Tit.
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 tears, which now you ^note see
Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks;
Be pitiful to my condemned sons,
Whose souls are ^note not corrupted as 'tis thought.
For two and twenty sons I never wept,
Because they died in honour's lofty bed. [Lieth down; ^note the Judges, &c. pass by him, and Exeunt.
For these, tribunes ^note, in the dust I write
My heart's deep languor and ^note my soul's sad tears:
Let my tears stanch ^note the earth's dry appetite;
My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush.

^note
O earth, I will befriend ^note thee more with ^note rain,
That shall distil from these two ancient urns ^note,
Than youthful April shall with all his ^note showers:
In summer's drought ^note 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 weapon ^note drawn.
O reverend ^note tribunes! O gentle ^note, aged men ^note!
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 ^note; 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,— ^note

Luc.
My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak.

Tit.
Why, 'tis no matter, man: ^note if they did hear,
They would not mark me; or if they did mark,
They would not pity me; yet plead I must,
And bootless unto them......... ^note

Therefore I tell my sorrows to ^note the stones;
Who, though they cannot answer my distress,
Yet in some sort they are ^note better than the tribunes, ^note
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 ^note soft as ^note wax, tribunes more hard than stones ^note;
A stone is silent and offendeth not,
And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death. [Rises. ^note
But wherefore stand'st ^note thou with thy weapon drawn?

Luc.
To rescue my two brothers from their death:
For which attempt the judges have pronounced ^note
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 ^note, and Rome affords no prey ^note
But me and mine: how happy art thou then,
From these devourers to be banished!
But who comes with our brother Marcus here? ^noteEnter Marcus and Lavinia.

Marc.
Titus, prepare thy aged ^note 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.

Marc.
This was thy daughter.

Tit.
Why, Marcus, so she is.

Luc.
Ay ^note me, this object kills me!

Tit.
Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her.
Speak, Lavinia ^note, what accursed hand
Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight ^note?
What fool hath added water to the sea,
Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy?
My grief was at the height ^note before thou camest;
And now, like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds.
Give me a sword, I'll ^note chop off my hands too;
For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain;
And they have nursed this woe, in feeding life ^note;
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 ^note but vain.

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

Marc.
O, that delightful engine of her thoughts,
That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence,
Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage,
Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung
Sweet varied ^note notes, enchanting every ear ^note!

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

Marc.
O, thus I found her, straying in the park,
Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer
That hath received some unrecuring wound.

Tit.
It was my dear ^note; and he that wounded her ^note
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 ^note the waxing tide grow wave by wave ^note,
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 lively ^note 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 ^note lily almost wither'd ^note.

Marc.
Perchance she weeps because they kill'd her husband;
Perchance because she knows them ^note 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 sign ^note 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, as ^note 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 ^note of further misery ^note,
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.

Marc.
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 ^note 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 ^note. ^note

Aar. ^note
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 emperor
My hand ^{note note}:
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.

Marc.
Which of your hands hath not defended Rome,
And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe,
Writing destruction on the enemy's ^note castle ^note?
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. ^note
Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along,
For fear they die before their pardon come.

Marc.
My hand shall go.

Luc.
By heaven, it shall not go!

Tit.
Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd ^note 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.

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

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

Luc.
Then I'll go fetch an axe.

Marc.
But I will use the axe ^note. [Exeunt Lucius and Marcus. ^note

Tit.
Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both:
Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.

Aar. ^note [Aside ^note]
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 ^note. [Cuts off ^note Titus's hand. Re-enter ^note Lucius and Marcus.

Tit.
Now stay your ^note strife: what shall be is dispatch'd.
Good Aaron, give his majesty my ^note hand:
Tell him it was a hand that warded him
From thousand dangers; bid him bury it;
More hath it merited; ^note that let it have.
As for ^note my sons, say I account of them
As jewels purchased 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. [Aside ^note]
Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany
Doth fat ^note me with the very thoughts ^note of it!
Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace,
Aaron will have his soul black like his face. [Exit. ^note

Tit.
O, here ^note I lift this one hand up to heaven,

And bow this feeble ruin to the earth:
If any power pities wretched ^note tears,
To that I call! [To Lav ^note.] What, would ^note thou kneel with me?
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.

Marc.
O brother, speak with possibilities ^note,
And do not break into these deep extremes ^note.

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

Marc.
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,
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 do blow ^note!
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 ^note:
For why ^note 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.

Mess.
Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid

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 ^note, thy resolution mock'd:
That woe is me to think upon thy woes,
More than remembrance of my father's death. [Exit.

Marc.
Now let hot Ætna cool in Sicily ^note,
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 but to breathe ^note! [Lavinia ^note kisses Titus.

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

Tit.
When will this fearful slumber have an end?

Marc.
Now, farewell, flattery ^note: die, Andronicus;
Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads,
Thy warlike hand ^note, thy mangled daughter here,
Thy other banish'd son ^note with this dear ^note 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 ^note griefs:
Rend off ^note thy silver hair, thy other hand
Gnawing ^note with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight
The closing up of our ^note most wretched eyes:
Now is a time to storm; why art thou still?

Tit.
Ha, ha, ha!

Marc.
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 watery eyes
And make them blind with tributary tears:
Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? ^note
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 ^note, thou shalt be employ'd ^note in these things ^note;
Bear thou my hand, ^note sweet wench, between thy teeth ^note.
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 ^note,
Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. [Exeunt ^note all but Lucius. ^note

Luc.
Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father,
The wofull'st man that ever lived in Rome:
Farewell, proud Rome; till ^note Lucius come again,
He leaves ^note 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 ^note your wrongs;
And make proud Saturnine ^note and his empress
Beg at the gates, like ^note Tarquin and his queen.
Now will I to the Goths and raise a power,
To be revenged on Rome and Saturnine. [Exit. ^{note note} Scene II. [Footnote: A room ^note in Titus's house. A banquet ^note set out. Enter ^note 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 ^note 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 ^note, when my heart, all mad with misery,
Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,
Then thus I thump it down. [To Lavinia ^note]
Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs!
When thy poor heart beats with outrageous ^note beating,
Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still. ^note

Wound it with sighing ^note, 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 ^note in sea-salt ^note tears.

Marc.
Fie, brother, fie! teach her not thus to lay
Such violent hands upon her tender life.

Tit.
How now! has sorrow made thee dote 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, to talk ^note of hands,
Lest we remember still that we have none.
Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk,
As if we should forget we had no hands,
If Marcus did not name the word of hands! ^note
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 ^note with her sorrow ^note, mesh'd upon her cheeks:
Speechless complainer, I ^note will learn thy thought;
In thy dumb action will I be as perfect
As begging hermits ^note 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 ^note an alphabet,
And by still practice learn to know thy meaning.

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

Marc.
Alas, the tender boy, in passion moved,
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 ^note knife?

Marc.
At that that I have kill'd, my lord,—a fly ^note.

Tit.
Out on thee, ^note murderer! thou kill'st my heart;
Mine eyes are ^note 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.

Marc.
Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly.

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

Marc.
Pardon me, sir; it was ^note a black ill-favour'd fly, ^note
Like to the empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him.

Tit.
O, O, O, ^note
Then pardon me for reprehending thee,
For thou hast done a charitable deed.
Give me thy knife, I will insult on him;
Flattering myself ^note, as if it were the Moor

Come hither purposely to poison me.
There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora.
Ah, sirrah! ^note
Yet, I think ^note, we are not brought so low,
But that between us we can kill a fly
That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor ^note.

Marc.
Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on him,
He takes false shadows for true substances.

Tit.
Come, take away. ^note 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 begin ^note to dazzle. [Exeunt.

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