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 reafon for thefe 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 fea wax mad,
Threatning the welkin with his big-fwoln face?
And wilt thou have a reafon for this coil?
I am the fea; hark, how her fighs do blow !
She is the weeping welkin, 1 the earth:
Then must my fea 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 cafe their ftomachs with their bitter tongues.
Enter a Meffenger, bringing in two beads and a band.
Melf. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repay'd
For that good hand, thou fent'ft the emperor;
Here are the heads of thy two noble fons,
And here's thy hand, in fcorn to thee sent back.
Thy grief's their fport, thy refolution mock'd;
That woe is me to think upon thy woes,
More than remembrance of my father's death. [Exit.
Mar. Now let hot Etna cool in Sicily,
And be my heart an ever-burning hell;
These miferies are more than may be borne !
To weep with them that weep, doth ease some deal,
But forrow flouted at is double death.
i. e. extremes caused by exceflive forrow. But Mr. Theobald, on his own authority, alters it to deep, without notice given. WARB. It is deep in the old quarto of 1611.
Luc. Ah, that this fight should make so deep a
And yet detefted life not fhrink thereat;
That ever death fhould let life bear his name,
Where life hath no more intereft than to breathe.
[Lavinia kiffes him.
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 fon with this dear fight
Struck pale and bloodlefs; and thy brother I,
Even like å ftony image, cold and numb.
Ah! now no more will I controul thy griefs;
Rend off thy filver hair, thy other hand
Gnawing with thy teeth, and be this difmal fight
The clofing up of your most wretched eyes!
Now is a time to ftorm, why art thou ftill?
Tit. Ha, ha, ha!-
Mar. Why doft thou laugh? it fits not with this
Tit. Why I have not another tear to shed?
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 thefe 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 tafk 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.
Luc Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father, The woful'ft man that ever liv'd in Rome; Farewell, proud Rome; till Lucius comes 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 emperefs
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,
SCENE II. *
An apartment in Titus's houfe.
A banquet. Enter Titus, Marcus, Lavinia, and young Lucius, a boy.
Tit. So, fo, now fit; and look, you eat no more Than will preferve juft fo much strength in us As will revenge these bitter woes of ours.
2 This fcene, which does not contribute any thing to the action. yet feems to have the fame author with the reft, is omitted in the quarto of 1611, but found in the folio of 1623,
Marcus, unknit that forrow-wreathen knot;
Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands,
And cannot paffionate our ten-fold grief
With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine
Is left to tyrannize upon my breaft;
And when my heart, all mad with mifery,
Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,
Then thus I thump it down.-
Thou map of woe, that thus doft talk in figns!
[To Lavinia. When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating, Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still; Wound it with fighing, girl, kill it with groans; Or get fome 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 fink, and foaking in, Drown the lamenting fool in fea-falt tears. Mar. Fy, brother, fy, teach her not thus to lay Such violent hands upon her tender life.
Tit. How now! has forrow made thee doat already?
Why, Marcus, no man fhould be mad but I;
What violent hands can fhe lay on her life?
Ah, wherefore doft thou urge the name of hands,-
To bid Æneas tell the tale twice o'er,
How Troy was burnt, and he inade miferable?
O, handle not the theme, no talk of hands,-
Left we remember ftill, that we have none.
Fy, fy, how frantickly I fquare my talk,
As if we fhould forget we had no hands,
If Marcus did not name the word of hands?
Come, let's fali to, and, gentle girl, eat this.
Here is no drink: hark, Marcus, what fhe fays,
I can interpret all her martyr'd figns;
She fays, the drinks no other drink but tears,
Brew'd with her forrows, mefh'd upon her cheeks.
Speechlefs 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 figh, nor hold thy ftumps to heaven,
Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a fign,
But I, of thefe, will wreft an alphabet,
And by still practice learn to know the meaning.
Boy. Good grandfire, leave these bitterdeep laments;
Make my aunt merry with fome pleafing tale.
Mar. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov❜d,
Doth weep to fee his grandfire's heaviness.
Tit. Peace, tender fapling; thou art made of tears. And tears will quickly melt thy life away.
[Marcus frikes the dish with a knife.
What doft thou ftrike at, Marcus, with thy knife?
Mar. At that that I have kill'd, my lord, a fly.
Tit. Out on thee, murderer; thou kill'ft 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 fee, 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 flender gilded wings,
* And buz lamenting doings in the air?
Poor harmless fly,
That with his pretty buzzing melody,
3by fill practice] By conflant or continual practice.
JOHNSON. ↑ And bux lamenting doings in the air.] Lamenting doings is a very idle expreffion, and conveys no idea. I read
The alteration which I have made, though it is but the addition of a fingle letter, is a great increafe to the fenfe; and though, indeed, there is fomewhat of a tautology in the epithet and fubftantive annexed to it, yet that's no new thing with our author.
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