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This way to death my wretched Sons are gone:
Here ftands 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 feen thy Picture in this plight,
It would have madded me. What fhall I do,
Now I behold thy lively Body fo?

Thou haft 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 gather'd Lilly almoft wither'd."

Mar. Perchance the weeps because they kill'd her Husband. Perchance because she knows him Innocent.

Tit. If they did kill thy Husband, then be joyful,
Because the Law hath ta'en revenge on them.
No, no, they would not do fo foul a Deed,
Witness the Sorrow that their Sifter makes.
Gentle Lavinia, let me kifs thy Lips,

Or make fome figns how I may do thee eafe:
Shall thy good Uncle, and thy Brother Lucius,
And thou and I fit round about fome Fountain,
Looking all downwards to behold our Cheeks,
How they are ftain'd like Meadows yet not dry
With miery flime left on them by a Flood:
And in the Fountain fhall we gaze fo long, t
'Till the fresh tafte be taken from that clearness,
And made a Brine-pit with our bitter Tears?
Or fhall we cut away our Hands like thine?
Or fhall we bite our Tongues, and in dumb Shows
Pafs the remainder of our hateful Days?

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What shall we do? Let us that have our Tongues.
Plot fome devife of further miferies

To make us wondred at in time to come.

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Luc. Sweet Father, ceafe your Tears, for at your Grief

See how my wretched Sifter fobs and weeps.

Mar.

Mar. Patience, dear Neice, good Titus dry thine Eyes.
Tit. Ah Marcus, Marcus, Brother, well I wot,
Thy Napkin cannot drink a tear of mine,

For thou, poor Man, haft drown'd it with thine own.
Luc. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy Cheeks.
Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark, I understand her Signs,
Had the a Tongue to fpeak, now would the fay
That to her Brother which I faid to thee.
His Napkin with his true tears all bewer,
Can do no fervice on her forrowful Cheeks.
Oh what a fympathy of Woe is this!
As far from help as Limbo is from Bliss.

Enter Aaron alone.

Aar. Titus Andronicus, my Lord the Emperor
Sends thee this Word, that if thou love thy Sons,
Let Marcus, Lucius, or thy felf, old Titus,
Or any one of you chop off your Hand,
And fend it to the King; he for the fame
Will fend thee hither both thy Sons alive,
And that shall be the Ranfom for their Fault.
Tit. Oh gracious Emperor! oh gentle Aaron!
Did ever Raven fing fo like a Lark,

That gives fweet Tydings of the Sun's uprife?
With all my Heart, I'll fend the Emperor my Hand,
Good Aaron wilt thou help to chop it off?

Luc. Stay, Father, for that noble Hand of thine,
That hath thrown down fo many Enemies,
Shall not be fent; my Hand will serve the turn.
My Youth can better fpare my Blood than you,
And therefore mine fhall fave my Brothers lives.

Mar. Which of your Hands hath not defended Rome,
And rear'd aloft the bloody Battel-ax,
Writing Destruction on the Enemies Caftle?
Oh none of both but are of high defert:
My Hand hath been but idle, let it ferve
To ranfome my two Nephews from their Death,
Then have I kept it to a worthy end.

Aar. Nay, come agree, whofe Hand fhall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come.

Mar. My Hand fhall go..

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Luc. By Heav'n it fhall not go.

Tit. Sirs, frive no more, fuch wither'd Herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine..

Luc. Sweet Father, if I fhall be thought thy San,
Let me redeem my Brothers both from Death.
Mar. And for our Father's fake, and Mother's care,
Now let me fhew a Brother's love to thee.

cival [Exeunt.

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Tit. Agree between you, I will fpare my Hand.
Luc. Then I'll go fetch an Ax.
Mar. But I will ufe the Ax.
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 honeft,
And never whilft I live deceive Men fo;
But I'll deceive you in another fort,
And that you'll fay e'er half an hour pafs

[Afide.

[He cats of Titus's Hand. Enter Lucius and Marcus again.

Tit. Now ftay your Strife; what thall be, is dispatcht: Good Aaron, give his Majefty 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, fay, I account of them, As Jewels purchas'd at an eafie Price, And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. Aar. I go, Andronicus, and for thy Hand Look by and by to have thy Sons with thee: Their Heads I mean. Oh, how this Villany Doth fat me with the very thought of it.

[Afide.

Let Fools do good, and fair Men call for Grace,

Aaron will have his Soul black like his Face.

[Exit.

Tit. O hear!I lift this one Hand up to Heav'n,

And bow this feeble ruin to the Earth,

If any Power pities wretched Tears,

To that I call: What wilt thou kneel with me?

Do then, dear Heart, for Heav'n fhall hear our Prayers,
Or with our fighs we'll breath the Welkin dim,
And ftain the Sun with Fog, as fometime Clouds,
When they do hug him in their melting Bofoms.

Mar, Oh, Brother, speak with Poffibilities,

And

And do not break into thefe two Extreams.
Tit. Is not my Sorrow deep, having no bottom?
Then be my Paffions bottomlefs with them.
Mar. But yet let Reafon govern thy Lament.
Tit. If there were Reafon for thefe Miferies
Then into limits could I bind my Woes;

When Heav'n doth weep, doth not the Earth o'er flow?
If the Winds rage, doth not the Sea wax mad,
Threatning the Welkin with his big-fwoln 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, over-flow'd and drown'd:
For why, my Bowels cannot hide her Woes,
But like a Drunkard must I vomit them;
Then give me leave, for lofers will have leave,
To eafe their Stomachs with their bitter Tongues.

Enter a Meffenger with two Heads and a Hand.
Mef. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repay'd,
For that good Hand thou fent ft the Emperor;
Here are the Heads of thy two noble Sons,
And here's thy Hand in fcorn to thee fent back;
Thy Griefs, their Sports, thy Refolution mockt:
That woe is me to think upon thy Woes,
More than Remembrance of my Father's Death.
Mar. Now let hot Aina cool in Sicily,
And be my Heart an ever-burning Hell;
These Miseries are more than may be born.

To weep with them that weep, doth eafe fome deal,
But Sorrow flouted at is double Death.

[Exit.

Luc. Ah that this fight fhould make fo deep a Wound, And yet detefted Life not fhrink thereat;

That ever Death fhould let Life bear his Name,
Where Life hath no more Intereft but to breathe.
Mar. Alas, poor Heart, that Kifs is comfortless,
As frozen Water to a starved Snake.

Tit. When will this fearful flumber have an end?
Mar. Now farewel Flattery, die Andronicus,
Thou doft not flumber, fee thy two Sons Heads,
Kk 4

Thy

Thy warlike Hand, thy mangled Daughter here;
Thy other banish'd Son with this dear Sight
Struck pale and bloodlefs, and thy Brother I,
Even like a ftony Image, cold and numb.
Ah now no more will I controul my Griefs,
Rend off thy Silver Hair, thy other Hand
Gnawing with thy Teeth, and be this difmal fight
The clofing up of our moft wretched Eyes;
Now is a time to ftorm, why art thou ftill?

Tit. Ha, ha, ha.

Mar. Why doft thou laugh? it fits not with this Hour.
Tit. Why I have not another Tear to fhed;
Befides, this Sorrow is an Enemy,

And would ufurp upon my watry Eyes,
And make them blind with tributary Tears,
Then which way fhall I find Revenges Cave?
For these two Heads do feem to speak to me,
And threat me, I fhall never come to Blifs,
'Till all these M. fchiefs be return'd again,
Even in their Throats that have committed them.
Come let me fee what Task I have to do-
You heavy People circle me about,

That I may turn me to each one of you,
And fwear unto my Soul to right your Wrongs.
The Vow is made, come Brother take a Head,
And in this and the other will I bear,
Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd in these things;
Bear thou my Hand, fweet Wench, between thy Teeth;
As for thee, Boy, go get thee from my fight,
Thou art an Exile, and thou must not stay.
Hie to the Goths, and raise an Army there,
And if you love me, as I think you do,
Let's kifs and part, for we have much to do.
Manet Lucius.

Luc. Farewel Andronicus, my noble Father,
The woful' Man that ever liv'd in Rome;
Farewel, proud Rome, 'till Lucius come again,
He leaves his Pledges dearer than his Life;
Farewel Lavinia, my noble Sifter,

O would thou wert as thou to fore haft been,
But now, nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives

[Exeunt.

But

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