And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then give me leave; for losers will have leave Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand. More than remembrance of my father's death. [Exit. Mar. Now let hot Ætna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne! To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal, But sorrow flouted at, is double death. Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! Tit. When will this fearful slumber have an end? Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? Mar. Why dost thou laugh? It fits not with this hour. And would usurp upon my watery eyes, Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these things; Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA. O, 'would thou wert as thou 'tofore hast been ! Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power, [Exit. SCENE II.1 A Room in Titus's House. A banquet set out. Enter TITUS, MARCUS, LAVINIA, and young Lucius, a Boy. Tit. So, so; now sit; and look, you eat no more Than will preserve just so much strength in us As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot; Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands, And cannot passionate our tenfold grief 3 2 With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine And when my heart, all mad with misery, Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs! [TO LAVINIA. When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating, Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still. Wound it with sighing, girl; kill it with groans; Or get some 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 sink, and, soaking in, Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears. Mar. Fie, brother, fie! teach her not thus to lay Such violent hands upon her tender life. Tit. How now! has sorrow made thee dote already? 1 This scene is wanting in the quarto copies of 1600 and 1611, but found in the folio of 1623. Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I. How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable ? If Marcus did not name the word of hands!- As begging hermits in their holy prayers; And, by still practice, learn to know thy meaning. Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. Tit. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears, And tears will quickly melt thy life away. [MARCUS strikes the dish with a knife. What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife? Mar. At that that I have killed, my lord; a fly. Tit. Out on thee, murderer! thou kill'st my heart; Mine eyes are cloyed with view of tyranny. A deed of death, done on the innocent, Becomes not Titus' brother. I Get thee gone; see, thou art not for my company. 1 A very coarse allusion to brewing. Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and mother?1 How would he hang his slender, gilded wings, And buzz lamenting doings in the air! Poor, harmless fly! That, with his pretty buzzing melody, Came here to make us merry; and thou hast killed him. Then pardon me for reprehending thee, Yet I do think we are not brought so low, Mar. Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on him, He takes false shadows for true substances. Tit. Come, take away.-Lavinia, go with me. I'll to thy closet; and go read with thee Come, boy, and go with me; thy sight is young, [Exeunt. 1 Steevens conjectures that the words " and mother" should be omitted. Ritson proposes to read the line thus: : "But! How if that fly had a father, brother ?" 2 This was formerly not a disrespectful expression. |