Tit. O happy man! they have befriended thee. But who comes with our brother Marcus here? Enter MARCUS and LAVINIA. Mar. Titus, prepare thy noble eyes to weep; Tit. Will it consume me? let me see it, then. Tit. Why, Marcus, so she is. Luc. Ah me! this object kills me! upon her. Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight? Luc. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyred thee? 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 received some unrecuring wound. Tit. It was my deer; and he that wounded her, Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears; Mar. Perchance, she weeps because they killed 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. And in the fountain shall we gaze so long, What shall we do? Let us, that have our tongues, To make us wondered 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, For thou, poor man, hast drowned it with thine own. 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 ransom for their fault. Tit. O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, 1 The Limbus patrum, as it was called, is a place that the schoolmen supposed to be in the neighborhood of hell, where the souls of the patriarchs were detained, and those good men who died before our Savior's resurrection. Milton gives the name of Limbo to his Paradise of Fools. 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, 1 And reared aloft the bloody battle-axe, 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 withered herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. Luc. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. Mar. And, for our father's sake, and mother's, 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. Mar. 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 called deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so; 1 It appears from Grose on Antient Armour, that a castle was a kind of close helmet, probably so named from casquetel (old French.) But I'll deceive you in another sort, 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 despatched. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand. [Aside. [Exit. 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 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. Mar. Ŏ brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. Tit. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. Mar. But yet let reason govern thy lament. Tit. 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, Threatening the welkin with his big-swollen face? |