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This after me. I have writ my name |
Without the help of any hand at all. |
Curs'd be that heart that forc'd us to this shift! |
Write thou, good niece, and here display at last |
What God will have discovered 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 stumps, and writes] |
O, do ye read, my lord, what she hath writ? |
TITUS. 'Stuprum- Chiron- Demetrius.' |
MARCUS. What, what! the lustful sons of Tamora |
Performers of this heinous bloody deed? |
TITUS. Magni Dominator poli, |
Tam lentus audis scelera? tam lentus vides? |
MARCUS. O, calm thee, gentle lord! although I know |
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 fere |
And father of that chaste dishonoured 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. |
TITUS. 'Tis sure enough, an you knew how; |
But if you hunt these bear-whelps, then beware: |
The dam will wake; and if she wind ye once, |
She's with the lion deeply still in league, |
And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back, |
And when he sleeps will she do what she list. |
You are a young huntsman, Marcus; let 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 our lesson, then? Boy, what say you? |
BOY. I say, my lord, that if I were a man |
Their mother's bedchamber should not be safe |
For these base bondmen to the yoke of Rome. |
MARCUS. Ay, that's my boy! Thy father hath full oft |
For his ungrateful country done the like. |
BOY. And, uncle, so will I, an if I live. |
TITUS. Come, go with me into mine armoury. |
Lucius, I'll fit thee; and withal my boy |
Shall carry from me to the Empress' sons |
Presents that I intend to send them both. |
Come, come; thou'lt do my message, wilt thou not? |
BOY. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire. |
TITUS. No, boy, not so; I'll teach thee another course. |
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 TITUS, LAVINIA, and YOUNG LUCIUS |
MARCUS. 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 foemen's marks upon his batt'red shield, |
But yet so just that he will not revenge. |
Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus! Exit |
SCENE II. |
Rome. The palace |
Enter AARON, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, at one door; and at the other door, |
YOUNG LUCIUS and another with a bundle of weapons, and verses writ upon them |
CHIRON. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius; |
He hath some message to deliver us. |
AARON. Ay, some mad message from his mad grandfather. |
BOY. My lords, with all the humbleness I may, |
I greet your honours from Andronicus- |
[Aside] And pray the Roman gods confound you both! |
DEMETRIUS. Gramercy, lovely Lucius. What's the news? |
BOY. [Aside] That you are both decipher'd, that's the news, |
For villains mark'd with rape.- May it please you, |
My grandsire, well advis'd, hath sent by me |
The goodliest weapons of his armoury |
To gratify your honourable youth, |
The hope of Rome; for so he bid 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 YOUNG LUCIUS and attendant |
DEMETRIUS. What's here? A scroll, and written round about. |
Let's see: |
[Reads] 'Integer vitae, scelerisque purus, |
Non eget Mauri iaculis, nec arcu.' |
CHIRON. O, 'tis a verse in Horace, I know it well; |
I read it in the grammar long ago. |
AARON. Ay, just- a verse in Horace. Right, you have it. |
[Aside] Now, what a thing it is to be an ass! |
Here's no sound jest! The old man hath found their guilt, |
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