Introductory matter

Dramatis Personæ. SATURNINUS, Son to the late Emperor of Rome, and afterwards declared Emperor himself. Bassianus, Brother to Saturninus, in love with Lavinia. Titus Andronicus, a Noble Roman, General against the Goths. Marcus Andronicus, Tribune of the People, and Brother to Titus. Marcus [Martius], Son to Titus Andronicus. Quintus, Son to Titus Andronicus. Lucius, Son to Titus Andronicus. Mutius, Son to Titus Andronicus. Young Lucius, a Boy, Son to Lucius. Publius, Son to Marcus the Tribune, and Nephew to Titus Andronicus. Sempronius. Alarbus, Son to Tamora. Chiron, Son to Tamora. Demetrius, Son to Tamora. Aaron, a Moor, belov'd by Tamora. Captain, from Titus's Camp. Æmilius [Aemilius], Messenger. Goths, and Romans. Clown. Tamora, Queen of the Goths, and afterwards married to Saturninus. Lavinia, Daughter to Titus Andronicus. Nurse, with a Black-a-moor Child. Senators, Judges, Officers, Soldiers, and other Attendants. [Goth] SCENE, Rome; and the Country near it. ^note

1 ^noteTitus Andronicus.

ACT I. SCENE I. Before the Capitol in ROME. Enter the Tribunes and Senators aloft, as in the Senate. Enter Saturninus and his followers, at one door; and Bassianus and his followers, at the other, with drum and Colours.

Saturninus.
Noble Patricians, Patrons of my Right,
Defend the justice of my Cause with arms;
And Countrymen, my loving Followers,
Plead my successive title with your swords.
I am the first-born Son of him, that last
Wore the imperial Diadem of Rome;
Then let my father's honours live in me,
Nor wrong mine age with this indignity.

Bas.
Romans, friends, foll'wers, favourers of my Right,
If ever Bassianus, Cæsar's son,
Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome,
Keep then this passage to the Capitol,

And suffer not dishonour to approach
Th' imperial Seat, to virtue consecrate,
To justice, continence, and nobility;
But let desert in pure election shine,
And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice. Enter Marcus Andronicus aloft, with the Crown.

Mar.
Princes, that strive by factions, and by friends,
Ambitiously for Rule and Empery!
Know, that the people of Rome, for whom we stand
A special party, have by common voice,
In election for the Roman Empery,
Chosen Andronicus, sur-named Pius,
For many good and great deserts to Rome.
A nobler man, a braver warrior,
Lives not this day within our city-walls.
He by the Senate is accited home,
From weary wars against the barb'rous Goths;
That with his sons, a terror to our foes,
Hath yoak'd a nation strong, train'd up in arms.
Ten years are spent, since first he undertook
This Cause of Rome, and chastised with arms
Our enemies' pride. Five times he hath return'd
Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons
In coffins from the field.—
And now at last, laden with Honour's Spoils,
Returns the good Andronicus to Rome,
Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms.
Let us intreat, by honour of his Name,
Whom, worthily, you would have now succeed,
And in the Capitol and Senate's Right,
Whom you pretend to honour and adore,
That you withdraw you, and abate your strength;
Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should,
Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness.

Sat.
How fair the Tribune speaks, to calm my thoughts!

Bas.
Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy
In thy uprightness and integrity,
And so I love and honour thee and thine;
Thy noble brother Titus, and his sons,
And her, to whom our thoughts are humbled all,
Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich Ornament,
That I will here dismiss my loving friends,
And to my fortunes, and the people's favour,
Commit my Cause in ballance to be weighed. [Exeunt Soldiers.

Sat.
Friends, that have been thus forward in my Right,
I thank you all, and here dismiss you all,
And to the love and favour of my country
Commit myself, my person and the Cause;
Rome, be as just and gracious unto me,
As I am confident and kind to thee.
Open the gates, and let me in.

Bas.
Tribunes!—And Me, a poor Competitor. [They go up into the Senate-house. SCENE II. Enter a Captain.

Cap.
Romans, make way. The good Andronicus,
Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion,
Successful in the battles that he fights,
With honour and with fortune is return'd,
From whence he circumscribed with his sword,
And brought to yoke the enemies of Rome.

Sound Drums and Trumpets, and then enter Mutius and Marcus: after them, two men bearing a coffin cover'd with black; then Quintus and Lucius. After them, Titus Andronicus; and then Tamora, the Queen of Goths, Alarbus, Chiron, and Demetrius, with Aaron the Moor, prisoners; soldiers, and other attendants. They set down the coffin, and Titus speaks.

Tit.
^{2 note}

And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars.
—O sacred receptacle of my joys,
Sweet cell of virtue and nobility,
How many sons of mine hast thou in store,
That thou wilt never render to me more?

Luc.
Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths,
That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile,
Ad manes Fratrum sacrifice his flesh,
Before this earthly prison of their bones;
That so the shadows be not unappeas'd,
Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth.

Tit.
I give him you, the noblest that survives;
The eldest son of this distressed Queen.

Tam.
Stay, Roman brethren, gracious Conqueror,
Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed,
A mother's tears in passion for her son;
And, if thy sons were ever dear to thee,
O, think my sons to be as dear to me.
Sufficeth not, that we are brought to Rome,
To beautify thy Triumphs and Return,
Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoak?
But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets,
For valiant doings in their country's cause?
O! if to fight for King and Common weal
Were Piety in thine, it is in these;
Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood.
Wilt thou draw near the nature of the Gods?
Draw near them then in being merciful;
Sweet Mercy is Nobility's true badge.
Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son.

Tit.
Patient yourself, Madam, and pardon me.
These are their brethren, whom you Goths behold
Alive and dead, and for their brethren slain
Religiously they ask a Sacrifice;
To this your son is markt, and die he must,
T'appease their groaning shadows that are gone.

Luc.
Away with him, and make a fire straight.

And with our swords, upon a pile of wood,
Let's hew his limbs, 'till they be clean consum'd. [Exeunt Mutius, Marcus, Quintus and Lucius, with Alarbus.

Tam.
O cruel, irreligious piety!

Chi.
Was ever Scythia half so barbarous?

Dem.
Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.
Alarbus goes to rest, and we survive
To tremble under Titus' threatning looks.
Then, Madam, stand resolv'd; but hope withal,
^{4 note}

The self-same Gods, that arm'd the Queen of Troy
With opportunity of sharp revenge
Upon the Thracian tyrant in her Tent,
May favour Tamora, the Queen of Goths,
When Goths were Goths, and Tamora was Queen,
To quit her bloody wrongs upon her foes. Enter Mutius, Marcus, Quintus and Lucius.

Luc.
See, Lord and father, how we have perform'd
Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopt;
And intrails feed the sacrificing fire;
Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky.
Remaineth nought but to inter our brethren,
And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome.

Tit.
Let it be so, and let Andronicus
Make this his latest farewel to their souls. [Then sound trumpets, and lay the coffins in the tomb.

In peace and honour rest you here, my sons,
Rome's readiest champions, repose you here,
Secure from worldly chances and mishaps:
Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells;
Here grow no damned grudges, here no storms,
No noise, but silence and eternal sleep. SCENE III. Enter Lavinia.

In peace and honour rest you here, my sons!

Lav.
In peace and honour live Lord Titus long,
My noble Lord and father, live in fame!
Lo! at this tomb my tributary tears
I render, for my brethren's obsequies;
And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy
Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome.
O, bless me here with thy victorious hand,
Whose fortune Rome's best citizens applaud.

Tit.
Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserv'd
The Cordial of mine age, to glad mine heart!
Lavinia, live; out-live thy father's days,
^{5 note}

Mar.
Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother,
Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome!

Tit.
Thanks, gentle Tribune, noble brother Marcus.

Mar.
And welcome, Nephews, from successful wars,
You that survive, and you that sleep in fame;
Fair Lords, your fortunes are alike in all,
That in your country's service drew your swords;
But safer triumph is this funeral pomp,

That hath aspir'd to Solon's happiness;
And triumphs over chance, in Honour's bed.
Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome,
Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been,
Send thee by me their Tribune and their trust,
This Palliament of white and spotless hue,
And name thee in election for the Empire,
With these our late-deceased Emperor's sons;
Be Candidatus then, and put it on,
And help to set a head on headless Rome.

Tit.
A better head her glorious body fits,
Than his, that shakes for age and feebleness:
What! should I don this robe, and trouble you?
Be chose with Proclamations to-day,
To-morrow yield up Rule, resign my life,
And set abroach new business for you all?
Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years,
And led my country's strength successfully;
And buried one and twenty valiant sons,
Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms,
In Right and Service of their noble Country.
Give me a staff of honour for mine age,
But not a sceptre to controll the world.
Upright he held it, Lords, that held it last.

Mar.
Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the Empery.

Sat.
Proud and ambitious Tribune, canst thou tell?—

Tit.
Patience, Prince Saturninus.—

Sat.
Romans, do me Right.
Patricians, draw your swords, and sheath them not
'Till Saturninus be Rome's Emperor.
Andronicus, 'would thou were shipt to hell,
Rather than rob me of the people's hearts.

Luc.
Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the Good
That noble-minded Titus means to thee.—

Tit.
Content thee, Prince; I will restore to thee
The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves.

Bas.
Andronicus, I do not flatter thee,

But honour thee, and will do till I die;
My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends,
I will most thankful be, and Thanks to men
Of noble minds is honourable meed.

Tit.
People of Rome, and noble Tribunes here,
I ask your voices, and your suffrages;
Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus?

Mar.
To gratify the good Andronicus
And gratulate his safe Return to Rome,
The people will accept whom he admits.

Tit.
Tribunes, I thank you, and this suit I make,
That you create your Emperor's eldest son,
Lord Saturnine; whose virtues will, I hope,
Reflect on Rome, as Titan's rays on earth,
And ripen justice in this Common-weal.
Then if you will elect by my advice,
Crown him, and say,—Long live our Emperor!

Mar.
With voices and applause of every sort,
Patricians and Plebeians, we create
Lord Saturninus, Rome's great Emperor;
And say,—Long live our Emperor Saturnine! [A long Flourish, 'till they come down.

Sat.
Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done
To us in our Election this day,
I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts,
And will with deeds requite thy gentleness;
And for an onset, Titus, to advance
Thy name, and honourable family,
Lavinia will I make my Empress,
Rome's royal Mistress, Mistress of my heart,
And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse.
Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee?

Tit.
It doth, my worthy Lord; and, in this match,
I hold me highly honour'd of your Grace;
And here in sight of Rome, to Saturninus,
King and Commander of our Common-weal,
The wide world's Emperor, do I consecrate
My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners,

Presents well worthy Rome's imperial Lord.
Receive them then, the Tribute that I owe,
Mine Honour's Ensigns humbled at thy feet.

Sat.
Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life!
How proud I am of thee, and of thy gifts,
Rome shall record; and when I do forget
The least of these unspeakable deserts,
Romans forget your fealty to me.

Tit.
Now, Madam, are you prisoner to an Emperor; [To Tamora.
To him, that for your honour and your state
Will use you nobly, and your followers.

Sat.
A goodly lady, trust me, of the hue
That I would chuse, were I to chuse anew.
—Clear up, fair Queen, that cloudy countenance;
Tho' chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer,
Thou com'st not to be made a scorn in Rome;
Princely shall be thy usage every way.
Rest on my word, and let not discontent
Daunt all your hopes; Madam, who comforts you,
Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths.
Lavinia, you are not displeas'd with this?

Lav.
Not I, my Lord; sith true nobility
Warrants these words in princely courtesy.

Sat.
Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go.
Ransomless here we set our prisoners free;
Proclaim our honours, Lords, with trump and drum.

Bas.
Lord Titus, by your Leave, this Maid is mine. [Seizing Lavinia.

Tit.
How, Sir? are you in earnest then, my Lord?

Bas.
Ay, noble Titus; and resolv'd withal,
To do myself this Reason and this Right. [The Emperor courts Tamora in dumb shew.

Mar.
Suum cuique is our Roman justice:
This Prince in justice seizeth but his own.

Luc.
And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live.

Tit.
Traitors, avant! Where is the Emperor's Guard?
Treason, my Lord; Lavinia is surpriz'd.

Sat.
Surpriz'd! by whom?

Bas.
By him, that justly may
Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. [Exit Bassianus with Lavinia. SCENE IV.

Mut.
Brothers, help to convey her hence away,
And with my sword I'll keep this door secure.

Tit.
Follow, my Lord, and I'll soon bring her back.

Mut.
My Lord, you pass not here—

Tit.
What! villain-boy,
Barr'st me my way in Rome? [Titus kills Mutius.

Mut.
Help, Lucius, help!

Luc.
My Lord, you are unjust, and more than so;
In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son.

Tit.
Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine;
My sons would never so dishonour me.
Traitor, restore Lavinia to the Emperor.

Luc.
Dead, if you will, but not to be his wife,
That is another's lawful promis'd love.

Sat.
No, Titus, no, the Emperor needs her not,
Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock,
I'll trust by leisure him, that mocks me once;
Thee never, nor thy traiterous haughty sons,
Confederates all, thus to dishonour me.
Was there none else in Rome to make a Stale of,
But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus,
Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine,
That said'st, I begg'd the Empire at thy hands.

Tit.
O monstrous! what reproachful words are these?

Sat.
But go thy ways. Go give that ^{6 note}changing piece,
To him that flourish'd for her with his sword;

A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy;
One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons,
To ruffle in the Commonwealth of Rome.

Tit.
These words are razors to my wounded heart.

Sat.
And therefore, lovely Tamora, Queen of Goths,
That, like the stately Phebe 'mong her Nymphs,
Dost over-shine the gallant'st Dames of Rome;
If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice,
Behold, I chuse thee, Tamora, for my bride,
And will create thee Emperess of Rome.
Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice?
And here I swear by all the Roman Gods,
(Sith priest and holy water are so near,
And tapers burn so bright, and every thing
In readiness for Hymeneus stands,)
I will not re-salute the streets of Rome,
Or climb my Palace, 'till from forth this place
I lead espous'd my bride along with me.

Tam.
And here in sight of heav'n to Rome I swear,
If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths,
She will a handmaid be to his desires,
A loving nurse, a mother to his youth.

Sat.
Ascend, fair Queen, Pantheon; Lords, accompany
Your noble Emperor, and his lovely bride,
Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine,
Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered,
There shall we consummate our spousal rites. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Manet Titus Andronicus.

Tit.
I am not bid to wait upon this bride.
—Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone,
Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs?

Enter Marcus Andronicus, Lucius, Quintus, and Marcus.

Mar.
Oh, Titus, see, oh, see, what thou hast done!
In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son.

Tit.
No, foolish Tribune, no. No son of mine,
Nor thou, nor these confederates in the deed,
That hath dishonour'd all our family;
Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons.

Luc.
But let us give him burial, as becomes;
Give Mutius burial with our brethren.

Tit.
Traitors, away! he rests not in this tomb;
This Monument five hundred years hath stood,
Which I have sumptuously re-edified;
Here none but soldiers, and Rome's Servitors,
Repose in fame: none basely slain in brawls.
Bury him where you can, he comes not here.

Mar.
My Lord, this is impiety in you;
My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him:
He must be buried with his brethren. [Titus's sons speak.

Sons.
And shall, or him we will accompany.

Tit.
And shall? what villain was it spoke that word? [Titus's son speaks.

Quin.
He, that would vouch't in any place but here.

Tit.
What, would you bury him in my despight?

Mar.
No, noble Titus; but intreat of thee
To pardon Mutius, and to bury him.

Tit.
Marcus, ev'n thou hast struck upon my Crest,
And with these boys mine Honour thou hast wounded.
My foes I do repute you every one,
So trouble me no more, but get you gone.

Luc.
He is not himself, let us withdraw.

Quin.
Not I, 'till Mutius' bones be buried. [The brother and the sons kneel.

Mar.
Brother, for in that name doth nature plead.

Quin.
Father, and in that name doth nature speak.

Tit.
Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed.

Mar.
Renowned Titus, more than half my soul,—

Luc.
Dear father, soul and substance of us all,—

Mar.
Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter
His noble Nephew here in virtue's nest,
That died in honour, and Lavinia's cause.
Thou art a Roman, be not barbarous.
The Greeks, upon advice, did bury Ajax,
That slew himself, and wise Laertes' son
Did graciously plead for his funerals.
Let not young Mutius then, that was thy joy,
Be barr'd his entrance here.

Tit.
Rise, Marcus, rise.
The dismall'st day is this, that e'er I saw,
To be dishonour'd by my sons in Rome.
Well; bury him, and bury me the next. [They put him in the tomb.

Luc.
There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends,
'Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb! [They all kneel, and say;
—No man shed tears for noble Mutius;
He lives in fame, that died in virtue's cause.

Mar.
My Lord, to step out of these dreary dumps,
How comes it, that the subtle Queen of Goths
Is of a sudden thus advanc'd in Rome?

Tit.
I know not, Marcus; but, I know, it is;
If by device or no, the heav'ns can tell.
Is she not then beholden to the man,
That brought her for this high good Turn so far?
Yes; and will nobly him remunerate.

SCENE VI. Flourish. Re-enter the Emperor, Tamora, Chiron, and Demetrius, with Aaron the Moor, at one door. At the other door, Bassianus and Lavinia with others.

Sat.
So, Bassianus, you have plaid your prize;
God give you joy, Sir, of your gallant bride.

Bas.
And you of yours, my Lord; I say no more,
Nor wish no less, and so I take my leave.

Sat.
Traitor, if Rome have law, or we have power,
Thou and thy faction shall repent this Rape.

Bas.
Rape call you it, my Lord, to seize my own,
My true-betrothed love, and now my wife?
But let the laws of Rome determine all;
Mean while I am possest of that is mine.

Sat.
'Tis good, Sir; you are very short with us,
But, if we live, we'll be as sharp with you.

Bas.
My Lord, what I have done, as best I may,
Answer I must, and shall do with my life;
Only thus much I give your Grace to know,
By all the duties which I owe to Rome,
This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here,
Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd;
That in the rescue of Lavinia,
With his own hand did slay his youngest son,
In zeal to you, and highly mov'd to wrath
To be controul'd in that he frankly gave;
Receive him then to favour, Saturnine;
That hath exprest himself in all his deeds,
A father and a friend to thee, and Rome.

Tit.
Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds,
'Tis thou, and those, that have dishonour'd me;
Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge,
How I have lov'd and honour'd Saturnine.

Tam.
My worthy Lord, if ever Tamora
Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine,

Then hear me speak, indifferently, for all;
And at my suit, Sweet, pardon what is past.

Sat.
What, Madam! be dishonour'd openly,
And basely put it up without revenge?

Tam.
Not so, my Lord; the Gods of Rome forefend,
I should be author to dishonour you!
But, on mine honour dare I undertake
For good Lord Titus' innocence in all;
Whose fury, not dissembled, speaks his griefs:
Then, at my suit, look graciously on him,
Lose not so noble a friend on vain Suppose,
Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart.—
My Lord, be rul'd by me, be won at last, [Aside.
Dissemble all your griefs and discontents: [Aside.
You are but newly planted in your Throne; [Aside.
Lest then the People and Patricians too, [Aside.
Upon a just survey, take Titus' part; [Aside.
And so supplant us for ingratitude, [Aside.
Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin, [Aside.
Yield at intreats, and then let me alone; [Aside.
I'll find a day to massacre them all, [Aside.
And raze their faction, and their family, [Aside.
The cruel father, and his traiterous sons, [Aside.
To whom I sued for my dear son's life, [Aside.
And make them know, what 'tis to let a Queen [Aside.
Kneel in the streets, and beg for grace in vain.— [Aside.
Come, come, sweet Emperor,—come, Andronicus—
Take up this good old man, and chear the heart,
That dies in tempest of thy angry frown.

Sat.
Rise, Titus, rise; my Empress hath prevail'd.

Tit.
I thank your Majesty, and her. My Lord,
These words, these looks infuse new life in me.

Tam.
Titus, I am incorporate in Rome,
A Roman now adopted happily:
And must advise the Emperor for his good.

This day all quarrels die, Andronicus,
And let it be my honour, good my Lord,
That I have reconcil'd your friends and you.
For you, Prince Bassianus, I have past
My word and promise to the Emperor,
That you will be more mild and tractable.
And fear not, Lords, and you, Lavinia,
By my advice all-humbled on your knees,
You shall ask pardon of his Majesty.

Luc.
We do, and vow to Heaven and to his Highness,
That what we did was mildly, as we might,
Tend'ring our sister's honour and our own.

Mar.
That on mine honour here I do protest.

Sat.
Away, and talk not; trouble us no more.—

Tam.
Nay, nay, sweet Emperor, we must all be friends.
The Tribune and his Nephews kneel for grace,
I will not be denied. Sweet heart, look back.

Sat.
Marcus, for thy sake, and thy brother's here,
And at my lovely Tamora's intreats,
I do remit these young men's heinous faults.
Lavinia, though you left me like a churl,
I found a friend; and sure, as death, I swore,
I would not part a batchelor from the priest.
Come, if the Emperor's Court can feast two brides;
You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends;
This day shall be a love-day, Tamora.

Tit.
To morrow an it please your Majesty,
To hunt the Panther and the Hart with me,
With horn and hound, we'll give your Grace Bon-jour.

Sat.
Be it so, Titus, and grammercy too. [Exeunt.

ACT II. 7 ^noteSCENE I.

Before the PALACE. Enter Aaron alone.

Aaron.
Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top,
Safe out of fortune's shot; and sits aloft,
Secure of thunder's crack, or lightning flash;
Advanc'd above pale envy's threatning reach.
As when the golden sun salutes the morn,
And, having gilt the ocean with his beams,
Gallops the Zodiack in his glistring coach,
And over-looks the highest-peering hills;
So Tamora—
^{8 note}

This Syren, that will charm Rome's Saturnine,
And see his shipwreck, and his common-weal's.
Holla! what storm is this? SCENE II. Enter Chiron and Demetrius, braving.

Dem.
Chiron, thy years want wit, thy wit wants edge
And manners, to intrude where I am grac'd;
And may, for aught thou know'st, affected be.

Chi.
Demetrius, thou dost over ween in all,
And so in this, to bear me down with Braves;
'Tis not the difference of a year or two
Makes me less gracious, or thee more fortunate;
I am as able, and as fit as thou
To serve, and to deserve my mistress' grace;
And that my sword upon thee shall approve,
And plead my passion for Lavinia's love.

Aar.
Clubs, clubs!—These lovers will not keep the peace.

Dem.
Why, boy, although our mother, unadvis'd,
Gave you a dancing rapier by your side,
Are you so desp'rate grown to threat your friends?
Go to; have your lath glu'd within your sheath,
'Till you know better how to handle it.

Chi.
Mean while, Sir, with the little skill I have,
Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare.

Dem.
Ay, boy, grow ye so brave? [They draw.

Aar.
Why, how now, Lords?
So near the Emperor's Palace dare you draw,
And maintain such a Quarrel openly?
Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge:
I would not for a million of gold,
The Cause were known to them it most concerns.
Nor would your noble mother, for much more,
Be so dishonour'd in the Court of Rome.
For shame, put up—

Chi.
^{9 note}Not I, 'till I have sheath'd
My rapier in his bosom, and withal
Thrust these reproachful speeches down his throat,
That he hath breath'd in my dishonour here.

Dem.
For that I am prepar'd and full resolv'd,—
Foul-spoken coward! thou thundrest with thy tongue,
And with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform.

Aar.
Away, I say.—
Now by the Gods, that warlike Goths adore,
This petty Brabble will undo us all;
Why, Lords—and think you not how dangerous
It is to jet upon a Prince's right?
What is Lavinia then become so loose,
Or Bassianus so degenerate,
That for her love such quarrels may be broacht,
Without controulment, justice, or revenge?
Young Lords, beware—and should the Empress know
This discord's ground, the musick would not please.

Chi.
I care not, I, knew she and all the world;
I love Lavinia more than all the world.

Dem.
Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner choice;
Lavinia is thy elder brother's hope.

Aar.
Why, are ye mad! or know ye not, in Rome
How furious and impatient they be,
And cannot brook competitors in love?
I tell you, Lords, you do but plot your deaths
By this Device.

Chi.
Aaron, a thousand deaths would I propose,
T' atchieve her whom I love.

Aar.
To atchieve her—how?

Dem.
Why mak'st thou it so strange?
She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd;

She is a woman, therefore may be won;
She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov'd.
What, man! more water glideth by the mill
Than wots the miller of; and easy it is
Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know.
Tho' Bassianus be the Emperor's brother,
Better than he have yet worn Vulcan's badge.

Aar.
Ay, and as good as Saturninus may. [Aside.

Dem.
Then why should he despair, that knows to court it
With words, fair looks, and liberality?
What, hast thou not full often struck a doe,
And born her cleanly by the keeper's nose?

Aar.
Why then, it seems, some certain snatch or so
Would serve your turns.

Chi.
Ay, so the turn were served.

Dem.
Aaron, thou hast hit it.

Aar.
'Would you had hit it too,
Then should not we be tir'd with this ado:
Why, hark ye, hark ye—and are you such fools,
To square for this? would it offend you then
That both should speed!

Chi.
'Faith, not me.

Dem.
Nor me, so I were one.

Aar.
For shame, be friends; and join for that you jar.
'Tis policy and stratagem must do
That you affect; and so must you resolve,
That what you cannot, as you would, atchieve,
You must perforce accomplish as you may.
Take this of me, Lucrece was not more chaste
Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love;
A speedier course than ling'ring languishment
Must we pursue, and I have found the path.
My Lords, a solemn hunting is in hand,
There will the lovely Roman ladies troop:
The forest-walks are wide and spacious,
And many unfrequented Plots there are,

Fitted ^{1 note}by kind for rape and villany;
Single you thither then this dainty doe,
And strike her home by force, if not by words:
This way, or not at all, stand you in hope.
Come, come, our Empress with her sacred wit
To villany and vengeance consecrate,
We will acquaint with all that we intend;
And she shall file our engines with advice,
That will not suffer you to square yourselves,
But to your wishes' height advance you both.
The Emperor's Court is like the House of Fame,
The Palace full of tongues, of eyes, of ears;
The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf and dull;
There speak, and strike, brave boys, and take your turns.
There serve your lusts, shadow'd from heaven's eye;
And revel in Lavinia's Treasury.

Chi.
Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardise.

Dem.
Sit fas aut nefas, 'till I find the stream
To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits,
Per Styga, per Manes vebor.— [Exeunt.

2 ^noteSCENE III.

Changes to a Forest. Enter Titus Andronicus and his three Sons, with hounds and horns, and Marcus.

Tit.
The Hunt is up, ^{3 note}the morn is bright and gray,
The fields are fragrant, and the woods are green;
Uncouple here, and let us make a bay,
And wake the Emperor and his lovely Bride,
And rouze the Prince, and ring a hunter's peal,
That all the Court may echo with the noise.
Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours,
To tend the Emperor's person carefully;
I have been troubled in my sleep this night,
But dawning day new comfort hath inspir'd. Here a cry of hounds, and wind horns in a peal: then enter Saturninus, Tamora, Bassianus, Lavinia, Chiron, Demetrius and their Attendants.

Tit.
Many good morrows to your Majesty.
—Madam, to you as many and as good.
I promised your Grace a hunter's peal.

Sat.
And you have rung it lustily, my Lords,
Somewhat too early for new-married ladies.

Bas.
Lavinia, how say you?

Lav.
I say, no:
I have been broad awake two hours and more.

Sat.
Come on then, horse and chariots let us have,
And to our sport.—Madam, now ye shall see
Our Roman Hunting. [To Tamora.

Mar.
I have dogs, my Lord,
Will rouse the proudest Panther in the chase,
And climb the highest promontory-top.

Tit.
And I have horse will follow, where the game
Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain.

Dem.
Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor hound,
But hope to pluck a dainty Doe to ground. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Changes to a desart part of the Forest. Enter Aaron alone.

Aar.
He, that had wit, would think, that I had none,
To bury so much gold under a tree;
And never after to inherit it.
Let him, that thinks of me so abjectly,
Know, that this gold must coin a stratagem;
Which, cunningly effected, will beget
A very excellent piece of villany;
And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest,
^{4 note}That have their alms out of the Empress' chest. Enter Tamora.

Tam.
My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad
When every thing doth make a gleeful boast?
The birds chaunt melody on every bush,
The snake lies rolled in the chearful sun,

The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind,
And make a checquer'd shadow on the ground.
Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit,
And whilst the babling Echo mocks the hounds,
Replying shrilly to the well-tun'd horns,
As if a double Hunt were heard at once,
Let us sit down and mark their yelling noise:
And after conflict, such as was suppos'd
The wandring Prince and Dido once enjoy'd,
When with a happy storm they were surpriz'd,
And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave;
We may, each wreathed in the other's arms,
(Our pastimes done) possess a golden slumber;
Whilst hounds and horns, and sweet melodious birds
Be unto us, as is a nurse's song
Of lullaby, to bring her babe asleep.

Aar.
Madam, though Venus govern your desires,
Saturn is dominator over mine.
What signifies my deadly-standing eye,
My silence, and my cloudy melancholy,
My fleece of woolly hair, that now uncurls,
Even as an adder, when she doth unrowl
To do some fatal execution?
No, madam, these are no venereal signs;
Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand;
Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.
Hark, Tamora, the Empress of my soul,
Which never hopes more heav'n than rests in thee,
This is the day of doom for Bassianus;
His Philomel must lose her tongue to day;
Thy sons make pillage of her chastity,
And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood.
Seest thou this letter, take it up, I pray thee,
And give the King this fatal-plotted scrowl;
Now question me no more, we are espied;
Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty,
Which dread not yet their lives' destruction.

Tam.
Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life.

Aar.
No more, great Empress, Bassianus comes;
Be cross with him, and I'll go fetch thy sons
To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. [Exit. SCENE V. Enter Bassianus and Lavinia.

Bas.
Whom have we here? Rome's royal Emperess?
Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troops?
Or is it Dian, habited like her,
Who hath abandoned her holy groves,
To see the general Hunting in this forest?

Tam.
Saucy controller of our private steps:
Had I the power, that, some say, Dian had,
Thy Temples should be planted presently
With horns, as was Acteon's; and the hounds
Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs,
Unmannerly Intruder as thou art!

Lav.
Under your patience, gentle Empress,
'Tis thought, you have a goodly gift in horning;
And to be doubted, that your Moor and you
Are singled forth to try experiments.
Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day!
'Tis pity, they should take him for a stag.

Bas.
Believe me, Queen, your ^{5 note}swarth Cimmerian
Doth make your honour of his body's hue,
Spotted, detested, and abominable.
Why are you sequestered from all your train?
Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed,
And wandred hither to an obscure plot,
Accompanied with a barbarous Moor,
If foul desire had not conducted you?

Lav.
And being intercepted in your sport,
Great reason, that my noble Lord be rated

For sauciness.—I pray you, let us hence.
And let her joy her raven-colour'd love;
This valley fits the purpose passing well.

Bas.
The King my brother shall have note of this.

Lav.
Ay, for these slips have made him ^{6 note}noted long.
Good King, to be so mightily abus'd!

Tam.
Why have I patience to endure all this? Enter Chiron and Demetrius.

Dem.
How now, dear Sovereign and our gracious Mother,
Why does your Highness look so pale and wan?

Tam.
Have I not reason, think you, to look pale?
These two have tic'd me hither to this place,
A barren and detested vale, you see, it is.
The trees, tho' summer, yet forlorn and lean,
O'ercome with moss, and baleful misseltoe.
Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds,
Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven.
And when they shew'd me this abhorred pit,
They told me, here at dead time of the night,
A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes,
Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins,
Would make such fearful and confused cries,
As any mortal body, hearing it,
^{7 note}Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly,
No sooner had they told this hellish tale,
But straight they told me, they would bind me here,
Unto the body of a dismal yew;
And leave me to this miserable death:
And then they call'd me foul adulteress,
Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms

That ever ear did hear to such effect.
And had you not by wondrous fortune come,
This vengeance on me had they executed:
Revenge it, as you love your Mother's life;
Or be ye not from henceforth call'd my children.

Dem.
This is a witness that I am thy son. [Stabs Bassianus.

Chi.
And this for me, struck home to shew my strength. [Stabbing him likewise.

Lav.
I come, Semiramis;—nay, barbarous Tamora!
For no name fits thy nature but thy own.

Tam.
Give me thy poinard; you shall know, my boys,
Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong.

Dem.
Stay, Madam, here is more belongs to her;
First, thrash the corn, then after burn the straw:
This minion stood upon her chastity,
Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty,
^{8 note}

Chi.
An 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.

Tam.
But when you have the honey you desire,
Let not this wasp out-live, us both to sting.

Chi.
I warrant, Madam, we will make that sure.
Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy
That nice-preserved honesty of yours.

Lav.
O Tamora, thou bear'st a woman's face—

Tam.
I will not hear her speak. Away with her.

Lav.
Sweet Lords, intreat her hear me but a word—

Dem.
Listen, fair Madam. let it be your glory
To see her tears; but be your heart to them,
As unrelenting flints to drops of rain.

Lav.
When did the tyger's young ones teach the dam?
O, do not teach her wrath; she taught it thee;
The milk, thou suck'dst from her, did turn to marble;
Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny.
Yet every mother breeds not sons alike;
Do thou intreat her shew a woman pity. [To Chiron.

Chi.
What! wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard?

Lav.
'Tis true the raven doth not hatch the lark:
Yet have I heard, Oh could I find it now!
The lion mov'd with pity did endure
To have his princely paws par'd all away.
Some say that ravens foster forlorn children,
The whilst their own birds famish in their nests:
Oh, be to me, tho' thy hard heart say no,
Nothing so kind, but something pitiful.

Tam.
I know not what it means. Away with her.

Lav.
Oh, let me teach thee. For my father's sake,
That gave thee life, when well he might have slain thee,
Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears.

Tam.
Hadst thou in person ne'er offended me,
Ev'n for his sake am I now pitiless.
Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain,
To save your brother from the sacrifice,
But fierce Andronicus would not relent;
Therefore away with her, use her as you will;
The worse to her, the better lov'd of me.

Lav. [Laying hold on Tamora.]
O Tamora, be call'd a gentle Queen,
And with thine own hands kill me in this place;
For 'tis not life, that I have begg'd so long;
Poor I was slain, when Bassianus dy'd.

Tam.
What begg'st thou then? Fond woman, let me go.

Lav.
'Tis present death I beg; and one thing more,
That womanhood denies my tongue to tell;
O, keep me from their worse than killing lust,
And tumble me into some loathsome pit;
Where never man's eye may behold my body:
Do this, and be a charitable murderer.

Tam.
So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee.
No; let them satisfy their lust on thee.

Dem.
Away! For thou hast staid us here too long.

Lav.
No grace? no woman-hood? ah beastly creature!
The blot and enemy of our general name!
Confusion fall—

Chi.
Nay, then I'll stop your mouth—bring thou her husband; [Dragging off Lavinia.
This is the hole, where Aaron bid us hide him. [Exeunt.

Tam.
Farewel, my sons. See, that you make her sure.
Ne'er let my heart know merry chear indeed,
'Till all th' Andronici be made away.
Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor,
And let my spleenful sons this Trull deflour. [Exit. SCENE VI. Enter Aaron, with Quintus and Marcus.

Aar.
Come on, my Lords, the better foot before;
Strait will I bring you to the loathsome pit,
Where I espied the Panther fast asleep.

Quin.
My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes.

Mar.
And mine, I promise you; wer't not for shame,
Well could I leave our sport to sleep a while. [Marcus falls into the pit.

Quin.
What, art thou fallen? what subtle hole is this,
Whose mouth is cover'd with rude-growing briars,
Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood,
As fresh as morning-dew distill'd on flowers?
A very fatal place it seems to me:
Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall?

Mar.
O brother, with the dismallest object
That ever eye, with sight, made heart lament.

Aar. [Aside.]
Now will I fetch the King to find them here;
That he thereby may have a likely guess,
How these were they, that made away his Brother. [Exit Aaron. SCENE VII.

Mar.
Why dost not comfort me, and help me out
From this unhallow'd and blood-stained hole?

Quin.
I am surprized with an uncouth fear;
A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints;
My heart suspects, more than mine eye can see.

Mar.
To prove thou hast a true-divining heart,
Aaron and thou, look down into the den,
And see a fearful sight of blood and death.

Quin.
Aaron is gone; and my compassionate heart
Will not permit my eyes once to behold
The thing, whereat it trembles by surmise.
O, tell me how it is; for ne'er till now
Was I a child, to fear I know not what.

Mar.
Lord Bassianus lies embrewed here,
All on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb,
In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit.

Quin.
If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he?

Mar.
Upon his bloody finger he doth wear
^{3 note}A precious ring, that lightens all the hole,

Which, like a taper in some monument,
Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks;
And shews the ragged entrails of this pit.
So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus,
When he by night lay bath'd 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 as Cocytus' misty mouth.

Quin.
Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out,
Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good,
I may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb
Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave.
—I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink.

Mar.
And I no strength to climb without thy help.

Quin.
Thy hand once more; I will not lose again,
'Till thou art here aloft, or I below.
Thou canst not come to me, I come to thee. [Falls in. SCENE VIII. Enter the Emperor, and Aaron.

Sat.
Along. With me—I'll see what hole is here,
And what he is, that now is leap'd into't.
Say, who art thou, that lately didst descend
Into this gaping hollow of the earth?

Mar.
Th' unhappy son of old Andronicus,
Brought hither in a most unlucky hour,
To find thy brother Bassianus dead.

Sat.
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 not an hour since I left him there.

Mar.
We know not where you left him all alive,
But out, alas! here have we found him dead.

Enter Tamora with Attendants; Andronicus, and Lucius.

Tam.
Where is my Lord, the King?

Sat.
Here, Tamora; though griev'd with killing grief.

Tam.
Where is thy brother Bassianus?

Sat.
Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound;
Poor Bassianus here lies murdered.

Tam.
Then all too late I bring this fatal Writ,
The complot of this timeless tragedy;
And wonder greatly, that man's face can fold
In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny. [She giveth Saturninus a letter.

Saturninus reads the letter.
And if we miss to meet him handsomely,
Sweet huntsman—Bassianus 'tis we mean;
Do thou so much as dig the grave for him.
Thou know'st our meaning. Look for thy reward
Among the nettles at the elder tree,
Which over-shades the mouth of that same pit,
Where we decreed to bury Bassianus.
Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.
Oh, Tamora! was ever heard the like?
This is the pit, and this the elder tree:
Look, Sirs, if you can find the huntsman out,
That should have murder'd Bassianus here.

Aar.
My gracious Lord, here is the bag of gold. [Shewing it.

Sat.
Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody kind,
Have here bereft my brother of his life. [To Titus.
Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison;
There let them 'bide, until we have devis'd
Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them.

Tam.
What, are they in this pit? oh wond'rous thing!
How easily murder is discovered?

Tit.
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 prov'd in them—

Sat.
If it be prov'd! You see, it is apparent.
Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you?

Tam.
Andronicus himself did take it up.

Tit.
I did, my Lord: yet let me be their bail;
For by my father's reverend tomb, I vow,
They shall be ready at your Highness' will,
To answer their suspicion with their lives.

Sat.
Thou shalt not bail them. See, thou follow me.
Some bring the murder'd 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.

Tam.
Andronicus, I will intreat the King;
Fear not thy sons, they shall do well enough.

Tit.
Come, Lucius, come, stay not to talk with them. [Exeunt severally. SCENE IX. Enter Demetrius and Chiron, with Lavinia, ravish'd; her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out.

Dem.
So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak,
Who 'twas that cut thy tongue, and ravish'd thee.

Chi.
Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so;
And, if thy stumps will let thee, play the scribe.

Dem.
See, how with signs and tokens she can scrowl.

Chi.
Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands.

Dem.
She has no tongue to call, or hands to wash;
And so let's leave her to her silent walks.

Chi.
If 'twere my case, I should go hang myself.

Dem.
If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord. [Exeunt Demetrius and Chiron.

SCENE X. Enter Marcus to Lavinia.

Mar.
Who's this, my Niece, that flies away so fast?
Cousin, a word; where is your husband?
^{4 note}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 in;
And might not gain so great a happiness,
As half thy love! why dost not speak to me?
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,
Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind,
Doth rise and fall between thy rosy lips,
Coming and going with thy honey breath.
But, sure, some Tereus hath defloured thee;
And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue.
Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame!
And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood,
As from a conduit with their issuing spouts,
Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face,
Blushing to be encountred 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!
Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopt,
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.
Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue,
And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind.

But, lovely Niece, that Mean is cut from thee;
A craftier Tereus hast thou met withal,
And he hath cut those pretty fingers off,
That could have better sew'd than Philomel.
Oh, 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 touch'd them for his life.
Or had he heard the heav'nly harmony,
Which that sweet tongue hath made;
He would have dropt his knife, and fell asleep,
As Cerberus at the Thracian Poet's feet.
Come, let us go, and make thy father blind;
For such a sight will blind a father's eye.
One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads,
What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes?
Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee:
Oh, could our mourning ease thy misery! [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I. A Street in ROME. Enter the Judges and Senators, with Marcus and Quintus 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 in Rome's great quarrel shed,
For all the frosty nights that I have watcht,
And for these bitter tears, which you now 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. [Andronicus lieth down, and the judges pass by him.
For these, these, Tribunes, in the dust I write
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.
O earth! I will befriend thee more with rain, [Exeunt.
That shall distil from these ^{5 note}two ancient urns,
Than youthful April shall with all his showers;
In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still;
In winter, with warm tears I'll melt the snow;
And keep eternal spring-time on thy face,
So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood. Enter Lucius with his sword drawn.
Oh, 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.
Oh, 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 intreat 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,
They would not pity me.
Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones,
Who, tho' 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,
That Rome is but a wilderness of Tygers;
Tygers 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? SCENE II. 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, ^{6 note}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,
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 are 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 various notes, inchanting every ear!

Luc.
Oh, 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.

Tit.
^{7 note}
It was my Deer; and he, that wounded her,
Hath hurt me more than had he kill'd me dead;
For now I stand, as one upon a rock,
Environ'd with a wilderness of sea,
Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave;
Expecting ever when some envious surge
Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.
This way to death my wretched sons are gone,
Here stands my other son, a banish'd 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 would have madded me. What shall I do,
Now I behold thy lovely body so?
Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears,
Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee;
Thy husband he is dead; and for his death
Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this.
Look, Marcus! ah, son Lucius, look on her:
When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears
Stood on her cheeks; as doth the honey-dew
Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd.

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

Tit.
If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful,
Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them.
No, no, they would not do so foul a deed;
Witness the sorrow, that their sister makes.
Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips,
Or make some signs 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 stain'd like meadows yet not 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 hateful days?
What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues,
Plot some device of further misery,
To make us wondred 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 wot,
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.
Oh, what a sympathy of woe is this!
As far from help as Limbo is from bliss. SCENE III. 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.
Oh, gracious Emperor! oh, 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 Emperor my hand;
Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off?

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-ax,

^{8 note}

Writing Destruction on the enemies' Castle?
Oh, none of Both but are of high desert,
My hand hath been but idle, let it serve
To ransome 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 heav'n, 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 ax.

Mar.
But I will use the 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, 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. [He cuts off Titus's hand. Enter Lucius and Marcus again.

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.—Oh, how this villany [Aside.
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. [Exit. SCENE IV.

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? [To Lavinia.
Do then, dear heart, for heav'n shall hear our prayers,
Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim,
And stain the sun with fogs, as sometime clouds,
When they do hug him in their melting bosoms.

Mar.
Oh! brother, speak with possibilities,
^{9 note}

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 heav'n doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow?
If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,
Threatning the welkin with his big-swol'n 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;
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, bringing in 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 grief's their sport, thy resolution mockt;
That woe is me to think upon thy woes,
More than remembrance of my father's death. [Exit.

Mar.
Now let hot Ætna cool 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.

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 than to breathe. [Lavinia kisses him.

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 mangled 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.
Ah! now no more will I controul thy griefs;
Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand
Gnawing with thy teeth, and be this dismal sight
The closing up of your 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 employed in these things;
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 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. SCENE V. Manet Lucius.

Luc.
Farewel, Andronicus, my noble father,
The woful'st man that ever liv'd in Rome;
Farewel, proud Rome; 'till Lucius comes 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 Emperess
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 Lucius.

1 ^noteSCENE VI.

An Apartment in Titus's House. A BANQUET. Enter Titus, Marcus, Lavinia, and young Lucius, a Boy.

Tit.
So, so, now sit; and look, you eat no more
Than will preserve just so much strength in us
As will revenge these bitter woes of ours.
Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot;
Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands,
And cannot passionate our ten-fold grief
With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine
Is left to tyrannize upon my breast;
And when my heart, all mad with misery,
Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,
Then thus I thump it down.—
Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs! [To Lavinia.
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 tears, that thy poor eyes let fall,
May run into that sink, and soaking in,
Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears.

Mar.
Fy, brother, fy, teach her not thus to lay
Such violent hands upon her tender life.

Tit.
How now! has sorrow made thee doat already?

Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I;
What violent hands can she lay on her life?
Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands,—
To bid Æneas tell the tale twice o'er,
How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable?
O, handle not the theme; no talk of hands,—
Lest we remember still, that we have none.
Fy, fy, how frantickly I square 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 she says,
I can interpret all her martyr'd signs;
She says, she drinks no other drink but tears,
Brew'd with her sorrows, mesh'd upon her cheeks.
Speechless complaint!—O, I will 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 heav'n,
Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign,
But I, of these, will wrest an alphabet,
And ^{2 note}by still practice learn to know the meaning.

Boy.
Good grandsire, leave these bitter, deep, laments;
Make my Aunt merry with some pleasing tale.

Mar.
Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd,
Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness.

Tit.
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 knife?

Mar.
At that that I have kill'd, my Lord, a fly.

Tit.
Out on thee, murderer; thou kill'st my heart;
Mine eyes are cloy'd 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.

Mar.
Alas, my Lord, I have but kill'd a fly.

Tit.
But?—how if that fly had a father and mother?
How would he hang his slender gilded wings,
^{3 note}And buz lamenting Doings in the air?
Poor harmless fly,
That with his pretty buzzing melody,
Came here to make us merry;
And thou hast kill'd him.

Mar.
Pardon me, Sir, it was a black ill-favour'd fly,
Like to the Emperess' Moor; therefore I kill'd him.

Tit.
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.
There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora.
Yet still, I think, we are not brought so low,
But that between us we can kill a fly,
That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor.

Mar.
Alas, poor man, grief has so wrought on him,
He takes false shadows for true substances.
Come, take away; Lavinia, go with me;
I'll to thy closet, and go read with thee
Sad stories, chanced in the times of old.
Come, boy, and go with me; thy sight is young,
And thou shalt read, when mine begins to dazzle. [Exeunt.

ACT IV. SCENE I. Titus's 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.

Boy.
Help, grandsire, help. My Aunt Lavinia
Follows me every where, I know not why.
Good uncle Marcus, see, how swift she comes.
Alas, sweet Aunt, I know not what you mean.

Mar.
Stand by me, Lucius, do not fear thy Aunt.

Tit.
She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm.

Boy.
Ay, when my father was in Rome, she did,

Mar.
What means my niece Lavinia by these signs?

Tit.
Fear thou not, Lucius, somewhat doth she mean.
See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee;
Some whither 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 Tully's oratory.
Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus?

Boy.
My Lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess,
Unless some fit or phrenzy do possess her;
For I have heard my grandsire say full oft,
Extremity of grief would make men mad.
And I have read, that Hecuba of Troy
Ran mad through sorrow; that made me to fear;
Although, my Lord, I know my noble Aunt
Loves me as dear as e'er my Mother did,
And would not, but in fury, fright my youth;

Which made me down to throw my books, and flie,
Causeless, perhaps; but pardon me, sweet Aunt;
And, Madam, if my uncle Marcus go,
I will most willingly attend your ladyship.

Mar.
Lucius, I will.

Tit.
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 skill'd;
Come and make choice of all my library,
And so beguile thy sorrow, 'till the heav'ns
Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed.
Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus?

Mar.
I think, she means, that there was more than one
Confederate in the fact. Ay, more there was;
Or else to heav'n she heaves them for revenge.

Tit.
Lucius, what book is that she tosses so?

Boy.
Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses;
My mother gave it me.

Mar.
For love of her that's gone,
Perhaps, she cull'd it from among the rest.

Tit.
Soft! see, how busily she turns the leaves!
Help her. What would she find? Lavinia, shall I read?
This is the tragick Tale of Philomel,
And treats of Tereus' treason and his rape;
And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy.

Mar.
See, brother, see; note, how she quotes the leaves.

Tit.
Lavinia, wert thou thus surpriz'd, sweet girl,
Ravish'd and wrong'd as Philomela was,
Forc'd 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!

Pattern'd by that the Poet here describes,
By nature made for murders and for rapes.

Mar.
O, why should Nature build so foul a den,
Unless the Gods delight in tragedies!

Tit.
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' bed?

Mar.
Sit down, sweet niece; brother, sit down by me.
Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,
Inspire me, that I may this treason find.
My Lord, look here; look here, Lavinia. [He writes his name with his staff, and guides it with his feet and mouth.
This sandy Plot is plain; guide, if thou can'st,
This after me, when I have writ my name,
Without the help of any hand at all.
Curst be that heart, that forc'd us to this shift!
Write thou, good niece; and here display, at least,
What God will have discover'd for revenge;
Heav'n 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 her stumps, and writes.

Tit.
Oh, do you read, my Lord, what she hath writ?
Stuprum, Chiron, Demetrius.

Mar.
What, what!—the lustful Sons of Tamora
Performers of this hateful bloody deed?

Tit.
Magne Dominator Poli,
Tam lentus audis scelera! tam lentus vides!

Mar.
Oh, 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 peer,
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 traiterous Goths;
And see their blood, or die with this reproach.

Tit.
'Tis sure enough, if you knew how.
But if you hurt these bear-whelps, then beware,
The dam will wake; and if she wind you 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're a young Huntsman, Marcus, let it 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 Sybil's leaves, abroad,
And where's your lesson then? boy, what say you?

Boy.
I say, my Lord, that if I were a man,
Their mother's bed chamber should not be safe,
For these bad bond-men to the yoke of Rome.

Mar.
Ay, that's my boy! thy father hath full oft
For this ungrateful Country done the like.

Boy.
And, uncle, so will I, an' if I live.

Tit.
Come, go with me into my armoury.
Lucius, I'll fit thee; and withal, my boy
Shall carry from me to the Emperess' 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 bosom, grandsire.

Tit.
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.

Mar.
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 foe-mens' marks upon his batter'd shield;
But yet so just, that he will not revenge;
^{4 note}