Aar. Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor
Sends thee this word,-That, if thou love thy fons,
Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus,
Or any one of you, chop off your hand,
And fend it to the king: he for the fame,
Wil fend thee hither both thy fons alive;
And that fhall be the ranfom for their fault.
Tit. O, gracious emperor! O, gentle Aaron
Did ever raven sing so like a lark,
That gives sweet tidings of the fun's uprise?
With all my heart, I'll fend 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 fo many enemies,
Shall not be sent; my hand will serve the turn :
My youth can better spare my blood than you;
And therefore mine fhall fave my brothers' lives.
Mar. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome,
And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-ax,
Writing destruction on the enemy's castle?
O, none of both but are of high defert :
My hand hath been but idle; let it ferve
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.
By heaven, it shall not go.
Tit. Sirs, ftrive no more; fuch wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.
Luc. Sweet father, if I fhall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death.
Mar. And, for our father's fake, 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.
[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, whilft I live, deceive men fo:-
But I'll deceive you in another fort,
And that you'll fay, ere half an hour can pass.
[He cuts off TITUS's hand,
Tit. Now, stay your strife; what shall be, is despatch'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 fons, fay, 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 fons with thee :—
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 foul black like his face.
Tit. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven,
And bow this feeble ruin to the earth:
If any power pities wretched tears,
To that I call:-What, wilt thou kneel with me?
[TO LAVINIA.
Do then, dear heart; for heaven fhall hear our prayers;
Or with our fighs we'll breathe the welkin dim,
And ftain the fun with fog, as fometime clouds,
When they do hug him in their melting bofoms.
Mar. O! brother speak with poffibilities,
And do not break into these deep extremes.
Tit. Is not my forrow deep, having no bottom?
Then be my paffions bottomlefs with them.
Mar. But yet let reafon govern thy lament.
Tit. If there were reason for these miferies,
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-fwoln face?
And wilt thou have a reafon for this coil?
I am the sea; hark, how her fighs do blow!
She is the weeping welkin, I the earth :
Then must my sea be moved with her fighs;
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 lofers will have leave
To case their stomachs with their bitter tongues.
Enter a Meffenger, with two heads and a band.
Mess. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repay'd
For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor.
Here are the heads of thy two noble fons;
And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee fent back;
Thy griefs their sports, thy refolution mock'd:
That woe is me to think upon thy woes,
More than remembrance of my father's death.
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 fome deal,
But forrow flouted at is double death.
Luc. Ah, that this fight fhould make fo deep a wound, And yet detefted life not fhrink threreat!
That ever death fhould let life bear his name,
Where life hath no more intereft but to breathe!
Mar. Alas, poor heart, that kifs is comfortless,
As frozen water to a ftarved fnake.
Tit. When will this fearful flumber have an end?
Mar. Now, farewell, flattery: Die, Andronicus;
Thou doft not flumber: fee, thy two fons' heads ;
Thy warlike hand; thy mangled daughter here;
Thy other banish'd son, with this dear fight
Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I,
Even like a tony image, cold and numb.
Ah! now no more will I control thy griefs :
Rent off thy filver hair, thy other hand
Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this difmal fight
The clofing up of our most wretched eyes!
Now is a time to storm; why art thou still ?
Mar. Why dost thou laugh! it fits not with this hour. Tit. Why, I have not another tear to fhed:
Befides, this forrow is an enemy,
And would ufurp upon my watry eyes,
And make them blind with tributary tears;
Then which way fhall I find revenge's cave?
For these two heads do feem to speak to me;
And threat me, I fhall never come to blifs,
Till all these mischiefs be return'd again,
Even in their throats that have committed them.
Come, let me fee 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 foul 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, fweet wench, between thy teeth.
As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my fight; .
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 kifs and part, for we have much to do.
[Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA.
Luc. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father;
The woeful'ft man that ever liv'd in Rome!
Farewell, proud Rome! till Lucius come again,
He leaves his pledges dearer than his life.
Farewell, Lavinia, my noble fifter;
O, 'would thou wert as thou 'tofore haft 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 emprefs
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.
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