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Aar. My gracious Lord, here is the Bag of Gold.
Sat. Two of thy Whelps, fell Curs, of bloody kind
Have here bereft my Brother of his Life:
Sirs, drag them from the Pit unto the Prison,
There let them bide until we have devis'd
Some never heard-of torturing pain for them.
Tam. What are they in this Pit?
Oh wondrous thing!
How cafily Murder is difcovered?
Tit. High Emperor, upon my feeble Knee, I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed, That this fell fault of my accurfed Sons, Accurfed, if the faults be prov'd in themSat. If it be prov'd? you fee it is apparent. Who found this Letter, Tamora, was it you? Tam. Andronicus himself did take it up. Tit. I did, my Lord,
Yet let me be their Bail.
For by my Father's reverend Tomb I vow
They fhall be ready at your Highness Will,
To answer their Sufpicion with their lives.
Sat. Thou shalt not bail them, fee thou follow me:
Some bring the murther'd Body, fome the Murtherers.
Let them not speak a word, the Guilt is plain,
For by my Soul, were there worse end than Death,
That end upon them fhould be executed,
Tam. Andronicus, I will entreat the King,
Fear not thy Sons, they hall do well enough.
Tit. Cóme, Lucius, come,
Stay not to talk with them.
Enter Demetrius and Chiron, with Lavinia, her Hands cut off, and her Tongue cut out, and ravifh'd. Dem. So now go tell, and if thy Tongue can speak, Who 'twas that cut thy Tongue and ravish'd thee. Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning fo. And, if thy Stumps will let thee, play the Scribe. Dem. See how with figns and tokens fhe can fowl. Chi. Go home,
Call for sweet Water, wash thy hands.
Dem. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash; And fo let's leave her to her filent Walks.
Chi. And 'twere my Caufe, I should go hang my self.
Dem. If thou had'ft Hands to help thee knit the Cord.
Wind Horns. Enter Marcus from Hunting, to Lavinia.
Mar. Who is this, my Niece, that fl es away so faft?'
Coufin, a Word, where is your Husband?
If I do dream, would all my Wealth would wake me;
If I do wake, fome Planet frike me down,
That I may lumber in eternal Sleep.
Speak, gentle Niece, what ftern ungentle Hands
Hath lop'd and hew'd, and made thy Body bare
Of her two Branches, thofe fweet Ornaments,
Whole circling Shadows Kings have fought to fleep in,
And might not gain fo great a Happiness,
As half thy Love! Why do'ft not speak to me?
Alas, a crimson River of warm Blood,
Like to a bubling Fountain stirr'd with Wind,
Doth rife and fall between thy rofy Lips,
Coming and going with thy Honey Breath.
But fure fome Tereus hath deflour'd thee,
And left thou should'st detect him, cut thy Tongue,
Ah, now thou turn'ft away thy Face for Shame!
And notwithstanding all this lofs of Blood,
As from a Conduit with their iffuing Spouts,
Yet do thy Cheeks look red as Titan's Face,
Blufhing to be encountred with a Cloud,-
Shall I fpeak for thee? Shall I fay, 'tis so?
Oh that I knew thy Heart, and knew the Beast,
That I might rail at him to eafe my mind.
Sorrow concealed, like an Oven stopt,
Doth burn the Heart to Cindars where it is.
Fair Philomela, the but loft her Tongue,
And in a tedious Sampler fewed her mind.
But lovely Niece, that mean is cut from thee,
A craftier Tereus haft thou met withall,
And he hath cut those pretty Fingers off
That could have better fewed that Philomel.
Oh had the Monster feen thofe Lilly Hands
Tremble like Afpen Leaves upon a Lute,
And make the filken Strings delight to kiss them,
He would not then have touch'd them for his Life.
Or had he heard the heav'nly Harmony,
Which that sweet Tongue hath made;
He would have dropt his Knife and fell asleep,
As Cerberus at the Thracian Poet's feet.
Come, let us go, and make thy Father blind,
For fuch a fight will blind a Father's Eye.
One hour's Storm will drown the fragrant Meads,
What will whole Months of Tears thy Father's Eyes?
Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee:
Oh could our Mourning cafe thy Mifery."
Enter the Judges and Senators, with Marcus and Quintus bound, paffing on the Stage to the place of Execution, and Titus going before, pleading.
Hority of mine Age, whofe Youth was spent
Ear me, grave Fathers, noble Tribunes ftay,
In dangerous Wars, whilft you fecurely flept:
For all my Blood in Rome's great Quarrel fhed,
For all the frofty Nights that I have watcht,
And for these bitter Tears, which you now fee
Filling the aged wrinkles in my Cheeks,
Be pitiful to my condemned Sons,
Whose Souls are not corrupted, as 'tis thought:
For two and twenty Sons I never wept,
Because they died in Honour's lofty Bed.
[Andronicus lieth down, and the Judges pass by him.
For thefe, thefe, Tribunes, in the Duft I write
My Heart's deep Languor, and my Soul's fad Tears:
Let my Tears ftanch the Earth's dry Appetite,
My Sons fweet Blood will make it fhame and blush:
O Earth! I will befriend thee more with Rain, [Exeunt.
That fhall diftil from thefe two ancient Ruins,
Than youthful April fhall with all her Showers
In Summer's drought: I'll drop upon thee still,
In Winter with warm Tears I'll melt the Snow,
And keep eternal Spring-time on, thy Face,
So thou refufe to drink my dear, Son's Blood,
Enter Lucius with his Sword drawn.
Oh Reverend Tribunes! gentle aged Men!
Unbind my Sons, reverfe the doom of Death,
And let me fay (that never wept before)
My Tears are now prevailing Orators.
Luc. Oh, Noble Father, you lament in vain,
The Tribunes hear you not, no Man, is by,
And you recount your Sorrows to a Stone.
Tit. Ah Lucius, for thy Brothers let me plead
Grave Tribunes, once more I intreat of you-
Luc. My gracious Lord, no Tribune hears you fpeak.
Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, Man; if they did hear,
They would not mark me: Or if they did hear,
They would not pity me.'
Therefore I tell my Sorrows bootlefs to the Stones,
Who, tho' they cannot answer my Distress,
Yet in fome fort 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 feem to weep with me;
And were they but attired in grave Weeds,
Rome could afford no Tribune like to these.
A Stone is as foft Wax,
Tribunes more hard than Stones:
A Stone is filent, and offendeth not,
And Tribunes with their Tongues doom Men to death.
But wherefore ftandeft thou with thy Weapon drawn?
Luc. To refcue my two Brothers from their Death,
For which attempt, the Judges have pronounc'd
My everlafting doom of Banifhment.
Tit. O happy Man, they have befriended thee:
Why, foolish Lucius, doft thou not perceive,
That Rome is but a Wilderness of Tygers?
Tygers 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 and Lavinia.
Mar. Titus, prepare thy Noble Eyes to weep,
Or if not fo, thy Noble Heart to break:"
I bring confuming Sorrow to thine Age.-
Tit. Will it confume me? Let me fee it then.
Mar. This was thy Daughter..
Tit. Why, Marcus, fo the is.
Luc. Ah me, this Object kills me.
Tit. Faint-hearted Boy, arife and look upon her;
Speak my Lavinia, what accurfed Hand
Hath made thee handlefs in thy Father's fight?
What Fool hath added Water to the Sea?
Or brought a Faggot to bright-burning Troy?
My Grief was at the heighth before thou cam'ft,
And now like Nilus it difdaineth 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 ferv'd me to effeclefs use.
Now all the Service I require of them,
Is, that the one will help to cut the other:
'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou haft no Hands,
For Hands to do Rome Service are but vain.
Luc. Speak, gentle Sifter, who hath martyr'd thee?
Mar. O that delightful Engine of her Thoughts,
That blab'd them with fuch pleafing Eloquence,
Is torn from forth that pretty hellow Cage,
Where like a fweet melodious Bird it fung,
Sweet various Notes inchanting every Ear.
Luc. Oh fay thou for her,
Who hath done this Deed?
Mar. O thus I found her ftraying in the Park,
Seeking to hide her felf, as doth the Deer
That hath receiv'd fome 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 ftand, as one upon a Rock,
Environ'd with a Wildernefs of Sea,..
Who marks the waxing Tide grow Wave by Wave,
Expecting ever when fome envious Surge
Will in his brinith Bowels fwallow him.