He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep, ACT III. A street. Enter Senators, SCENE I-Rome. Tribunes, and Officers of Justice, with Martius and Quintus, bound, passing on to the place of execution: Titus going before, pleading. Tit. Hearme, grave fathers! noble tribunes, stay! Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought! [Throwing himself on the ground. My heart's deep languor, and my soul's sad tears. Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite; My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush [Exeunt Senators, Tribunes, &c. with the Prisoners. O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain, (1) Orpheus. Than youthful April shall with all his showers. Luc. O, noble father, you lament in vain ; Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead : Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you. Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak. Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, man: if they did hear, They would not mark me; or, if they did mark, All bootless to them, they'd not pity me. Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones; Who, though they cannot answer my distress, Yet in some sort they're 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 tribune 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. But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn? Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their death: For which attempt, the judges have pronounc'd My everlasting doom of banishinent. Tit. 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 who comes with our brother Marcus here? Mar. Titus, prepare thy noble eyes to weep; Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break ; I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. Tit. Will it consume me? let me see it then Tit. Why, Marcus, so she is. Luc. Ah me! this object kills me! Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upa her: Speak, my Lavinia, what accursed hand Mar. 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! Luc. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed? (1) The river Nile. Mr. 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, Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears; Mar. Perchance, she weeps because they kill'd her husband; Perchance, because she knows them innocent. 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 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, Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say 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, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? (2) Handkerchief. (1) Know. VOL. VII. |