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 in Rome's great quarrel shed;
For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd;
And for these bitter tear, 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 dy'd 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. [Tribunes, &c. pass Titus, and Exeunt with the Prisoners.
Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite;
My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush.
&blquo;O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain* ^note,
&blquo;That shall distil from these two ancient urns,
&blquo;Than youthful April shall with all his showers:
&blquo;In summer's drought, I'll drop upon thee still;
&blquo;In winter, with warm tears I'll melt the snow,
&blquo;And keep eternal spring-time on thy face,
&blquo;So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood. Enter Lucius, with his sword drawn.
O reverend tribunes! gentle, aged men!
Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death;

And let me say, that never wept before,
My tears are now prevailing orators.

Luc.
O noble father, you lament in vain;
The tribunes hear you not, no man is by,
And you recount your sorrows to a stone.

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: [rises.] if they did hear,
They would not mark me; or, if they did mark,
All bootless unto them, they would not pity me.
&blquo;Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones;
&blquo;Who, though they cannot answer my distress,
&blquo;Yet in some sort are better than the tribunes,
&blquo;For that they will not intercept my tale:
&blquo;When I do weep, they humbly at my feet
&blquo;Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me;
&blquo;And, were they but attired in grave weeds,
&blquo;Rome could afford no tribune like to these.
&blquo;A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than stones:
&blquo;A stone is silent and offendeth not;
&blquo;And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death,
But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn* ^note?

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,
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, and Lavinia.

Mar.
Titus, prepare thy noble eyes to weep;
Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break;
I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.

Tit.
Will it consume me? let me see it then.

Mar.
This was thy daughter.

Tit.
Why, Marcus, so she is.

Luc.
Ah me! this object kills me!

Tit.
Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her.—
Speak, my Lavinia, what accursed hand
Hath made thee handless in thy father's 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 cam'st;
And now, like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds.—
Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too:
For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain;
And they have nurs'd this woe, in feeding life;
In bootless prayer have they been held up* ^note,
And they have serv'd 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.

Luc.
Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee?

Mar.
O, that delightful engine of her thoughts,
That blab'd them with such pleasing eloquence,
Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage;
Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung
Sweet-vary'd notes, enchanting every ear.

Luc.
O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed?

Mar.
O, thus I found her, straying in the park,
Seeking to hide herself; as doth the deer,
That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound.

&blquo;Tit.
&blquo;It was my deer; and he, that wounded her,
&blquo;Hath hurt me more than had he kill'd me dead:
&blquo;For now I stand as one upon a rock,
&blquo;Environ'd with a wilderness of sea;
&blquo;Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave,
&blquo;Expecting ever when some envious surge

&blquo;Will in his brinish-bowels swallow him† ^note.
&blquo;This way to death my wretched sons are gone;
&blquo;Here stands my other son, a banish'd man;
&blquo;And here my brother, weeping at my woes:
&blquo;But that, which gives my soul the greatest spurn,
&blquo;Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul.—
&blquo;Had I but seen thy picture in this plight,
&blquo;It would have madded me: What shall I do,
&blquo;Now I behold thy lovely body so?
&blquo;Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears;
&blquo;Nor tongue, to tell me who hath martyr'd thee:
&blquo;Thy husband he is dead; and, for his death,
&blquo;Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this:—
&blquo;Look, Marcus! ah, son Lucius, look on her!
&blquo;When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears
&blquo;Stood on her cheeks; as doth the honey-dew
&blquo;Upon a gather'd lilly almost wither'd.

&blquo;Mar.
&blquo;Perchance, she weeps because they kill'd her husband:
&blquo;Perchance, because she knows them innocent.

Tit.
&blquo;If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful,
&blquo;Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them.—
&blquo;No, no, they would not do so foul a deed;
&blquo;Witness the sorrow that their sister makes.—
Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips;
Or make some sign how I may do thee ease:
&blquo;Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius,
&blquo;And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain;
&blquo;Looking all downwards, to behold our cheeks
&blquo;How they are stain'd; like meadows, yet not dry
&blquo;With miry slime left on them by a flood?
&blquo;And in the fountain shall we gaze so long,
&blquo;'Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness,
&blquo;And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears?
&blquo;Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine?
&blquo;Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shews
&blquo;Pass the remainder of our hateful days?

What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues,
Plot some device of further misery,
To make us wonder'd at in time to come.

Luc.
Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief,
See, how my wretched sister sobs and weeps.

Mar.
Patience, dear niece;—good Titus, dry thine eyes.

Tit.
Ah, Marcus, Marcus, brother, well I wote,
Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine,
For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own.

Luc.
Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks.

Tit.
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 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† ^note. Enter Aaron.

Aar.
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 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.

Tit.
O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron!
Did ever raven sing so like a lark,
That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise?
With all my heart I'll send the king my hand;
Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off* ^note?

Luc.
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.

Mar.
Which of your hands hath not defended Rome,
And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe,
Writing destruction on the enemies' casque?
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.

Aar.
Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along,
For fear they die before their pardon come.

Mar.
My hand shall go.

Luc.
By heaven, it shall not go.

Tit.
Sirs, strive no more, such wither'd herbs as these
Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.

Luc.
Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son,
Let me redeem my brothers both from death.

Mar.
And, for our father's sake, and mother's care,
Now let me shew a brother's love to thee.

Tit.
Agree between you, I will spare my hand.

Luc.
Then I'll go fetch an axe.

Mar.
But I will use the axe. [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, whilst I live, deceive men so:—
But I'll deceive you in another sort;
And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. [Aside. [Cuts off Titus's hand. Re-enter Lucius and Marcus.

Tit.
Now stay your strife: what shall be, is dispatch'd.—
Good Aaron, 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 purchas'd at an easy price;
And yet dear too, because I bought mine own.

Aar.
I go, Andronicus: and, for thy hand,
Look by and by to have thy sons with thee:—

Their heads, I mean. O, 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 soul black like his face* ^note. [Aside. [Exit with Titus's hand.

Tit.
O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven,
And bow this feeble ruin to the earth:
If any Power pities wretched tears,
To that I call;—What, wilt thou kneel with me? [to Lav.
Do then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers;
Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim,
And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds,
When they do hug him in their melting bosoms.

Mar.
O brother, speak with possibilities,
And do not break into these deep extreams.

Tit.
Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom?
Then be my passions bottomless with them.

Mar.
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?
I am the sea, hark how her sighs 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:
&blquo;For why? my bowels cannot hide her woes,
&blquo;But like a drunkard must I vomit them.
&blquo;Then give me leave; for losers will have leave
&blquo;To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues† ^note. Enter a Messenger, with two Heads and a Hand.

Mes.
Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repay'd
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. [Exit Messenger.

Mar.
Now let hot Ætna cool in Sicily,
And be my heart an ever-burning hell!
These miseries are more than may be born:
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!

Mar.
Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless,
As frozen water to a starved snake.

Tit.
When will this fearful slumber have an end?

Mar.
Now, farewel, flattery!—Die, Andronicus;
Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads;
Thy warlike hand; thy mangl'd 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* ^note.
Ah, now no more will I controul thy griefs:
Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand
Gnaw 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?

Tit.
Ha, ha, ha!

Mar.
Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour.

Tit.
Why, I have not another tear to shed:
Besides, this sorrow is an enemy,
And would usurp upon my watry 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.
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 employ'd in these things,
Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy arms.
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 Titus, Marcus, and Lavinia.

Luc.
Farewel, Andronicus, my noble father;
The woeful'st 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 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. [Exit.

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