For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain. Luc. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee? Mar. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts, That blab'd them with such pleasing eloquence, Ís 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? Mar. 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 deer; 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, Had I but seen thy picture in this plight, Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears; . Stood on her cheeks; as doth the honey dew Mar. 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, Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, 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. Mar. Patience, dear niece :-good Titus, dry thine eyes. Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot," * Know. 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. 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 ransome for their fault. Tit. O, gracious emperor! O, gentle Aaron! That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? 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. Mar. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, 7 Handkerchief, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? Aar. Nay, come agree, whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. Mar. My hand shall go. Luc. By heaven, it shall not go. Tit, Sirs, strive no more; such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. Mar. 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. 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. If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And that you'll say, ere half an hour can pass. [Aside. [He cuts off TITUS's Hand. Enter LUCIUS and MARCUS. Tit. Now, stay your strife; what shall be, is despatch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call;-What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do then, dear heart; prayers; [TO LAVINIA. for heaven shall hear our Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, Tit. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? * Sufferings. |