CHIRON. What, wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard? LAVINIA. Tis true the raven doth not hatch a lark. Yet have I heardO, could I find it now! The lion, moved with pity, did endure To have his princely paws pared all away. Some say that ravens foster forlorn children, The whilst | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027104 | their own birds famish in their nests. O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no, Nothing so kind, but something pitiful. TAMORA. I know not what it means; away with her! LAVINIA. O, let me teach thee! For my fathers sake, That gave thee life when well he might have slain thee, Be not obdurate, open thy deaf | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027105 | ears. TAMORA. Hadst thou in person neer offended me, Even for his sake am I pitiless. Remember, boys, I poured forth tears in vain To save your brother from the sacrifice, But fierce Andronicus would not relent. Therefore away with her, and use her as you will; The worse to her, the better loved of me. LAVINIA. O Tamora, be | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027106 | called a gentle queen, And with thine own hands kill me in this place! For tis not life that I have begged so long; Poor I was slain when Bassianus died. TAMORA. What beggst thou, then? Fond woman, let me go. LAVINIA. Tis present death I beg; and one thing more That womanhood denies my tongue to tell. O, keep | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027107 | me from their worse than killing lust, And tumble me into some loathsome pit, Where never mans eye may behold my body. Do this, and be a charitable murderer. TAMORA. So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee. No, let them satisfy their lust on thee. DEMETRIUS. Away, for thou hast stayed us here too long. LAVINIA. No | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027108 | grace, no womanhood? Ah, beastly creature, The blot and enemy to our general name! Confusion fall CHIRON. Nay, then Ill stop your mouth. Bring thou her husband. This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him. [_They put Bassianuss body in the pit and exit, carrying off Lavinia._] TAMORA. Farewell, my sons. See that you make her sure. Neer | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027109 | let my heart know merry cheer indeed Till all the Andronici be made away. Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor, And let my spleenful sons this trull deflower. [_Exit._] Enter Aaron with two of Titus sons, Quintus and Martius. AARON. Come on, my lords, the better foot before. Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027110 | Where I espied the panther fast asleep. QUINTUS. My sight is very dull, whateer it bodes. MARTIUS. And mine, I promise you. Were it not for shame, Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile. [_He falls into the pit._] QUINTUS. What, art thou fallen? What subtle hole is this, Whose mouth is covered with rude-growing briers, Upon whose | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027111 | leaves are drops of new-shed blood As fresh as morning dew distilled on flowers? A very fatal place it seems to me. Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall? MARTIUS. O brother, with the dismallst object hurt That ever eye with sight made heart lament! AARON. [_Aside_.] Now will I fetch the king to find them here, That | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027112 | he thereby may have a likely guess How these were they that made away his brother. [_Exit._] MARTIUS. Why dost not comfort me, and help me out From this unhallowed and blood-stained hole? QUINTUS. I am surprised with an uncouth fear; A chilling sweat oer-runs my trembling joints. My heart suspects more than mine eye can see. MARTIUS. To prove | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027113 | thou hast a true-divining heart, Aaron and thou look down into this den, And see a fearful sight of blood and death. QUINTUS. Aaron is gone, and my compassionate heart Will not permit mine eyes once to behold The thing whereat it trembles by surmise. O, tell me who it is; for neer till now Was I a child to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027114 | fear I know not what. MARTIUS. Lord Bassianus lies berayed in blood, All on a heap, like to a slaughtered lamb, In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. QUINTUS. If it be dark, how dost thou know tis he? MARTIUS. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear A precious ring that lightens all the hole, Which, like a taper in some | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027115 | monument, Doth shine upon the dead mans earthy cheeks, And shows the ragged entrails of the pit. So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus When he by night lay bathed in maiden blood. O brother, help me with thy fainting hand, If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath, Out of this fell devouring receptacle, As hateful | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027116 | as Cocytus misty mouth. QUINTUS. Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out, Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good, I may be plucked into the swallowing womb Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus grave. I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink. MARTIUS. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help. QUINTUS. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027117 | Thy hand once more; I will not loose again, Till thou art here aloft, or I below. Thou canst not come to me. I come to thee. [_Falls in._] Enter the Emperor Saturninus and Aaron the Moor. SATURNINUS. Along with me! Ill see what hole is here, And what he is that now is leapt into it. Say, who art | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027118 | thou that lately didst descend Into this gaping hollow of the earth? MARTIUS. The unhappy sons of old Andronicus, Brought hither in a most unlucky hour, To find thy brother Bassianus dead. SATURNINUS. My brother dead! I know thou dost but jest. He and his lady both are at the lodge Upon the north side of this pleasant chase; Tis | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027119 | not an hour since I left them there. MARTIUS. We know not where you left them all alive; But, out, alas, here have we found him dead. Enter Tamora, Titus Andronicus and Lucius. TAMORA. Where is my lord the king? SATURNINUS. Here, Tamora; though grieved with killing grief. TAMORA. Where is thy brother Bassianus? SATURNINUS. Now to the bottom dost | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027120 | thou search my wound. Poor Bassianus here lies murdered. TAMORA. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ, The complot of this timeless tragedy; And wonder greatly that mans face can fold In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny. [_She giveth Saturnine a letter._] SATURNINUS. [_Reads_.] _An if we miss to meet him handsomely, Sweet huntsman, Bassianus tis we mean, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027121 | Do thou so much as dig the grave for him; Thou knowst our meaning. Look for thy reward Among the nettles at the elder-tree Which overshades the mouth of that same pit Where we decreed to bury Bassianus. Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends._ O Tamora, was ever heard the like? This is the pit, and this the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027122 | elder-tree. Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out That should have murdered Bassianus here. AARON. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold. [_Showing it._] SATURNINUS. [_To Titus_.] Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody kind, Have here bereft my brother of his life. Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison. There let them | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027123 | bide until we have devised Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them. TAMORA. What, are they in this pit? O wondrous thing! How easily murder is discovered! TITUS. High emperor, upon my feeble knee I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed, That this fell fault of my accursed sons, Accursed if the fault be proved in them SATURNINUS. If | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027124 | it be proved! You see it is apparent. Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you? TAMORA. Andronicus himself did take it up. TITUS. I did, my lord, yet let me be their bail; For by my fathers reverend tomb I vow They shall be ready at your highness will To answer their suspicion with their lives. SATURNINUS. Thou shalt | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027125 | not bail them. See thou follow me. Some bring the murdered body, some the murderers. Let them not speak a word; the guilt is plain; For, by my soul, were there worse end than death, That end upon them should be executed. TAMORA. Andronicus, I will entreat the king. Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough. TITUS. Come, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027126 | Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them. [_Exeunt severally. Attendants bearing the body._] SCENE IV. Another part of the Forest Enter the empress sons, Demetrius and Chiron with Lavinia, her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out, and ravished. DEMETRIUS. So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak, Who twas that cut thy tongue and ravished | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027127 | thee. CHIRON. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so, An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe. DEMETRIUS. See how with signs and tokens she can scrowl. CHIRON. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands. DEMETRIUS. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash; And so lets leave her to her silent walks. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027128 | CHIRON. An twere my cause, I should go hang myself. DEMETRIUS. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord. [_Exeunt Chiron and Demetrius._] Enter Marcus, from hunting. MARCUS. Who is 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027129 | do wake, some planet strike me down, That I may slumber an eternal sleep! Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands Hath lopped and hewed and made thy body bare Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in, And might not gain so great a happiness As half thy love? Why dost | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027130 | not speak to me? Alas, a crimson river of warm blood, Like to a bubbling fountain stirred with wind, Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips, Coming and going with thy honey breath. But sure some Tereus hath deflowered thee, And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue. Ah, now thou turnst away thy face for shame, And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027131 | notwithstanding all this loss of blood, As from a conduit with three issuing spouts, Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titans face Blushing to be encountered with a cloud. Shall I speak for thee, shall I say tis so? O, that I knew thy heart, and knew the beast, That I might rail at him to ease my mind. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027132 | Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopped, Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. Fair Philomela, why she but lost her tongue, And in a tedious sampler sewed her mind; But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee; A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met, And he hath cut those pretty fingers off That could have better sewed | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027133 | than Philomel. O, had the monster seen those lily hands Tremble like aspen leaves upon a lute, And make the silken strings delight to kiss them, He would not then have touched them for his life. Or had he heard the heavenly harmony Which that sweet tongue hath made, He would have dropped his knife, and fell asleep, As Cerberus | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027134 | at the Thracian poets feet. Come, let us go, and make thy father blind, For such a sight will blind a fathers eye. One hours storm will drown the fragrant meads; What will whole months of tears thy fathers eyes? Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee. O, could our mourning ease thy misery! [_Exeunt._] ACT III | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027135 | SCENE I. Rome. A street Enter the Judges and Senators, with Titus two sons Quintus and Martius bound, passing on the stage to the place of execution, and Titus going before, pleading. TITUS. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027136 | in Romes great quarrel shed, For all the frosty nights that I have watched, 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 honours lofty bed. [_Andronicus | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027137 | lieth down, and the Judges pass by him._] [_Exeunt with the prisoners as Titus continues speaking._] For these, tribunes, in the dust I write My hearts deep languor and my souls sad tears. Let my tears staunch the earths dry appetite; My sons sweet blood will make it shame and blush. O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027138 | That shall distil from these two ancient urns, Than youthful April shall with all his showers. In summers drought Ill drop upon thee still; In winter with warm tears Ill melt the snow, And keep eternal spring-time on thy face, So thou refuse to drink my dear sons blood. Enter Lucius with his weapon drawn. O reverend tribunes! O gentle | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027139 | aged men! Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death; And let me say, that never wept before, My tears are now prevailing orators. LUCIUS. O noble father, you lament in vain. The tribunes hear you not, no man is by; And you recount your sorrows to a stone. TITUS. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead. Grave tribunes, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027140 | once more I entreat of you LUCIUS. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak. TITUS. Why, tis no matter, man. If they did hear, They would not mark me; if they did mark, They would not pity me, yet plead I must, And bootless unto them. Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones, Who, though they cannot answer | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027141 | my distress, Yet in some sort they are 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 tribunes like to these. A stone is soft as wax, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027142 | tribunes more hard than stones; A stone is silent, and offendeth not, And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death. But wherefore standst thou with thy weapon drawn? LUCIUS. To rescue my two brothers from their death; For which attempt the judges have pronounced My everlasting doom of banishment. TITUS. O happy man, they have befriended thee. Why, foolish | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027143 | Lucius, dost thou not perceive That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers? Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey But me and mine. How happy art thou then, From these devourers to be banished! But who comes with our brother Marcus here? Enter Marcus with Lavinia. MARCUS. Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep; Or if not so, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027144 | thy noble heart to break. I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. TITUS. Will it consume me? Let me see it then. MARCUS. This was thy daughter. TITUS. Why, Marcus, so she is. LUCIUS. Ay me, this object kills me! TITUS. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her. Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand Hath made thee handless in thy fathers | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027145 | sight? What fool hath added water to the sea, Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy? My grief was at the height before thou camst, And now like Nilus it disdaineth bounds. Give me a sword, Ill chop off my hands too; For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain; And they have nursed this woe in feeding | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027146 | life; In bootless prayer have they been held up, And they have served me to effectless use. Now all the service I require of them Is that the one will help to cut the other. Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands, For hands to do Rome service is but vain. LUCIUS. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyred thee? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027147 | MARCUS. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts, That blabbed them with such pleasing eloquence, Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage, Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear. LUCIUS. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed? MARCUS. O, thus I found her straying in the park, Seeking to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027148 | hide herself, as doth the deer That hath received some unrecuring wound. TITUS. It was my dear, and he that wounded her Hath hurt me more than had he killed me dead. For now I stand as one upon a rock, Environed with a wilderness of sea, Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, Expecting ever when some | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027149 | envious surge Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. This way to death my wretched sons are gone; Here stands my other son, a banished man, And here my brother, weeping at my woes. But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. Had I but seen thy picture in this plight It | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027150 | would have madded me. What shall I do Now I behold thy lively body so? Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears, Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyred thee. Thy husband he is dead, and for his death Thy brothers are condemned, and dead by this. Look, Marcus! Ah, son Lucius, look on her! When I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027151 | did name her brothers, then fresh tears Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew Upon a gathered lily almost withered. MARCUS. Perchance she weeps because they killed her husband; Perchance because she knows them innocent. TITUS. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful, Because the law hath taen revenge on them. No, no, they would not do | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027152 | so foul a deed; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips, Or make some sign how I may do thee ease. Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stained, like meadows yet not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027153 | dry, With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027154 | hateful days? What shall we do? Let us that have our tongues Plot some device of further misery, To make us wondered at in time to come. LUCIUS. Sweet father, cease your tears; for at your grief See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS. Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS. Ah, Marcus, Marcus! Brother, well | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027155 | I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drowned it with thine own. LUCIUS. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS. Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs. Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee. His napkin, with his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027156 | true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this, As far from help as limbo is from bliss. Enter Aaron the Moor, alone. AARON. Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends thee this word, that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027157 | one of you, chop off your hand And send it to the king; he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive, And that shall be the ransom for their fault. TITUS. O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark That gives sweet tidings of the suns uprise? With all my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027158 | heart Ill send the emperor my hand. Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? LUCIUS. Stay, father, for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent. My hand will serve the turn. My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers lives. MARCUS. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027159 | Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And reared aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemys castle? O, none of both but are of high desert. My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. AARON. Nay, come, agree whose | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027160 | hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. MARCUS. My hand shall go. LUCIUS. By heaven, it shall not go! TITUS. Sirs, strive no more. Such withered herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. LUCIUS. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027161 | MARCUS. And for our fathers sake and mothers care, Now let me show a brothers love to thee. TITUS. Agree between you; I will spare my hand. LUCIUS. Then Ill go fetch an axe. MARCUS. But I will use the axe. [_Exeunt Lucius and Marcus._] TITUS. Come hither, Aaron; Ill deceive them both. Lend me thy hand, and I will | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027162 | give thee mine. AARON. [_Aside_.] If that be called deceit, I will be honest, And never whilst I live deceive men so. But Ill deceive you in another sort, And that youll say ere half an hour pass. [_He cuts off Tituss hand._] Enter Lucius and Marcus again. TITUS. Now stay your strife. What shall be is dispatched. Good Aaron, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027163 | give his majesty 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 sons, say I account of them As jewels purchased at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. AARON. I go, Andronicus; and for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027164 | thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. [_Aside_.] Their heads, I mean. O, how this villainy Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace, Aaron will have his soul black like his face. [_Exit._] TITUS. O, here I lift this one hand up to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027165 | heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth. If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! [_To Lavinia_.] What, wouldst thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers, Or with our sighs well breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027166 | in their melting bosoms. MARCUS. O brother, speak with possibility, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS. But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS. If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes. When heaven | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027167 | doth weep, doth not the earth oerflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea. Hark how her sighs doth flow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth. Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027168 | Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflowed and drowned; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a Messenger with two heads and a hand. MESSENGER. Worthy Andronicus, ill | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027169 | art thou repaid For that good hand thou sentst the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons, And heres thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back. Thy grief their sports, thy resolution mocked; That woe is me to think upon thy woes, More than remembrance of my fathers death. [_Exit._] MARCUS. Now let hot Etna cool | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027170 | in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! 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. LUCIUS. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027171 | name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! [_Lavinia kisses Titus._] MARCUS. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starved snake. TITUS. When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS. Now farewell, flattery; die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber. See thy two sons heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here; Thy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027172 | other banished 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. Rent 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027173 | time to storm; why art thou still? TITUS. Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS. Why dost thou laugh? It fits not with this hour. TITUS. Why, I have not another tear to shed. Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes, And make them blind with tributary tears. Then which way shall I find Revenges cave? For | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027174 | these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be returned again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027175 | 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. And, Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these arms. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027176 | must not stay. Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there. And if you love me, as I think you do, Lets kiss and part, for we have much to do. [_Exeunt Titus, Marcus and Lavinia._] LUCIUS. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father, The woefullst man that ever lived in Rome. Farewell, proud Rome, till Lucius come again; He loves | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027177 | 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 Saturnine and his empress Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen. Now will I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027178 | to the Goths, and raise a power To be revenged on Rome and Saturnine. [_Exit._] SCENE II. Rome. A Room in Tituss House. A banquet set out Enter Titus Andronicus, Marcus, Lavinia and the boy Young Lucius. TITUS. So so; now sit; and look you eat no more Than will preserve just so much strength in us As will revenge | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027179 | 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; Who when my heart, all mad with misery, Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, Then thus I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027180 | thump it down. Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs, 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027181 | tears that thy poor eyes let fall May run into that sink, and, soaking in, Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears. MARCUS. Fie, brother, fie! Teach her not thus to lay Such violent hands upon her tender life. TITUS. How now! Has sorrow made thee dote already? Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I. What violent hands | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027182 | can she lay on her life? Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands, To bid neas tell the tale twice oer 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. Fie, fie, how frantically I square my talk, As if we should | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027183 | forget we had no hands, If Marcus did not name the word of hands! Come, lets fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this. Here is no drink! Hark, Marcus, what she says; I can interpret all her martyred signs. She says she drinks no other drink but tears, Brewed with her sorrow, meshed upon her cheeks. Speechless complainer, I will | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027184 | 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. YOUNG LUCIUS. Good grandsire, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027185 | leave these bitter deep laments. Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. MARCUS. Alas, the tender boy, in passion moved, Doth weep to see his grandsires heaviness. TITUS. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027186 | knife? MARCUS. At that that I have killed, my lord, a fly. TITUS. Out on thee, murderer! Thou killst my heart; Mine eyes are cloyed 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. MARCUS. Alas, my lord, I have but killed | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027187 | a fly. TITUS. But? How if that fly had a father and mother? How would he hang his slender gilded wings And buzz lamenting doings in the air! Poor harmless fly, That with his pretty buzzing melody, Came here to make us merry, and thou hast killed him. MARCUS. Pardon me, sir; twas a black ill-favoured fly, Like to the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027188 | empress Moor; therefore I killed him. TITUS. O, O, O! 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. Theres for thyself, and thats for Tamora. Ah, sirrah! Yet, I think, we are | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027189 | not brought so low But that between us we can kill a fly That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. MARCUS. Alas, poor man, grief has so wrought on him, He takes false shadows for true substances. TITUS. Come, take away. Lavinia, go with me. Ill to thy closet, and go read with thee Sad stories chanced in the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027190 | times of old. Come, boy, and go with me. Thy sight is young, And thou shalt read when mine begin to dazzle. [_Exeunt._] ACT IV SCENE I. Rome. Before Tituss House Enter Young Lucius and Lavinia running after him, and the boy flies from her with his books under his arm. Enter Titus and Marcus. YOUNG LUCIUS. Help, grandsire, help! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027191 | My aunt Lavinia Follows me everywhere, I know not why. Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes! Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean. MARCUS. Stand by me, Lucius. Do not fear thine aunt. TITUS. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. YOUNG LUCIUS Ay, when my father was in Rome she did. MARCUS. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027192 | What means my niece Lavinia by these signs? TITUS. Fear her not, Lucius. Somewhat doth she mean. See, Lucius, see how much she makes of thee. Somewhither would she have thee go with her. Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care Read to her sons than she hath read to thee Sweet poetry and Tullys _Orator_. MARCUS. Canst thou not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027193 | guess wherefore she plies thee thus? YOUNG LUCIUS. 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 for sorrow. That made me to fear, Although, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027194 | my lord, I know my noble aunt Loves me as dear as eer my 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. MARCUS. Lucius, I will. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027195 | [_Lavinia turns over with her stumps the books which Lucius has let fall._] TITUS. How now, Lavinia? Marcus, what means this? 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 skilled. Come and take choice of all my library, And so beguile thy sorrow, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027196 | till the heavens Reveal the damned contriver of this deed. Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus? MARCUS. I think she means that there were more than one Confederate in the fact. Ay, more there was, Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge. TITUS. Lucius, what s that she tosseth so? YOUNG LUCIUS. Grandsire, tis Ovids | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027197 | _Metamorphosis_. My mother gave it me. MARCUS. For love of her thats gone, Perhaps, she culled it from among the rest. TITUS. Soft! So 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027198 | of thy annoy. MARCUS. See, brother, see! Note how she quotes the leaves. TITUS. Lavinia, wert thou thus surprised, sweet girl, Ravished and wronged, as Philomela was, Forced in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods? See, see! Ay, such a place there is where we did hunt, O, had we never, never hunted there! Patterned by that the poet here | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027199 | describes, By nature made for murders and for rapes. MARCUS. O, why should nature build so foul a den, Unless the gods delight in tragedies? TITUS. Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none but friends, What Roman lord it was durst do the deed. Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, That left the camp to sin in Lucrece | 60 | gutenberg |
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