TIT.

Rise, Marcus, rise.

The dismall'st day is this that e'er I saw,

To be dishonored 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.

 

All but Marcus and Titus [stand aside].

 

MARC.

My lord, to step out of these dreary dumps,

How comes it that the subtile Queen of Goths

Is of a sudden thus advanc'd in Rome?

TIT.

I know not, Marcus, but I know it is

(Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell).

Is she not then beholding to the man

That brought her for this high good turn so far?

[Yes, and will nobly him remunerate.]

 

[Flourish.] Enter the Emperor, Tamora and her two sons [Demetrius and Chiron], with the Moor [Aaron], at one door; enter, at the other door, Bassianus and Lavinia with others.

 

SAT.

So, Bassianus, you have play'd 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 am I possess'd 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 that I owe to Rome,

This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here,

Is in opinion and in honor 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 controll'd in that he frankly gave.

Receive him then to favor, Saturnine,

That hath express'd 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 dishonored me.

Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge,

How I have lov'd and honored 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 dishonored openly,

And basely put it up without revenge?

TAM.

Not so, my lord, the gods of Rome forfend

I should be author to dishonor you!

But on mine honor 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.

 

[Aside to Saturnine.]

 

My lord, be rul'd by me, be won at last,

Dissemble all your griefs and discontents.

You are but newly planted in your throne;

Lest then the people, and patricians too,

Upon a just survey take Titus' part,

And so supplant you for ingratitude,

Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin,

Yield at entreats; and then let me alone,

I'll find a day to massacre them all,

And rase their faction and their family,

The cruel father and his traitorous sons,

To whom I sued for my dear son's life;

And make them know what 'tis to let a queen

Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain. –

Come, come, sweet emperor – come, Andronicus –

Take up this good old man, and cheer 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 mine honor, good my lord,

That I have reconcil'd your friends and you.

For you, Prince Bassianus, I have pass'd

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.

 

[Marcus, Lavinia, and Titus' sons kneel.]

 

[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 honor and our own.

MARC.

That, on mine honor, here do I 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 entreats,

I do remit these young men's heinous faults.

Stand up.

 

[Marcus and the others rise.]

 

Lavinia, though you left me like a churl,

I found a friend, and sure as death I swore

I would not part a bachelor 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, and 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 gramercy too.

 

Exeunt. Sound trumpets. Manet Moor [Aaron].

 

 

Act II,

[Scene I]

AAR.

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 threat'ning reach.

As when the golden sun salutes the morn,

And, having gilt the ocean with his beams,

Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach,

And overlooks the highest-peering hills:

So Tamora.

Upon her wit doth earthly honor wait,

And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown;

Then, Aaron, arm thy heart, and fit thy thoughts,

To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress,

And mount her pitch, whom thou in triumph long

Hast prisoner held, fett'red in amorous chains,

And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes

Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus.

Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts!

I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold,

To wait upon this new-made emperess.

To wait, said I? to wanton with this queen,

This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph,

This siren that will charm Rome's Saturnine,

And see his shipwrack and his commonweal's.

Hollo, what storm is this?

 

Enter Chiron and Demetrius braving.

 

DEM.

Chiron, thy years wants wit, thy wits wants edge,

And manners, to intrude where I am grac'd,

And may, for aught thou knowest, affected be.

CHI.

Demetrius, thou dost overween 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 passions for Lavinia's love.

AAR [Aside.]

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 desperate grown to threat your friends?

Go to; have your lath glued 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 [Coming forward.]

Why, how now, lords?

So near the Emperor's palace dare ye 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 dishonored in the court of Rome.

For shame, put up.

DEM.

Not I, till I have sheath'd

My rapier in his bosom, and withal

Thrust those reproachful speeches down his throat,

That he hath breath'd in my dishonor here.

CHI.

For that I am prepar'd and full resolv'd,

Foul-spoken coward, that thund'rest 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 broach'd,

Without controlment, justice, or revenge?

Young lords, beware! and should the Empress know

This discord's ground, the music 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 thine 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 to achieve her whom I love.

AAR.

To achieve her how?

DEM.

Why makes 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.

Though Bassianus be the Emperor's brother,

Better than he have worn Vulcan's badge.

AAR [Aside.]

Ay, and as good as Saturninus may.

DEM.

Then why should he despair that knows to court it,

With words, fair looks, and liberality?

What, hast not thou full often strook a doe,

And borne 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 achieve,

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 by kind for rape and villainy.

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 villainy and vengeance consecrate,

Will we acquaint withal what 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, and ears;

The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull.

There speak, and strike, brave boys, and take your turns,

There serve your lust, shadowed from heaven's eye,

And revel in Lavinia's treasury.

CHI.

Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice.

DEM.

Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream

To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits,

Per Stygia, per manes vehor.

 

Exeunt.

 

 

[Scene II]

Enter Titus Andronicus and his three sons [Lucius, Quintus, and Martius], making a noise with hounds and horns, [and Marcus].

 

TIT.

The hunt is up, the [morn] is bright and grey,

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 rouse 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 attend 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.

 

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.

 

[To Tamora.]

 

Madam, now shall ye see

Our Roman hunting.

MARC.

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 runs 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 III]

Enter Aaron alone [with a bag of gold].

 

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 villainy.

And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest,

 

[Hides the gold.]

 

That have their alms out of the Empress' chest.

 

Enter Tamora alone to the Moor.

 

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 cheerful sun,

The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind

And make a checker'd shadow on the ground.

Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit,

And whilst the babbling 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 yellowing noise;

And after conflict such as was suppos'd

The wand'ring prince and Dido once enjoyed,

When with a happy storm they were surpris'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,

Whiles 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, an' my cloudy melancholy,

My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls,

Even as an adder when she doth unroll

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 heaven 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 scroll.

Now question me no more, we are espied.

Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty,

Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction.

 

Enter Bassianus and Lavinia.

 

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.]

 

BAS.

Who have we here? Rome's royal Emperess,

Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop?

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 my private steps!

Had I the pow'r that some say Dian had,

Thy temples should be planted presently

With horns, as was Actaeon's, and the hounds

Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs,

Unmannerly intruder as thou art!

LAV.

Under your patience, gentle Emperess,

'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning,

And to be doubted that your Moor and you

Are singled forth to try thy experiments.

Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day!

'Tis pity they should take him for a stag.

BAS.

Believe me, Queen, your [swart] Cimmerian

Doth make your honor of his body's hue,

Spotted, detested, and abominable.

Why are you sequest'red from all your train,

Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed,

And wand'red hither to an obscure plot,

Accompanied but 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-colored love;

This valley fits the purpose passing well.

BAS.

The King my brother shall have notice of this.

LAV.

Ay, for these slips have made him noted long,

Good king, to be so mightily abused.

TAM.

Why, I have patience to endure all this.

 

Enter Chiron and Demetrius.

 

DEM.

How now, dear sovereign and our gracious mother?

Why doth your Highness look so pale and wan?

TAM.

Have I not reason, think you, to look pale?

These two have 'ticed me hither to this place:

A barren detested vale you see it is;

The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean,

Overcome with moss and baleful mistletoe;

Here never shines the sun, here nothing breeds,

Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven;

And when they show'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

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 henceforth call'd my children.

DEM.

This is a witness that I am thy son.

 

Stab him.

 

CHI.

And this for me, struck home to show my strength.

 

[Also stabs Bassianus, who dies.]

 

LAV.

Ay, come, Semiramis, nay, barbarous Tamora,

For no name fits thy nature but thy own!

TAM.

Give me the poniard; 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,

And with that painted hope braves your mightiness;

And shall she carry this unto her grave?

CHI.

And if she do, I would I were an eunuch.

Drag hence her husband to some secret hole,

And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust.

TAM.

But when ye have the honey we desire,

Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting.

CHI.

I warrant you, madam, we will make that sure.

Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy

That nice-preserved honesty of yours.

LAV.

O Tamora, thou bearest a woman's face –

TAM.

I will not hear her speak, away with her!

LAV.

Sweet lords, entreat 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 flint to drops of rain.

LAV.

When did the tiger's young ones teach the dam?

O, do not learn her wrath – she taught it thee;

The milk thou suck'st from her did turn to marble,

Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny;

Yet every mother breeds not sons alike –

 

[To Chiron.]

 

Do thou entreat her show a woman's pity.

CHI.

What, wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard?

LAV.

'Tis true, the raven doth not hatch a lark,

Yet have I heard – O, 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;

O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no,

Nothing so kind, but something pitiful!

TAM.

I know not what it means, away with her!

LAV.

O, 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 years.

TAM.

Hadst thou in person ne'er offended me,

Even for his sake am I 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, and use her as you will;

The worse to her, the better lov'd of me.

LAV.

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 died.

TAM.

What beg'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 satisfice their lust on thee.

DEM.

Away, for thou hast stay'd us here too long.

LAV.

No grace? no womanhood? ah, beastly creature,

The blot and enemy to our general name!

Confusion fall –

CHI.

Nay then I'll stop your mouth. Bring thou her husband;

This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him.

 

[Demetrius throws the body of Bassianus into the pit; then exeunt Demetrius and Chiron dragging off Lavinia.]

 

TAM.

Farewell, my sons, see that you make her sure.

Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed

Till all the Andronici be made away.

Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor,

And let my spleenful sons this trull deflow'r.

 

[Exit.]

 

Enter Aaron with two of Titus' sons [Quintus and Martius].

 

[AAR.]

Come on, my lords, the better foot before.

Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit

Where I espied the panther fast asleep.

QUIN.

My sight is very dull, what e'er it bodes.

MART.

And mine, I promise you; were it not for shame,

Well could I leave our sport to sleep a while.

 

[Falls into the pit.]

 

QUIN.

What, art thou fallen? What subtile hole is this,

Whose mouth is covered with rude-growing briers,

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?

MART.

O brother, with the dismall'st object hurt

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.

 

MART.

Why dost not comfort me and help me out

From this [unhallow'd] and blood-stained hole?

QUIN.

I am surprised with an uncouth fear,

A chilling sweat o'erruns my trembling joints,

My heart suspects more than mine eye can see.

MART.

To prove thou hast a true-divining heart,

Aaron and thou look down into this den,

And see a fearful sight of blood and death.

QUIN.

Aaron is gone, and my compassionate heart

Will not permit mine eyes once to behold

The thing whereat it trembles by surmise.

O, tell me who it is, for ne'er till now

Was I a child to fear I know not what.

MART.

Lord Bassianus lies [beray'd] in blood,

All on a heap, like to a slaughtered lamb,

In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit.

QUIN.

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

MART.

Upon his bloody finger he doth wear

A precious ring that lightens all this hole,

Which, like a taper in some monument,

Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks,

And shows 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.

MART.

Nor I no strength to climb without thy help.

QUIN.

Thy hand once more; I will not loose again,

Till thou art here aloft or I below.

Thou canst not come to me – I come to thee.

 

[Falls in.]

 

Enter the Emperor and Aaron the Moor.

 

SAT.

Along with me! I'll see what hole is here,

And what he is that now is leapt into it.

Say who art thou that lately didst descend

Into this gaping hollow of the earth?

MART.

The unhappy sons 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 them there.

MART.

We know not where you left them all alive,

But out alas, here have we found him dead.

 

Enter Tamora [with Attendants, Titus] 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 murthered.

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 Saturnine a letter.

 

SAT. (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 overshades the mouth of that same pit

Where we decreed to bury Bassianus.

Do this and purchase us thy lasting friends.«

O Tamora, was ever heard the like?

This is the pit, and this the elder-tree.

Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out,

That should have murthered Bassianus here.

AAR.

My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold.

SAT [To Titus.]

Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody kind,

Have here bereft my brother of his life. –

Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison,

There let them bide until we have devis'd

Some never-heard-of tortering pain for them.

TAM.

What, are they in this pit? O wondrous 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 fathers' reverent 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 murthered body, some the murtherers.

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 entreat the King.

Fear not thy sons, they shall do well enough.

TIT.

Come, Lucius, come, stay not to talk with them.

 

[Exeunt.]

 

 

[Scene IV]

Enter the Empress' sons [Demetrius and Chiron] with Lavinia, her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out, and ravished.

 

DEM.

So now go tell, and 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 hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash,

And so let's leave her to her silent walks.

CHI.

And 'twere my cause, I should go hang myself.

DEM.

If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord.

 

Exeunt [Demetrius and Chiron].

 

[Wind horns.] Enter Marcus from hunting.

 

MARC.

Who is this? my niece, that flies away so fast?

Cousin, a word; where is your husband?

If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me!

If I do wake, some planet strike me down,

That I may slumber an eternal sleep!

Speak, gentle niece: what stern ungentle hands

Hath 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 rosed lips,

Coming and going with thy honey breath.

But sure some Tereus hath deflow'red 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 [three] issuing spouts,

Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face

Blushing to be encount'red 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 stopp'd,

Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.

Fair Philomela, why, 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, cousin, hast thou met,

And he hath cut those pretty fingers off

That could have better sew'd than Philomel.

O, had the monster seen those lily hands

Tremble like aspen leaves upon a lute,

And make the silken strings delight to kiss them,

He would not then have touch'd them for his life!

Or had he heard the heavenly harmony

Which that sweet tongue hath made,

He would have dropp'd 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.

O, could our mourning ease thy misery!

 

Exeunt.

 

 

Act III,

[Scene I]

Enter the Judges and Senators [and Tribunes], with Titus' two sons [Martius and Quintus] bound, passing on the stage to the place of execution, and Titus going before, pleading.

 

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 see

Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks,

Be pitiful to my condemned sons,

Whose souls is not corrupted as 'tis thought.

For two and twenty sons I never wept,

Because they died in honor's lofty bed.

 

Andronicus lieth down, and the Judges [etc.] pass by him [and exeunt with the prisoners].

 

For these, tribunes, in the dust I write

My heart's deep languor, and my soul's sad tears:

Let my tears staunch the earth's dry appetite,

My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush.

O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain,

That shall distill from these two ancient [urns],

Than youthful April shall with all his show'rs.

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 weapon drawn.

 

O reverent tribunes! O 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: if they did hear,

They would not mark me; if they did mark,

They would not pity me; yet plead I must,

And bootless unto them.

Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones,

Who, though they cannot answer my distress,

Yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes,

For that they will not intercept my tale.

When I do weep, they humbly at my feet

Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me,

And were they but attired in grave weeds,

Rome could afford no tribunes like to these.

A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than stones;

A stone is silent, and offendeth not,

And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.

 

[Rises.]

 

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 tigers?

Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey

But me and mine. How happy art thou then,

From these devourers to be banished!

But who comes with our brother Marcus here?

 

Enter Marcus with Lavinia.

 

MARC.

Titus, prepare thy aged 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 me, this object kills me!

TIT.

Faint-hearted boy, arise and look upon her.

Speak, 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,

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 mart'red 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 notes, enchanting every ear!

LUC.

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

MARC.

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.

It was my dear, 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 lively body so?

Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears,

Nor tongue to tell me who hath mart'red 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 gath'red lily almost withered.

MARC.

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 sign how I may do thee ease.

Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius,

And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain,

Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks,

How they are 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 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] true tears all bewet,

Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks.

O, what a sympathy of woe is this,

As far from help as limbo is from bliss!

 

Enter Aaron the Moor alone.

 

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 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.

MARC.

Which of your hands hath not defended Rome,

And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe,

Writing destruction on the enemy's castle?

O, none of both but are of high desert.

My hand hath been but idle, let it serve

To ransom my two nephews from their death;

Then have I kept it to a worthy end.

AAR.

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 with'red herbs as these

Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.

LUC.

Sweet rather, 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.

 

Exeunt [Lucius and Marcus].

 

TIT.

Come hither, Aaron. I'll deceive them both;

Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.

AAR [Aside.]

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.

 

He cuts off Titus' 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.

 

[Aside.]

 

Their heads, I mean. O how this villainy

Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it!

Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace,

Aaron will have his soul black like his face.

 

Exit.

 

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!

 

[To Lavinia.]

 

What, wouldst 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 possibility,

And do not break into these deep extremes.

TIT.

Is not my sorrow 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,

Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swoll'n face?

And wilt thou have a reason for this coil?

I am the sea; hark how her sighs doth [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, 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 grief their sports! 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 Aetna 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 but to breathe!

 

[Lavinia 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, flatt'ry; 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 control thy griefs.

Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand

Gnawing with thy teeth, and be this dismal sight

The closing up of our most wretched eyes.

Now is a 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 wat'ry 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 hath 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;

And, Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd;

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 ye love me, as I think you do,

Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do.

 

Exeunt. [Manet Lucius.]

 

LUC.

Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father,

The woefull'st man that ever liv'd in Rome.

Farewell, proud Rome, till Lucius come again;

He loves his pledges dearer than his life.

Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister,

O would thou wert as thou tofore hast been!

But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives

But in oblivion and hateful griefs.

If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs,

And make proud Saturnine and his emperess

Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen.

Now will I to the Goths and raise a pow'r,

To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine.

 

Exit Lucius.

 

 

[[Scene II]

A banket [set out]. Enter [Titus] Andronicus, Marcus, Lavinia, and the boy [young Lucius].

 

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 tenfold grief

With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine

Is left to tyrannize upon my breast,

Who, when my heart, all mad with misery,

Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,

Then thus I thump it down.

 

[To Lavinia.]

 

Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs!

When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating,

Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still.

Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans;

Or get some little knife between thy teeth,

And just against thy heart make thou a hole,

That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall

May run into that sink, and soaking in,

Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt 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 Aeneas tell the tale twice o'er

How Troy was burnt and he made miserable?

O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands,

Lest we remember still that we have none.

Fie, fie, how franticly 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 sorrow, mesh'd upon her cheeks.

Speechless [complainant], 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 heaven,

Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign,

But I, of these, will wrest an alphabet,

And by still practice learn to know thy meaning.

BOY.

Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments,

Make my aunt merry with some pleasing talc.

MARC.

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?

MARC.

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.

MARC.

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

And buzz lamenting doings in the air!

Poor harmless fly,

That, with his pretty buzzing melody,

Came here to make us merry! and thou hast kill'd him.

MARC.

Pardon me, sir, it was a black ill-favor'd fly,

Like to the Empress' 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.