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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?

LUCIUS. To rescue my two brothers from their death;
For which attempt the judges have pronounc'd

My everlasting doom of banishment.
TITUS. 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
MARCUS. Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep,

Or if not so, thy noble heart to break.
I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.

TITUS. Will it consume me? Let me see it then.
MARCUS. This was thy daughter.

TITUS. Why, Marcus, so she is.
LUCIUS. Ay me! this object kills me.

TITUS. 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 fagot 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.

LUCIUS. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee?
MARCUS. 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!

LUCIUS. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed?
MARCUS. O, thus I found her straying in the park,

Seeking to hide herself as doth the deer
That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound.

TITUS. 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 martyr'd 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.
MARCUS. Perchance she weeps because they kill'd her husband;

Perchance because she knows them innocent.
TITUS. 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.
LUCIUS. Sweet father, cease your tears; for at your grief

See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps.
MARCUS. Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes.

TITUS. 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.
LUCIUS. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks.

TITUS. 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

AARON. 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.
TITUS. 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?

LUCIUS. 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.
MARCUS. 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.

AARON. Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along,
For fear they die before their pardon come.

MARCUS. My hand shall go.
LUCIUS. By heaven, it shall not go!

TITUS. Sirs, strive no more; such with'red herbs as these
Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.

LUCIUS. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son,
Let me redeem my brothers both from death.

MARCUS. And for our father's sake and mother's care,
Now let me show a brother's love to thee.

TITUS. Agree between you; I will spare my hand.
LUCIUS. Then I'll go fetch an axe.

MARCUS. But I will use the axe.
Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS

TITUS. Come hither, Aaron, I'll deceive them both;
Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.

AARON. [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]
Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS

TITUS. 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.

AARON. 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

TITUS. 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, would'st 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.

MARCUS. O brother, speak with possibility,
And do not break into these deep extremes.

TITUS. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom?
Then be my passions bottomless with them.

MARCUS. But yet let reason govern thy lament.
TITUS. 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-swol'n face?

And wilt thou have a reason for this coil?
I am the sea; hark how her sighs do 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.



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