Titus Andronicus

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Titus Andronicus Mar. Perchance she weepes because they kil'd her husband, Perchance because she knowes him innocent Ti. If they did kill thy husband then be ioyfull, Because the law hath tane reuenge on them. No, no, they would not doe so foule a deede, Witnes the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lauinia let me kisse thy lips, Or make some signes how I may do thee ease: Shall thy good Vncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou and I sit round about some Fountaine, Looking all downewards to behold our cheekes How they are stain'd in meadowes, yet not dry With miery slime left on them by a flood: And in the Fountaine shall we gaze so long, Till the fresh taste be taken from that cleerenes, And made a brine pit with our bitter teares? Or shall we cut away our hands like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumbe shewes Passe the remainder of our hatefull dayes? What shall we doe? Let vs that haue our tongues Plot some deuise of further miseries To make vs wondred at in time to come Lu. Sweet Father cease your teares, for at your griefe See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps Mar. Patience deere Neece, good Titus drie thine eyes Ti. Ah Marcus, Marcus, Brother well I wot, Thy napkin cannot drinke a teare of mine, For thou poore man hast drown'd it with thine owne Lu. Ah my Lauinia I will wipe thy cheekes Ti. Marke Marcus marke, I vnderstand her signes, Had she a tongue to speake, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee. His Napkin with her true teares all bewet, Can do no seruice on her sorrowfull cheekes. Oh what a simpathy of woe is this! As farre from helpe as Limbo is from blisse, Enter Aron the Moore alone. Moore. Titus Andronicus, my Lord the Emperour, Sends thee this word, that if thou loue thy sonnes, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thy selfe 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 sonnes aliue, And that shall be the ransome for their fault Ti. Oh gracious Emperour, oh gentle Aaron. Did euer Rauen sing so like a Larke, That giues sweet tydings of the Sunnes vprise? With all my heart, Ile send the Emperour my hand, Good Aron wilt thou help to chop it off? Lu. Stay Father, for that noble hand of thine, That hath throwne downe so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serue the turne, My youth can better spare my blood then you, And therfore mine shall saue my brothers liues Mar. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody Battleaxe, Writing destruction on the enemies Castle? Oh none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath bin but idle, let it serue To ransome my two nephewes from their death, Then haue I kept it to a worthy end Moore. Nay come agree, whose hand shall goe along For feare they die before their pardon come Mar. My hand shall goe Lu. By heauen it shall not goe Ti. Sirs striue no more, such withered hearbs as these Are meete for plucking vp, and therefore mine Lu. Sweet Father, if I shall be thought thy sonne, Let me redeeme my brothers both from death Mar. And for our fathers sake, and mothers care, Now let me shew a brothers loue to thee Ti. Agree betweene you, I will spare my hand Lu. Then Ile goe fetch an Axe Mar. But I will vse the Axe. Exeunt. Ti. Come hither Aaron, Ile deceiue them both, Lend me thy hand, and I will giue thee mine, Moore. If that be cal'd deceit, I will be honest, And neuer whil'st I liue deceiue men so: But Ile deceiue you in another sort, And that you'l say ere halfe an houre passe. He cuts off Titus hand. Enter Lucius and Marcus againe. Ti. Now stay your strife, what shall be, is dispatcht: Good Aron giue his Maiestie 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 haue. As for my sonnes, say I account of them, As iewels purchast at an easie price, And yet deere too, because I bought mine owne Aron. I goe Andronicus, and for thy hand, Looke by and by to haue thy sonnes with thee: Their heads I meane: Oh how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it. Let fooles doe good, and faire men call for grace, Aron will haue his soule blacke like his face. Enter. Ti. O heere I lift this one hand vp to heauen, And bow this feeble ruine to the earth, If any power pitties wretched teares, To that I call: what wilt thou kneele with me? Doe then deare heart, for heauen shall heare our prayers, Or with our sighs weele breath the welkin dimme, And staine the Sun with fogge as somtime cloudes, When they do hug him in their melting bosomes Mar. Oh brother speake with possibilities, And do not breake into these deepe extreames Ti. Is not my sorrow deepe, hauing no bottome? Then be my passions bottomlesse with them Mar. But yet let reason gouerne thy lament Titus. If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I binde my woes: When heauen doth weepe, doth not the earth oreflow? If the windes rage, doth not the Sea wax mad, Threatning the welkin with his big-swolne face? And wilt thou haue a reason for this coile? I am the Sea. Harke how her sighes doe flow: Shee is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my Sea be moued with her sighes, Then must my earth with her continuall teares, Become a deluge: ouerflow'd and drown'd: For why, my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them: Then giue me leaue, for loosers will haue leaue, To ease their stomackes 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 sentst the Emperour: Heere are the heads of thy two noble sonnes. And heeres thy hand in scorne to thee sent backe: Thy griefes, their sports: Thy resolution mockt, That woe is me to thinke vpon thy woes, More then remembrance of my fathers death. Enter. Marc. Now let hot aetna coole in Cicilie, And be my heart an euer-burning hell: These miseries are more then may be borne. To weepe with them that weepe, doth ease some deale, But sorrow flouted at, is double death Luci. Ah that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrinke thereat: That euer death should let life beare his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breath Mar. Alas poore hart that kisse is comfortlesse, As frozen water to a starued snake Titus. When will this fearefull slumber haue an end? Mar. Now farwell flatterie, die Andronicus, Thou dost not slumber, see thy two sons heads, Thy warlike hands, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banisht sonnes with this deere sight Strucke pale and bloodlesse, and thy brother I, Euen like a stony Image, cold and numme. Ah now no more will I controule my griefes, Rent off thy siluer haire, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth, and be this dismall sight The closing vp of our most wretched eyes: Now is a time to storme, why art thou still? Titus. Ha, ha, ha, Mar. Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this houre Ti. Why I haue not another teare to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would vsurpe vpon my watry eyes, And make them blinde with tributarie teares. Then which way shall I finde Reuenges Caue? For these two heads doe seeme to speake to me, And threat me, I shall neuer come to blisse, Till all these mischiefes be returned againe, Euen in their throats that haue committed them. Come let me see what taske I haue to doe, You heauie people, circle me about, That I may turne me to each one of you, And sweare vnto my soule to right your wrongs. The vow is made, come Brother take a head, And in this hand the other will I beare. And Lauinia thou shalt be employd in these things: Beare thou my hand sweet wench betweene thy teeth: As for thee boy, goe get thee from my sight, Thou art an Exile, and thou must not stay, Hie to the Gothes, and raise an army there, And if you loue me, as I thinke you doe, Let's kisse and part, for we haue much to doe. Exeunt. Manet Lucius. Luci. Farewell Andronicus my noble Father: The woful'st man that euer liu'd in Rome: Farewell proud Rome, til Lucius come againe, He loues his pledges dearer then his life: Farewell Lauinia my noble sister, O would thou wert as thou to fore hast beene, But now, nor Lucius nor Lauinia liues But in obliuion and hateful griefes: If Lucius liue, he will requit your wrongs, And make proud Saturnine and his Empresse Beg at the gates like Tarquin and his Queene. Now will I to the Gothes and raise a power, To be reueng'd on Rome and Saturnine. Exit Lucius A Banket. Enter Andronicus, Marcus, Lauinia, and the Boy. An. So, so, now sit, and looke you eate no more Then will preserue iust so much strength in vs As will reuenge these bitter woes of ours. Marcus vnknit that sorrow-wreathen knot: Thy Neece and I (poore Creatures) want our hands And cannot passionate our tenfold griefe, With foulded Armes. This poore right hand of mine, Is left to tirranize vppon my breast. Who when my hart all mad with misery, Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, Then thus I thumpe it downe. Thou Map of woe, that thus dost talk in signes, When thy poore hart beates without ragious beating, Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still? Wound it with sighing girle, kil it with grones: Or get some little knife betweene thy teeth, And iust against thy hart make thou a hole, That all the teares that thy poore eyes let fall May run into that sinke, and soaking in, Drowne the lamenting foole, in Sea salt teares Mar. Fy brother fy, teach her not thus to lay Such violent hands vppon her tender life An. How now! Has sorrow made thee doate already? Why Marcus, no man should be mad but I: What violent hands can she lay on her life: Ah, wherefore dost thou vrge the name of hands, To bid Aeneas tell the tale twice ore How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable? O handle not the theame, to talke of hands, Least we remember still that we haue none, Fie, fie, how Frantiquely I square my talke As if we should forget we had no hands: If Marcus did not name the word of hands. Come, lets fall too, and gentle girle eate this, Heere is no drinke? Harke Marcus what she saies, I can interpret all her martir'd signes, She saies, she drinkes no other drinke but teares Breu'd with her sorrow: mesh'd vppon her cheekes, Speechlesse complayner, I will learne thy thought: In thy dumb action, will I be as perfect As begging Hermits in their holy prayers. Thou shalt not sighe nor hold thy stumps to heauen, Nor winke, nor nod, nor kneele, nor make a signe; But I (of these) will wrest an Alphabet, And by still practice, learne to know thy meaning Boy. Good grandsire leaue these bitter deepe laments, Make my Aunt merry, with some pleasing tale Mar. Alas, the tender boy in passion mou'd, Doth weepe to see his grandsires heauinesse An. Peace tender Sapling, thou art made of teares, And teares will quickly melt thy life away. Marcus strikes the dish with a knife. What doest thou strike at Marcus with knife Mar. At that that I haue kil'd my Lord, a Fly An. Out on the murderour: thou kil'st my hart, Mine eyes cloi'd with view of Tirranie: A deed of death done on the Innocent Becoms not Titus brother: get thee gone, I see thou art not for my company Mar. Alas (my Lord) I haue but kild a flie An. But? How: if that Flie had a father and mother? How would he hang his slender gilded wings And buz lamenting doings in the ayer, Poore harmelesse Fly, That with his pretty buzing melody, Came heere to make vs merry, And thou hast kil'd him Mar. Pardon me sir, It was a blacke illfauour'd Fly, Like to the Empresse Moore, therefore I kild him An. O, o, o, Then pardon me for reprehending thee, For thou hast done a Charitable deed: Giue me thy knife, I will insult on him, Flattering my selfe, as if it were the Moore, Come hither purposely to poyson me. There's for thy selfe, and thats for Tamora: Ah sirra, Yet I thinke we are not brought so low, But that betweene vs, we can kill a Fly, That comes in likenesse of a Cole-blacke Moore Mar. Alas poore man, griefe ha's so wrought on him, He takes false shadowes, for true substances An. Come, take away: Lauinia, goe with me, Ile to thy closset, and goe read with thee Sad stories, chanced in the times of old. Come boy, and goe with me, thy sight is young, And thou shalt read, when mine begin to dazell. Exeunt. Actus Quartus. Enter young Lucius and Lauinia running after him, and the Boy flies from her with his bookes vnder his arme. Enter Titus and Marcus. Boy. Helpe Gransier helpe, my Aunt Lauinia, Followes me euery where I know not why. Good Vncle Marcus see how swift she comes, Alas sweet Aunt, I know not what you meane Mar. Stand by me Lucius, doe not feare thy Aunt Titus. She loues thee boy too well to doe thee harme Boy. I when my father was in Rome she did Mar. What meanes my Neece Lauinia by these signes? Ti. Feare not Lucius, somewhat doth she meane: See Lucius see, how much she makes of thee: Some whether would she haue thee goe with her. Ah boy, Cornelia neuer with more care Read to her sonnes, then she hath read to thee, Sweet Poetry, and Tullies Oratour: Canst thou not gesse wherefore she plies thee thus? Boy. My Lord I know not I, nor can I gesse, Vnlesse some fit or frenzie do possesse her: For I haue heard my Gransier say full oft, Extremitie of griefes would make men mad. And I haue read that Hecuba of Troy, Ran mad through sorrow, that made me to feare, Although my Lord, I know my noble Aunt, Loues me as deare as ere my mother did, And would not but in fury fright my youth, Which made me downe to throw my bookes, and flie Causles perhaps, but pardon me sweet Aunt, And Madam, if my Vncle Marcus goe, I will most willingly attend your Ladyship Mar. Lucius I will Ti. How now Lauinia, Marcus what meanes this? Some booke there is that she desires to see, Which is it girle of these? Open them boy, But thou art deeper read and better skild, Come and take choyse of all my Library, And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heauens Reueale the damn'd contriuer of this deed. What booke? Why lifts she vp her armes in sequence thus? Mar. I thinke she meanes that ther was more then one Confederate in the fact, I more there was: Or else to heauen she heaues them to reuenge Ti. Lucius what booke is that she tosseth so? Boy. Grandsier 'tis Ouids Metamorphosis, My mother gaue it me Mar. For loue of her that's gone, Perhaps she culd it from among the rest Ti. Soft, so busily she turnes the leaues, Helpe her, what would she finde? Lauinia shall I read? This is the tragicke tale of Philomel? And treates of Tereus treason and his rape, And rape I feare was roote of thine annoy Mar. See brother see, note how she quotes the leaues Ti. Lauinia, wert thou thus surpriz'd sweet girle, Rauisht and wrong'd as Philomela was? Forc'd in the ruthlesse, vast, and gloomy woods? See, see, I such a place there is where we did hunt, (O had we neuer, neuer hunted there) Patern'd by that the Poet heere describes, By nature made for murthers and for rapes Mar. O why should nature build so foule a den, Vnlesse the Gods delight in tragedies? Ti. Giue signes sweet girle, for heere are none but friends What Romaine Lord it was durst do the deed? Or slunke not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, That left the Campe to sinne in Lucrece bed Mar. Sit downe sweet Neece, brother sit downe by me, Appollo, Pallas, Ioue, or Mercury, Inspire me that I may this treason finde. My Lord looke heere, looke heere Lauinia. He writes his Name with his staffe, and guides it with feete and mouth. This sandie plot is plaine, guide if thou canst This after me, I haue writ my name, Without the helpe of any hand at all. Curst be that hart that forc'st vs to that shift: Write thou good Neece, and heere display at last, What God will haue discouered for reuenge, Heauen guide thy pen to print thy sorrowes plaine, That we may know the Traytors and the truth. She takes the staffe in her mouth, and guides it with her stumps and writes. Ti. Oh doe ye read my Lord what she hath writ? Stuprum, Chiron, Demetrius Mar. What, what, the lustfull sonnes of Tamora, Performers of this hainous bloody deed? Ti. Magni Dominator poli, Tam lentus audis scelera, tam lentus vides? Mar. Oh calme thee gentle Lord: Although I know There is enough written vpon this earth, To stirre a mutinie in the mildest thoughts, And arme the mindes of infants to exclaimes. My Lord kneele downe with me: Lauinia kneele, And kneele sweet boy, the Romaine Hectors hope, And sweare with me, as with the wofull Feere And father of that chast dishonoured Dame, Lord Iunius Brutus sweare for Lucrece rape, That we will prosecute (by good aduise) Mortall reuenge vpon these traytorous Gothes, And see their blood, or die with this reproach Ti. Tis sure enough, and you knew how. But if you hunt these Beare-whelpes, then beware The Dam will wake, and if she winde you once, Shee's with the Lyon deepely still in league. And lulls him whilst she playeth on her backe, And when he sleepes will she do what she list. You are a young huntsman Marcus, let it alone: And come, I will goe get a leafe of brasse, And with a Gad of steele will write these words, And lay it by: the angry Northerne winde Will blow these sands like Sibels leaues abroad, And wheres your lesson then. Boy what say you? Boy. I say my Lord, that if I were a man, Their mothers bed-chamber should not be safe, For these bad bond-men to the yoake of Rome Mar. I that's my boy, thy father hath full oft, For his vngratefull country done the like Boy. And Vncle so will I, and if I liue Ti. Come goe with me into mine Armorie, Lucius Ile fit thee, and withall, my boy Shall carry from me to the Empresse sonnes, Presents that I intend to send them both, Come, come, thou'lt do thy message, wilt thou not? Boy. I with my dagger in their bosomes Grandsire: Ti. No boy not so, Ile teach thee another course, Lauinia come, Marcus looke to my house, Lucius and Ile goe braue it at the Court, I marry will we sir, and weele be waited on. Exeunt. Mar. O heauens! Can you heare a good man grone And not relent, or not compassion him? Marcus attend him in his extasie, That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart, Then foe-mens markes vpon his batter'd shield, But yet so iust, that he will not reuenge, Reuenge the heauens for old Andronicus. Exit Enter Aron, Chiron and Demetrius at one dore: and at another dore young Lucius and another, with a bundle of weapons, and verses writ vpon them. Chi. Demetrius heeres the sonne of Lucius, He hath some message to deliuer vs Aron. I some mad message from his mad Grandfather Boy. My Lords, with all the humblenesse I may, I greete your honours from Andronicus, And pray the Romane Gods confound you both Deme. Gramercie louely Lucius, what's the newes? For villanie's markt with rape. May it please you, My Grandsire well aduis'd hath sent by me, The goodliest weapons of his Armorie, To gratifie your honourable youth, The hope of Rome, for so he bad me say: And so I do and with his gifts present Your Lordships, when euer you haue need, You may be armed and appointed well, And so I leaue you both: like bloody villaines. Exit Deme. What's heere? a scrole, & written round about? Let's see. Integer vitæ scelerisque purus, non egit maury iaculis nec arcus Chi. O 'tis a verse in Horace, I know it well. I read it in the Grammer long agoe Moore. I iust, a verse in Horace: right, you haue it, Now what a thing it is to be an Asse? Heer's no sound iest, the old man hath found their guilt, And sends the weapons wrapt about with lines, That wound (beyond their feeling) to the quick: But were our witty Empresse well a foot, She would applaud Andronicus conceit: But let her rest, in her vnrest a while. And now young Lords, was't not a happy starre Led vs to Rome strangers, and more then so; Captiues, to be aduanced to this height? It did me good before the Pallace gate, To braue the Tribune in his brothers hearing Deme. But me more good, to see so great a Lord Basely insinuate, and send vs gifts Moore. Had he not reason Lord Demetrius? Did you not vse his daughter very friendly? Deme. I would we had a thousand Romane Dames At such a bay, by turne to serue our lust Chi. A charitable wish, and full of loue Moore. Heere lack's but your mother for to say, Amen Chi. And that would she for twenty thousand more Deme. Come, let vs go, and pray to all the Gods For our beloued mother in her paines Moore. Pray to the deuils, the gods haue giuen vs ouer. Flourish. Dem. Why do the Emperors trumpets flourish thus? Chi. Belike for ioy the Emperour hath a sonne Deme. Soft, who comes heere? Enter Nurse with a blacke a Moore childe. Nur. Good morrow Lords: O tell me, did you see Aaron the Moore? Aron. Well, more or lesse, or nere a whit at all, Heere Aaron is, and what with Aaron now? Nurse. Oh gentle Aaron, we are all vndone. Now helpe, or woe betide thee euermore Aron. Why, what a catterwalling dost thou keepe? What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine armes? Nurse. O that which I would hide from heauens eye, Our Empresse shame, and stately Romes disgrace, She is deliuered Lords, she is deliuered Aron. To whom? Nurse. I meane she is brought a bed? Aron. Wel God giue her good rest, What hath he sent her? Nurse. A deuill Aron. Why then she is the Deuils Dam: a ioyfull issue Nurse. A ioylesse, dismall, blacke &, sorrowfull issue, Heere is the babe as loathsome as a toad, Among'st the fairest breeders of our clime, The Empresse sends it thee, thy stampe, thy seale, And bids thee christen it with thy daggers point Aron. Out you whore, is black so base a hue? Sweet blowse, you are a beautious blossome sure Deme. Villaine what hast thou done? Aron. That which thou canst not vndoe Chi. Thou hast vndone our mother Deme. And therein hellish dog, thou hast vndone, Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choyce, Accur'st the off-spring of so foule a fiend Chi. It shall not liue Aron. It shall not die Nurse. Aaron it must, the mother wils it so Aron. What, must it Nurse? Then let no man but I Doe execution on my flesh and blood Deme. Ile broach the Tadpole on my Rapiers point: Nurse giue it me, my sword shall soone dispatch it Aron. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels vp. Stay murtherous villaines, will you kill your brother? Now by the burning Tapers of the skie, That shone so brightly when this Boy was got, He dies vpon my Semitars sharpe point, That touches this my first borne sonne and heire. I tell you younglings, not Enceladus With all his threatning band of Typhons broode, Nor great Alcides, nor the God of warre, Shall ceaze this prey out of his fathers hands: What, what, ye sanguine shallow harted Boyes, Ye white-limb'd walls, ye Ale-house painted signes, Cole-blacke is better then another hue, In that it scornes to beare another hue: For all the water in the Ocean, Can neuer turne the Swans blacke legs to white, Although she laue them hourely in the flood: Tell the Empresse from me, I am of age To keepe mine owne, excuse it how she can Deme. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistris thus? Aron. My mistris is my mistris: this my selfe, The vigour, and the picture of my youth: This, before all the world do I preferre, This mauger all the world will I keepe safe, Or some of you shall smoake for it in Rome Deme. By this our mother is for euer sham'd Chi. Rome will despise her for this foule escape Nur. The Emperour in his rage will doome her death Chi. I blush to thinke vpon this ignominie Aron. Why ther's the priuiledge your beauty beares: Fie trecherous hue, that will betray with blushing The close enacts and counsels of the hart: Heer's a young Lad fram'd of another leere, Looke how the blacke slaue smiles vpon the father; As who should say, old Lad I am thine owne. He is your brother Lords, sensibly fed Of that selfe blood that first gaue life to you, And from that wombe where you imprisoned were He is infranchised and come to light: Nay he is your brother by the surer side, Although my seale be stamped in his face Nurse. Aaron what shall I say vnto the Empresse? Dem. Aduise thee Aaron, what is to be done, And we will all subscribe to thy aduise: Saue thou the child, so we may all be safe Aron. Then sit we downe and let vs all consult. My sonne and I will haue the winde of you: Keepe there, now talke at pleasure of your safety Deme. How many women saw this childe of his? Aron. Why so braue Lords, when we ioyne in league I am a Lambe: but if you braue the Moore, The chafed Bore, the mountaine Lyonesse, The Ocean swells not so as Aaron stormes: But say againe, how many saw the childe? Nurse. Cornelia, the midwife, and my selfe, And none else but the deliuered Empresse Aron. The Empresse, the Midwife, and your selfe, Two may keepe counsell, when the third's away: Goe to the Empresse, tell her this I said, He kils her Weeke, weeke, so cries a Pigge prepared to th' spit Deme. What mean'st thou Aron? Wherefore did'st thou this? Aron. O Lord sir, 'tis a deed of pollicie? Shall she liue to betray this guilt of our's: A long tongu'd babling Gossip? No Lords no: And now be it knowne to you my full intent. Not farre, one Muliteus my Country-man His wife but yesternight was brought to bed, His childe is like to her, faire as you are: Goe packe with them, and giue the mother gold, And tell them both the circumstance of all, And how by this their Childe shall be aduaunc'd, And be receiued for the Emperours heyre, And substituted in the place of mine, To calme this tempest whirling in the Court, And let the Emperour dandle him for his owne, Harke ye Lords, ye see I haue giuen her physicke, And you must needs bestow her funerall, The fields are neere, and you are gallant Groomes: This done, see that you take no longer daies But send the Midwife presently to me. The Midwife and the Nurse well made away, Then let the Ladies tattle what they please Chi. Aaron I see thou wilt not trust the ayre with secrets Deme. For this care of Tamora, Her selfe, and hers are highly bound to thee. Exeunt Aron. Now to the Gothes, as swift as Swallow flies, There to dispose this treasure in mine armes, And secretly to greete the Empresse friends: Come on you thick-lipt-slaue, Ile beare you hence, For it is you that puts vs to our shifts: Ile make you feed on berries, and on rootes, And feed on curds and whay, and sucke the Goate, And cabbin in a Caue, and bring you vp To be a warriour, and command a Campe. Exit Enter Titus, old Marcus, young Lucius, and other gentlemen with bowes, and Titus beares the arrowes with Letters on the end of them. Tit. Come Marcus, come, kinsmen this is the way. Sir Boy let me see your Archerie, Looke yee draw home enough, and 'tis there straight: Terras Astrea reliquit, be you remembred Marcus. She's gone, she's fled, sirs take you to your tooles, You Cosens shall goe sound the Ocean: And cast your nets, haply you may find her in the Sea, Yet ther's as little iustice as at Land: No Publius and Sempronius, you must doe it, 'Tis you must dig with Mattocke, and with Spade, And pierce the inmost Center of the earth: Then when you come to Plutoes Region, I pray you deliuer him this petition, Tell him it is for iustice, and for aide, And that it comes from old Andronicus, Shaken with sorrowes in vngratefull Rome. Ah Rome! Well, well, I made thee miserable, What time I threw the peoples suffrages On him that thus doth tyrannize ore me. Goe get you gone, and pray be carefull all, And leaue you not a man of warre vnsearcht, This wicked Emperour may haue shipt her hence, And kinsmen then we may goe pipe for iustice Marc. O Publius is not this a heauie case To see thy Noble Vnckle thus distract? Publ. Therefore my Lords it highly vs concernes, By day and night t' attend him carefully: And feede his humour kindely as we may, Till time beget some carefull remedie Marc. Kinsmen, his sorrowes are past remedie. Ioyne with the Gothes, and with reuengefull warre, Take wreake on Rome for this ingratitude, And vengeance on the Traytor Saturnine Tit. Publius how now? how now my Maisters? What haue you met with her? Publ. No my good Lord, but Pluto sends you word, If you will haue reuenge from hell you shall, Marrie for iustice she is so imploy'd, He thinkes with Ioue in heauen, or some where else: So that perforce you must needs stay a time Tit. He doth me wrong to feed me with delayes, Ile diue into the burning Lake below, And pull her out of Acaron by the heeles. Marcus we are but shrubs, no Cedars we, No big-bon'd-men, fram'd of the Cyclops size, But mettall Marcus steele to the very backe, Yet wrung with wrongs more then our backe can beare: And sith there's no iustice in earth nor hell, We will sollicite heauen, and moue the Gods To send downe Iustice for to wreake our wrongs: Come to this geare, you are a good Archer Marcus. He giues them the Arrowes. Ad Iouem, that's for you: here ad Appollonem, Ad Martem, that's for my selfe, Heere Boy to Pallas, heere to Mercury, To Saturnine, to Caius, not to Saturnine, You were as good to shoote against the winde. Too it Boy, Marcus loose when I bid: Of my word, I haue written to effect, Ther's not a God left vnsollicited Marc. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the Court, We will afflict the Emperour in his pride Tit. Now Maisters draw, Oh well said Lucius: Good Boy in Virgoes lap, giue it Pallas Marc. My Lord, I aime a Mile beyond the Moone, Your letter is with Iupiter by this Tit. Ha, ha, Publius, Publius, what hast thou done? See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus hornes Mar. This was the sport my Lord, when Publius shot, The Bull being gal'd, gaue Aries such a knocke, That downe fell both the Rams hornes in the Court, And who should finde them but the Empresse villaine: She laught, and told the Moore he should not choose But giue them to his Maister for a present Tit. Why there it goes, God giue your Lordship ioy. Enter the Clowne with a basket and two Pigeons in it. Titus. Newes, newes, from heauen, Marcus the poast is come. Sirrah, what tydings? haue you any letters? Shall I haue Iustice, what sayes Iupiter? Clowne. Ho the Iibbetmaker, he sayes that he hath taken them downe againe, for the man must not be hang'd till the next weeke Tit. But what sayes Iupiter I aske thee? Clowne. Alas sir I know not Iupiter: I neuer dranke with him in all my life Tit. Why villaine art not thou the Carrier? Clowne. I of my Pigions sir, nothing else Tit. Why, did'st thou not come from heauen? Clowne. From heauen? Alas sir, I neuer came there, God forbid I should be so bold, to presse to heauen in my young dayes. Why I am going with my pigeons to the Tribunall Plebs, to take vp a matter of brawle, betwixt my Vncle, and one of the Emperialls men Mar. Why sir, that is as fit as can be to serue for your Oration, and let him deliuer the Pigions to the Emperour from you Tit. Tell mee, can you deliuer an Oration to the Emperour with a Grace? Clowne. Nay truely sir, I could neuer say grace in all my life Tit. Sirrah come hither, make no more adoe, But giue your Pigeons to the Emperour, By me thou shalt haue Iustice at his hands. Hold, hold, meane while her's money for thy charges. Giue me pen and inke. Sirrah, can you with a Grace deliuer a Supplication? Clowne. I sir Titus. Then here is a Supplication for you, and when you come to him, at the first approach you must kneele, then kisse his foote, then deliuer vp your Pigeons, and then looke for your reward. Ile be at hand sir, see you do it brauely Clowne. I warrant you sir, let me alone Tit. Sirrha hast thou a knife? Come let me see it. Heere Marcus, fold it in the Oration, For thou hast made it like an humble Suppliant: And when thou hast giuen it the Emperour, Knocke at my dore, and tell me what he sayes Clowne. God be with you sir, I will. Enter. Tit. Come Marcus let vs goe, Publius follow me. Exeunt. Enter Emperour and Empresse, and her two sonnes, the Emperour brings the Arrowes in his hand that Titus shot at him. Satur. Why Lords, What wrongs are these? was euer seene An Emperour in Rome thus ouerborne, Troubled, Confronted thus, and for the extent Of egall iustice, vs'd in such contempt? My Lords, you know the mightfull Gods, (How euer these disturbers of our peace Buz in the peoples eares) there nought hath past, But euen with law against the willfull Sonnes Of old Andronicus. And what and if His sorrowes haue so ouerwhelm'd his wits, Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreakes, His fits, his frenzie, and his bitternesse? And now he writes to heauen for his redresse. See, heeres to Ioue, and this to Mercury, This to Apollo, this to the God of warre: Sweet scrowles to flie about the streets of Rome: What's this but Libelling against the Senate, And blazoning our Iniustice euery where? A goodly humour, is it not my Lords? As who would say, in Rome no Iustice were. But if I liue, his fained extasies Shall be no shelter to these outrages: But he and his shall know, that Iustice liues In Saturninus health; whom if he sleepe, Hee'l so awake, as he in fury shall Cut off the proud'st Conspirator that liues Tamo. My gracious Lord, my louely Saturnine, Lord of my life, Commander of my thoughts, Calme thee, and beare the faults of Titus age, Th' effects of sorrow for his valiant Sonnes, Whose losse hath pier'st him deepe, and scar'd his heart; And rather comfort his distressed plight, Then prosecute the meanest or the best For these contempts. Why thus it shall become High witted Tamora to glose with all: Aside. But Titus, I haue touch'd thee to the quicke, Thy life blood out: If Aaron now be wise, Then is all safe, the Anchor's in the Port. Enter Clowne. How now good fellow, would'st thou speake with vs? Clow. Yea forsooth, and your Mistership be Emperiall Tam. Empresse I am, but yonder sits the Emperour Clo. 'Tis he; God & Saint Stephen giue you good den; I haue brought you a Letter, & a couple of Pigions heere. He reads the Letter. Satu. Goe take him away, and hang him presently Clowne. How much money must I haue? Tam. Come sirrah you must be hang'd Clow. Hang'd? ber Lady, then I haue brought vp a neck to a faire end. Enter. Satu. Despightfull and intollerable wrongs, Shall I endure this monstrous villany? I know from whence this same deuise proceedes: May this be borne? As if his traytrous Sonnes, That dy'd by law for murther of our Brother, Haue by my meanes beene butcher'd wrongfully? Goe dragge the villaine hither by the haire, Nor Age, nor Honour, shall shape priuiledge: For this proud mocke, Ile be thy slaughter man: Sly franticke wretch, that holp'st to make me great, In hope thy selfe should gouerne Rome and me. Enter Nuntius Emillius. Satur. What newes with thee Emillius? Emil. Arme my Lords, Rome neuer had more cause, The Gothes haue gather'd head, and with a power Of high resolued men, bent to the spoyle They hither march amaine, vnder conduct Of Lucius, Sonne to old Andronicus: Who threats in course of this reuenge to do As much as euer Coriolanus did King. Is warlike Lucius Generall of the Gothes? These tydings nip me, and I hang the head As flowers with frost, or grasse beat downe with stormes: I, now begins our sorrowes to approach, 'Tis he the common people loue so much, My selfe hath often heard them say, (When I haue walked like a priuate man) That Lucius banishment was wrongfully, And they haue wisht that Lucius were their Emperour Tam. Why should you feare? Is not our City strong? King. I, but the Cittizens fauour Lucius, And will reuolt from me, to succour him Tam. King, be thy thoughts Imperious like thy name. Is the Sunne dim'd, that Gnats do flie in it? The Eagle suffers little Birds to sing, And is not carefull what they meane thereby, Knowing that with the shadow of his wings, He can at pleasure stint their melodie. Euen so mayest thou, the giddy men of Rome, Then cheare thy spirit, for know thou Emperour, I will enchaunt the old Andronicus, With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous Then baites to fish, or hony stalkes to sheepe, When as the one is wounded with the baite, The other rotted with delicious foode King. But he will not entreat his Sonne for vs Tam. If Tamora entreat him, then he will, For I can smooth and fill his aged eare, With golden promises, that were his heart Almost Impregnable, his old eares deafe, Yet should both eare and heart, obey my tongue. Goe thou before to our Embassadour, Say, that the Emperour requests a parly Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting King. Emillius do this message Honourably, And if he stand in Hostage for his safety, Bid him demaund what pledge will please him best Emill. Your bidding shall I do effectually. Enter. Tam. Now will I to that old Andronicus, And temper him with all the Art I haue, To plucke proud Lucius from the warlike Gothes. And now sweet Emperour be blithe againe, And bury all thy feare in my deuises Satu. Then goe successantly and plead for him. Enter. Actus Quintus. Flourish. Enter Lucius with an Army of Gothes, with Drum and Souldiers. Luci. Approued warriours, and my faithfull Friends, I haue receiued Letters from great Rome, Which signifies what hate they beare their Emperour, And how desirous of our sight they are. Therefore great Lords, be as your Titles witnesse, Imperious and impatient of your wrongs, And wherein Rome hath done you any scathe, Let him make treble satisfaction Goth. Braue slip, sprung from the Great Andronicus, Whose name was once our terrour, now our comfort, Whose high exploits, and honourable Deeds, Ingratefull Rome requites with foule contempt: Behold in vs, weele follow where thou lead'st, Like stinging Bees in hottest Sommers day, Led by their Maister to the flowred fields, And be aueng'd on cursed Tamora: And as he saith, so say we all with him Luci. I humbly thanke him, and I thanke you all. But who comes heere, led by a lusty Goth? Enter a Goth leading of Aaron with his child in his armes. Goth. Renowned Lucius, from our troups I straid, To gaze vpon a ruinous Monasterie, And as I earnestly did fixe mine eye Vpon the wasted building, suddainely I heard a childe cry vnderneath a wall: I made vnto the noyse, when soone I heard, The crying babe control'd with this discourse: Peace Tawny slaue, halfe me, and halfe thy Dam, Did not thy Hue bewray whose brat thou art? Had nature lent thee, but thy Mothers looke, Villaine thou might'st haue bene an Emperour. But where the Bull and Cow are both milk-white, They neuer do beget a cole-blacke-Calfe: Peace, villaine peace, euen thus he rates the babe, For I must beare thee to a trusty Goth, Who when he knowes thou art the Empresse babe, Will hold thee dearely for thy Mothers sake. With this, my weapon drawne I rusht vpon him, Surpriz'd him suddainely, and brought him hither To vse, as you thinke needefull of the man Luci. Oh worthy Goth, this is the incarnate deuill, That rob'd Andronicus of his good hand: This is the Pearle that pleas'd your Empresse eye, And heere's the Base Fruit of his burning lust. Say wall-ey'd slaue, whether would'st thou conuay This growing Image of thy fiend-like face? Why dost not speake? what deafe? Not a word? A halter Souldiers, hang him on this Tree, And by his side his Fruite of Bastardie Aron. Touch not the Boy, he is of Royall blood Luci. Too like the Syre for euer being good. First hang the Child that he may see it sprall, A sight to vexe the Fathers soule withall Aron. Get me a Ladder Lucius, saue the Childe, And beare it from me to the Empresse: If thou do this, Ile shew thee wondrous things, That highly may aduantage thee to heare; If thou wilt not, befall what may befall, Ile speake no more: but vengeance rot you all Luci. Say on, and if it please me which thou speak'st, Thy child shall liue, and I will see it Nourisht Aron. And if it please thee? why assure thee Lucius, 'Twill vexe thy soule to heare what I shall speake: For I must talke of Murthers, Rapes, and Massacres, Acts of Blacke-night, abhominable Deeds, Complots of Mischiefe, Treason, Villanies Ruthfull to heare, yet pittiously perform'd, And this shall all be buried by my death, Vnlesse thou sweare to me my Childe shall liue Luci. Tell on thy minde, I say thy Childe shall liue Aron. Sweare that he shall, and then I will begin Luci. Who should I sweare by, Thou beleeuest no God, That graunted, how can'st thou beleeue an oath? Aron. What if I do not, as indeed I do not, Yet for I know thou art Religious, And hast a thing within thee, called Conscience, With twenty Popish trickes and Ceremonies, Which I haue seene thee carefull to obserue: Therefore I vrge thy oath, for that I know An Ideot holds his Bauble for a God, And keepes the oath which by that God he sweares, To that Ile vrge him: therefore thou shalt vow By that same God, what God so ere it be That thou adorest, and hast in reuerence, To saue my Boy, to nourish and bring him vp, Ore else I will discouer nought to thee Luci. Euen by my God I sweare to thee I will Aron. First know thou, I begot him on the Empresse Luci. Oh most Insatiate luxurious woman! Aron. Tut Lucius, this was but a deed of Charitie, To that which thou shalt heare of me anon, 'Twas her two Sonnes that murdered Bassianus, They cut thy Sisters tongue, and rauisht her, And cut her hands off, and trim'd her as thou saw'st Lucius. Oh detestable villaine! Call'st thou that Trimming? Aron. Why she was washt, and cut, and trim'd, And 'twas trim sport for them that had the doing of it Luci. Oh barbarous beastly villaines like thy selfe! Aron. Indeede, I was their Tutor to instruct them That Codding spirit had they from their Mother, As sure a Card as euer wonne the Set: That bloody minde I thinke they learn'd of me, As true a Dog as euer fought at head. Well, let my Deeds be witnesse of my worth: I trayn'd thy Bretheren to that guilefull Hole, Where the dead Corps of Bassianus lay: I wrote the Letter, that thy Father found, And hid the Gold within the Letter mention'd. Confederate with the Queene, and her two Sonnes, And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue, Wherein I had no stroke of Mischeife in it. I play'd the Cheater for thy Fathers hand, And when I had it, drew my selfe apart, And almost broke my heart with extreame laughter. I pried me through the Creuice of a Wall, When for his hand, he had his two Sonnes heads, Beheld his teares, and laught so hartily, That both mine eyes were rainie like to his: And when I told the Empresse of this sport, She sounded almost at my pleasing tale, And for my tydings, gaue me twenty kisses Goth. What canst thou say all this, and neuer blush? Aron. I, like a blacke Dogge, as the saying is Luci. Art thou not sorry for these hainous deedes? Aron. I, that I had not done a thousand more: Euen now I curse the day, and yet I thinke Few come within few compasse of my curse, Wherein I did not some Notorious ill, As kill a man, or else deuise his death, Rauish a Maid, or plot the way to do it, Accuse some Innocent, and forsweare my selfe, Set deadly Enmity betweene two Friends, Make poore mens Cattell breake their neckes, Set fire on Barnes and Haystackes in the night, And bid the Owners quench them with the teares: Oft haue I dig'd vp dead men from their graues, And set them vpright at their deere Friends doore, Euen when their sorrowes almost was forgot, And on their skinnes, as on the Barke of Trees, Haue with my knife carued in Romaine Letters, Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead. Tut, I haue done a thousand dreadfull things As willingly, as one would kill a Fly, And nothing greeues me hartily indeede, But that I cannot doe ten thousand more Luci. Bring downe the diuell, for he must not die So sweet a death as hanging presently Aron. If there be diuels, would I were a deuill, To liue and burne in euerlasting fire, So I might haue your company in hell, But to torment you with my bitter tongue Luci. Sirs stop his mouth, & let him speake no more. Enter Emillius. Goth. My Lord, there is a Messenger from Rome Desires to be admitted to your presence Luc. Let him come neere. Welcome Emillius, what the newes from Rome? Emi. Lord Lucius, and you Princes of the Gothes, The Romaine Emperour greetes you all by me, And for he vnderstands you are in Armes, He craues a parly at your Fathers house Willing you to demand your Hostages, And they shall be immediately deliuered Goth. What saies our Generall? Luc. Emillius, let the Emperour giue his pledges Vnto my Father, and my Vncle Marcus, Flourish. And we will come: march away. Exeunt. Enter Tamora, and her two Sonnes disguised. Tam. Thus in this strange and sad Habilliament, I will encounter with Andronicus, And say, I am Reuenge sent from below, To ioyne with him and right his hainous wrongs: Knocke at his study where they say he keepes, To ruminate strange plots of dire Reuenge, Tell him Reuenge is come to ioyne with him, And worke confusion on his Enemies. They knocke and Titus opens his study dore. Tit. Who doth mollest my Contemplation? Is it your tricke to make me ope the dore, That so my sad decrees may flie away, And all my studie be to no effect? You are deceiu'd, for what I meane to do, See heere in bloody lines I haue set downe: And what is written shall be executed Tam. Titus, I am come to talke with thee, Tit. No not a word: how can I grace my talke, Wanting a hand to giue it action, Thou hast the ods of me, therefore no more Tam. If thou did'st know me, Thou would'st talke with me Tit. I am not mad, I know thee well enough, Witnesse this wretched stump, Witnesse these crimson lines, Witnesse these Trenches made by griefe and care, Witnesse the tyring day, and heauie night, Witnesse all sorrow, that I know thee well For our proud Empresse, Mighty Tamora: Is not thy comming for my other hand? Tamo. Know thou sad man, I am not Tamora, She is thy Enemie, and I thy Friend, I am Reuenge sent from th' infernall Kingdome, To ease the gnawing Vulture of the mind, By working wreakefull vengeance on my Foes: Come downe and welcome me to this worlds light, Conferre with me of Murder and of Death, Ther's not a hollow Caue or lurking place, No Vast obscurity, or Misty vale, Where bloody Murther or detested Rape, Can couch for feare, but I will finde them out, And in their eares tell them my dreadfull name, Reuenge, which makes the foule offenders quake Tit. Art thou Reuenge? and art thou sent to me, To be a torment to mine Enemies? Tam. I am, therefore come downe and welcome me Tit. Doe me some seruice ere I come to thee: Loe by thy side where Rape and Murder stands, Now giue some surance that thou art Reuenge, Stab them, or teare them on thy Chariot wheeles, And then Ile come and be thy Waggoner, And whirle along with thee about the Globes. Prouide thee two proper Palfries, as blacke as Iet, To hale thy vengefull Waggon swift away, And finde out Murder in their guilty cares. And when thy Car is loaden with their heads, I will dismount, and by the Waggon wheele, Trot like a Seruile footeman all day long, Euen from Eptons rising in the East, Vntill his very downefall in the Sea. And day by day Ile do this heauy taske, So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there Tam. These are my Ministers, and come with me Tit. Are them thy Ministers, what are they call'd? Tam. Rape and Murder, therefore called so, Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men Tit. Good Lord how like the Empresse Sons they are, And you the Empresse: But we worldly men, Haue miserable mad mistaking eyes: Oh sweet Reuenge, now do I come to thee, And if one armes imbracement will content thee, I will imbrace thee in it by and by Tam. This closing with him, fits his Lunacie, What ere I forge to feede his braine-sicke fits, Do you vphold, and maintaine in your speeches, For now he firmely takes me for Reuenge, And being Credulous in this mad thought, Ile make him send for Lucius his Sonne, And whil'st I at a Banquet hold him sure, Ile find some cunning practise out of hand To scatter and disperse the giddie Gothes, Or at the least make them his Enemies: See heere he comes, and I must play my theame Tit. Long haue I bene forlorne, and all for thee, Welcome dread Fury to my woefull house, Rapine and Murther, you are welcome too, How like the Empresse and her Sonnes you are. Well are you fitted, had you but a Moore, Could not all hell afford you such a deuill? For well I wote the Empresse neuer wags; But in her company there is a Moore, And would you represent our Queene aright It were conuenient you had such a deuill: But welcome as you are, what shall we doe? Tam. What would'st thou haue vs doe Andronicus? Dem. Shew me a Murtherer, Ile deale with him Chi. Shew me a Villaine that hath done a Rape, And I am sent to be reueng'd on him Tam. Shew me a thousand that haue done thee wrong, And Ile be reuenged on them all Tit. Looke round about the wicked streets of Rome, And when thou find'st a man that's like thy selfe, Good Murder stab him, hee's a Murtherer. Goe thou with him, and when it is thy hap To finde another that is like to thee, Good Rapine stab him, he is a Rauisher. Go thou with them, and in the Emperours Court, There is a Queene attended by a Moore, Well maist thou know her by thy owne proportion, For vp and downe she doth resemble thee. I pray thee doe on them some violent death, They haue bene violent to me and mine Tam. Well hast thou lesson'd vs, this shall we do. But would it please thee good Andronicus, To send for Lucius thy thrice Valiant Sonne, Who leades towards Rome a Band of Warlike Gothes, And bid him come and Banquet at thy house. When he is heere, euen at thy Solemne Feast, I will bring in the Empresse and her Sonnes, The Emperour himselfe, and all thy Foes, And at thy mercy shall they stoop, and kneele, And on them shalt thou ease, thy angry heart: What saies Andronicus to this deuise? Enter Marcus. Tit. Marcus my Brother, 'tis sad Titus calls, Go gentle Marcus to thy Nephew Lucius, Thou shalt enquire him out among the Gothes, Bid him repaire to me, and bring with him Some of the chiefest Princes of the Gothes, Bid him encampe his Souldiers where they are, Tell him the Emperour, and the Empresse too, Feasts at my house, and he shall Feast with them, This do thou for my loue, and so let him, As he regards his aged Fathers life Mar. This will I do, and soone returne againe Tam. Now will I hence about thy businesse, And take my Ministers along with me Tit. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with me, Or els Ile call my Brother backe againe, And cleaue to no reuenge but Lucius Tam. What say you Boyes, will you bide with him, Whiles I goe tell my Lord the Emperour, How I haue gouern'd our determined iest? Yeeld to his Humour, smooth and speake him faire, And tarry with him till I turne againe Tit. I know them all, though they suppose me mad, And will ore-reach them in their owne deuises, A payre of cursed hell-hounds and their Dam Dem. Madam depart at pleasure, leaue vs heere Tam. Farewell Andronicus, reuenge now goes To lay a complot to betray thy Foes Tit. I know thou doo'st, and sweet reuenge farewell Chi. Tell vs old man, how shall we be imploy'd? Tit. Tut, I haue worke enough for you to doe, Publius come hither, Caius, and Valentine Pub. What is your will? Tit. Know you these two? Pub. The Empresse Sonnes I take them, Chiron, Demetrius Titus. Fie Publius, fie, thou art too much deceau'd, The one is Murder, Rape is the others name, And therefore bind them gentle Publius, Caius, and Valentine, lay hands on them, Oft haue you heard me wish for such an houre, And now I find it, therefore binde them sure, Chi. Villaines forbeare, we are the Empresse Sonnes Pub. And therefore do we, what we are commanded. Stop close their mouthes, let them not speake a word, Is he sure bound, looke that you binde them fast. Exeunt. Enter Titus Andronicus with a knife, and Lauinia with a Bason. Tit. Come, come Lauinia, looke, thy Foes are bound, Sirs stop their mouthes, let them not speake to me, But let them heare what fearefull words I vtter. Oh Villaines, Chiron, and Demetrius, Here stands the spring whom you haue stain'd with mud, This goodly Sommer with your Winter mixt, You kil'd her husband, and for that vil'd fault, Two of her Brothers were condemn'd to death, My hand cut off, and made a merry iest, Both her sweet Hands, her Tongue, and that more deere Then Hands or tongue, her spotlesse Chastity, Inhumaine Traytors, you constrain'd and for'st. What would you say, if I should let you speake? Villaines for shame you could not beg for grace. Harke Wretches, how I meane to martyr you, This one Hand yet is left, to cut your throats, Whil'st that Lauinia tweene her stumps doth hold: The Bason that receiues your guilty blood. You know your Mother meanes to feast with me, And calls herselfe Reuenge, and thinkes me mad. Harke Villaines, I will grin'd your bones to dust, And with your blood and it, Ile make a Paste, And of the Paste a Coffen I will reare, And make two Pasties of your shamefull Heads, And bid that strumpet your vnhallowed Dam, Like to the earth swallow her increase. This is the Feast, that I haue bid her to, And this the Banquet she shall surfet on, For worse then Philomel you vsd my Daughter, And worse then Progne, I will be reueng'd, And now prepare your throats: Lauinia come. Receiue the blood, and when that they are dead, Let me goe grin'd their Bones to powder small, And with this hatefull Liquor temper it, And in that Paste let their vil'd Heads be bakte, Come, come, be euery one officious, To make this Banket, which I wish might proue, More sterne and bloody then the Centaures Feast. He cuts their throats. So now bring them in, for Ile play the Cooke, And see them ready, gainst their Mother comes. Exeunt. Enter Lucius, Marcus, and the Gothes. Luc. Vnckle Marcus, since 'tis my Fathers minde That I repair to Rome, I am content Goth. And ours with thine befall, what Fortune will Luc. Good Vnckle take you in this barbarous Moore, This Rauenous Tiger, this accursed deuill, Let him receiue no sustenance, fetter him, Till he be brought vnto the Emperours face, For testimony of her foule proceedings. And see the Ambush of our Friends be strong, If ere the Emperour meanes no good to vs Aron. Some deuill whisper curses in my eare, And prompt me that my tongue may vtter forth, The Venemous Mallice of my swelling heart Luc. Away Inhumaine Dogge, Vnhallowed Slaue, Sirs, helpe our Vnckle, to conuey him in, Flourish. The Trumpets shew the Emperour is at hand. Sound Trumpets. Enter Emperour and Empresse, with Tribunes and others. Sat. What, hath the Firemament more Suns then one? Luc. What bootes it thee to call thy selfe a Sunne? Mar. Romes Emperour & Nephewe breake the parle These quarrels must be quietly debated, The Feast is ready which the carefull Titus, Hath ordained to an Honourable end, For Peace, for Loue, for League, and good to Rome: Please you therfore draw nie and take your places Satur. Marcus we will. Hoboyes. A Table brought in. Enter Titus like a Cooke, placing the meat on the Table, and Lauinia with a vale ouer her face. Titus. Welcome my gracious Lord, Welcome Dread Queene, Welcome ye Warlike Gothes, welcome Lucius, And welcome all: although the cheere be poore, 'Twill fill your stomacks, please you eat of it Sat. Why art thou thus attir'd Andronicus? Tit. Because I would be sure to haue all well, To entertaine your Highnesse, and your Empresse Tam. We are beholding to you good Andronicus? Tit. And if your Highnesse knew my heart, you were: My Lord the Emperour resolue me this, Was it well done of rash Virginius, To slay his daughter with his owne right hand. Because she was enfor'st, stain'd, and deflowr'd? Satur. It was Andronicus Tit. Your reason, Mighty Lord? Sat. Because the Girle, should not suruiue her shame, And by her presence still renew his sorrowes Tit. A reason mighty, strong, and effectuall, A patterne, president, and liuely warrant, For me (most wretched) to performe the like: Die, die, Lauinia, and thy shame with thee, And with thy shame, thy Fathers sorrow die. He kils her. Sat. What hast done, vnnaturall and vnkinde? Tit. Kil'd her for whom my teares haue made me blind. I am as wofull as Virginius was, And haue a thousand times more cause then he Sat. What was she rauisht? tell who did the deed, Tit. Wilt please you eat, Wilt please your Highnesse feed? Tam. Why hast thou slaine thine onely Daughter? Titus. Not I, 'twas Chiron and Demetrius, They rauisht her, and cut away her tongue, And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong Satu. Go fetch them hither to vs presently Tit. Why there they are both, baked in that Pie, Whereof their Mother daintily hath fed, Eating the flesh that she herselfe hath bred. 'Tis true, 'tis true, witnesse my kniues sharpe point. He stabs the Empresse. Satu. Die franticke wretch, for this accursed deed Luc. Can the Sonnes eye, behold his Father bleed? There's meede for meede, death for a deadly deed Mar. You sad fac'd men, people and Sonnes of Rome, By vprores seuer'd like a flight of Fowle, Scattred by windes and high tempestuous gusts: Oh let me teach you how, to knit againe This scattred Corne, into one mutuall sheafe, These broken limbs againe into one body

Related documents

• Titus Andronicus#822925
• Titus Andronicus#822701
• Titus Andronicus#822653
• Titus (New Testament)#489945
• The Historical Jesus and the Church of Christ#717693