Complete Plays, The Read online

  O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no,

  Nothing so kind, but something pitiful!

  Tamora

  I know not what it means; away with her!

  Lavinia

  O, let me teach thee! for my father’s sake,

  That gave thee life, when well he might have slain thee,

  Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears.

  Tamora

  Hadst thou in person ne’er offended me,

  Even for his sake am I pitiless.

  Remember, boys, I pour’d forth tears in vain,

  To save your brother from the sacrifice;

  But fierce Andronicus would not relent;

  Therefore, away with her, and use her as you will,

  The worse to her, the better loved of me.

  Lavinia

  O Tamora, be call’d a gentle queen,

  And with thine own hands kill me in this place!

  For ’tis not life that I have begg’d so long;

  Poor I was slain when Bassianus died.

  Tamora

  What begg’st thou, then? fond woman, let me go.

  Lavinia

  ’Tis present death I beg; and one thing more

  That womanhood denies my tongue to tell:

  O, keep me from their worse than killing lust,

  And tumble me into some loathsome pit,

  Where never man’s eye may behold my body:

  Do this, and be a charitable murderer.

  Tamora

  So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee:

  No, let them satisfy their lust on thee.

  Demetrius

  Away! for thou hast stay’d us here too long.

  Lavinia

  No grace? no womanhood? Ah, beastly creature!

  The blot and enemy to our general name!

  Confusion fall —

  Chiron

  Nay, then I’ll stop your mouth. Bring thou her husband:

  This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him.

  Demetrius throws the body of Bassianus into the pit; then exeunt Demetrius and Chiron, dragging off Lavinia

  Tamora

  Farewell, my sons: see that you make her sure.

  Ne’er let my heart know merry cheer indeed,

  Till all the Andronici be made away.

  Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor,

  And let my spleenful sons this trull deflow’r.

  Exit

  Re-enter Aaron, with Quintus and Martius

  Aaron

  Come on, my lords, the better foot before:

  Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit

  Where I espied the panther fast asleep.

  Quintus

  My sight is very dull, whate’er it bodes.

  Martius

  And mine, I promise you; were’t not for shame,

  Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile.

  Falls into the pit

  Quintus

  What art thou fall’n? What subtle hole is this,

  Whose mouth is cover’d with rude-growing briers,

  Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood

  As fresh as morning dew distill’d on flowers?

  A very fatal place it seems to me.

  Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall?

  Martius

  O brother, with the dismall’st object hurt

  That ever eye with sight made heart lament!

  Aaron

  [Aside] Now will I fetch the king to find them here,

  That he thereby may give a likely guess

  How these were they that made away his brother.

  Exit

  Martius

  Why dost not comfort me, and help me out

  From this unhallowed and blood-stained hole?

  Quintus

  I am surprised with an uncouth fear;

  A chilling sweat o’er-runs my trembling joints:

  My heart suspects more than mine eye can see.

  Martius

  To prove thou hast a true-divining heart,

  Aaron and thou look down into this den,

  And see a fearful sight of blood and death.

  Quintus

  Aaron is gone; and my compassionate heart

  Will not permit mine eyes once to behold

  The thing whereat it trembles by surmise;

  O, tell me how it is; for ne’er till now

  Was I a child to fear I know not what.

  Martius

  Lord Bassianus lies embrewed here,

  All on a heap, like to a slaughter’d lamb,

  In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit.

  Quintus

  If it be dark, how dost thou know ’tis he?

  Martius

  Upon his bloody finger he doth wear

  A precious ring, that lightens all the hole,

  Which, like a taper in some monument,

  Doth shine upon the dead man’s earthy cheeks,

  And shows the ragged entrails of the pit:

  So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus

  When he by night lay bathed in maiden blood.

  O brother, help me with thy fainting hand —

  If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath —

  Out of this fell devouring receptacle,

  As hateful as Cocytus’ misty mouth.

  Quintus

  Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out;

  Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good,

  I may be pluck’d into the swallowing womb

  Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus’ grave.

  I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink.

  Martius

  Nor I no strength to climb without thy help.

  Quintus

  Thy hand once more; I will not loose again,

  Till thou art here aloft, or I below:

  Thou canst not come to me: I come to thee.

  Falls in

  Enter Saturninus with Aaron

  Saturninus

  Along with me: I’ll see what hole is here,

  And what he is that now is leap’d into it.

  Say who art thou that lately didst descend

  Into this gaping hollow of the earth?

  Martius

  The unhappy son of old Andronicus:

  Brought hither in a most unlucky hour,

  To find thy brother Bassianus dead.

  Saturninus

  My brother dead! I know thou dost but jest:

  He and his lady both are at the lodge

  Upon the north side of this pleasant chase;

  ’Tis not an hour since I left him there.

  Martius

  We know not where you left him all alive;

  But, out, alas! here have we found him dead.

  Re-enter Tamora, with Attendants; Titus Andronicus, and Lucius

  Tamora

  Where is my lord the king?

  Saturninus

  Here, Tamora, though grieved with killing grief.

  Tamora

  Where is thy brother Bassianus?

  Saturninus

  Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound:

  Poor Bassianus here lies murdered.

  Tamora

  Then all too late I bring this fatal writ,

  The complot of this timeless tragedy;

  And wonder greatly that man’s face can fold

  In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny.

  She giveth Saturninus a letter

  Saturninus

  [Reads] ‘An if we miss to meet him handsomely —

  Sweet huntsman, Bassianus ’tis we mean —

  Do thou so much as dig the grave for him:

  Thou know’st our meaning. Look for thy reward

  Among the nettles at the elder-tree

  Which overshades the mouth of that same pit

  Where we decreed to bury Bassianus.

  Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.’
/>   O Tamora! was ever heard the like?

  This is the pit, and this the elder-tree.

  Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out

  That should have murdered Bassianus here.

  Aaron

  My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold.

  Saturninus

  [To Titus] 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 devised

  Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them.

  Tamora

  What, are they in this pit? O wondrous thing!

  How easily murder is discovered!

  Titus Andronicus

  High emperor, upon my feeble knee

  I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed,

  That this fell fault of my accursed sons,

  Accursed if the fault be proved in them,—

  Saturninus

  If it be proved! you see it is apparent.

  Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you?

  Tamora

  Andronicus himself did take it up.

  Titus Andronicus

  I did, my lord: yet let me be their bail;

  For, by my father’s reverend tomb, I vow

  They shall be ready at your highness’ will

  To answer their suspicion with their lives.

  Saturninus

  Thou shalt not bail them: see thou follow me.

  Some bring the murder’d body, some the murderers:

  Let them not speak a word; the guilt is plain;

  For, by my soul, were there worse end than death,

  That end upon them should be executed.

  Tamora

  Andronicus, I will entreat the king;

  Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough.

  Titus Andronicus

  Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them.

  Exeunt

  SCENE IV. ANOTHER PART OF THE FOREST.

  Enter Demetrius and Chiron with Lavinia, ravished; her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out

  Demetrius

  So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak,

  Who ’twas that cut thy tongue and ravish’d thee.

  Chiron

  Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so,

  An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe.

  Demetrius

  See, how with signs and tokens she can scrowl.

  Chiron

  Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands.

  Demetrius

  She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash;

  And so let’s leave her to her silent walks.

  Chiron

  An ’twere my case, I should go hang myself.

  Demetrius

  If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord.

  Exeunt Demetrius and Chiron

  Enter Marcus

  Marcus

  Who is this? my niece, that flies away so fast!

  Cousin, a word; where is your husband?

  If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me!

  If I do wake, some planet strike me down,

  That I may slumber in eternal sleep!

  Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands

  Have lopp’d and hew’d and made thy body bare

  Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments,

  Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in,

  And might not gain so great a happiness

  As have thy love? Why dost not speak to me?

  Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,

  Like to a bubbling fountain stirr’d with wind,

  Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips,

  Coming and going with thy honey breath.

  But, sure, some Tereus hath deflowered thee,

  And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue.

  Ah, now thou turn’st away thy face for shame!

  And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood,

  As from a conduit with three issuing spouts,

  Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan’s face

  Blushing to be encountered with a cloud.

  Shall I speak for thee? shall I say ’tis so?

  O, that I knew thy heart; and knew the beast,

  That I might rail at him, to ease my mind!

  Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp’d,

  Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.

  Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue,

  And in a tedious sampler sew’d her mind:

  But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee;

  A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met,

  And he hath cut those pretty fingers off,

  That could have better sew’d than Philomel.

  O, had the monster seen those lily hands

  Tremble, like aspen-leaves, upon a lute,

  And make the silken strings delight to kiss them,

  He would not then have touch’d them for his life!

  Or, had he heard the heavenly harmony

  Which that sweet tongue hath made,

  He would have dropp’d his knife, and fell asleep

  As Cerberus at the Thracian poet’s feet.

  Come, let us go, and make thy father blind;

  For such a sight 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

  O, could our mourning ease thy misery!

  Exeunt

  ACT III

  SCENE I. ROME. A STREET.

  Enter Judges, Senators and Tribunes, with Martius and Quintus, bound, passing on to the place of execution; Titus going before, pleading

  Titus Andronicus

  Hear me, grave fathers! noble tribunes, stay!

  For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent

  In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept;

  For all my blood in Rome’s great quarrel shed;

  For all the frosty nights that I have watch’d;

  And for these bitter tears, which now you see

  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.

  Lieth down; the Judges, & c., pass by him, and Exeunt

  For these, these, tribunes, in the dust I write

  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.

  O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain,

  That shall distil from these two ancient urns,

  Than youthful April shall with all his 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 refuse to drink my dear sons’ blood.

  Enter Lucius, with his sword drawn

  O reverend tribunes! O gentle, aged men!

  Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death;

  And let me say, that never wept before,

  My tears are now prevailing orators.

  Lucius

  O noble father, you lament in vain:

  The tribunes hear you not; no man is by;

  And you recount your sorrows to a stone.

  Titus Andronicus

  Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead.

  Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you,—

  Lucius

  My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak.

  Titus Andronicus

  Why, tis no matter, man; if they did he
ar,

  They would not mark me, or if they did mark,

  They would not pity me, yet plead I must;

  Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones;

  Who, though they cannot answer my distress,

  Yet in some sort 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 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.

  Rises

  But wherefore stand’st thou with thy weapon drawn?

  Lucius

  To rescue my two brothers from their death:

  For which attempt the judges have pronounced

  My everlasting doom of banishment.

  Titus Andronicus

  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 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

  Marcus Andronicus

  Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep;

  Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break:

  I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.

  Titus Andronicus

  Will it consume me? let me see it, then.

  Marcus Andronicus

  This was thy daughter.

  Titus Andronicus

  Why, Marcus, so she is.

  Lucius

  Ay me, this object kills me!

  Titus Andronicus

  Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her.

  Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand

  Hath made thee handless in thy father’s sight?

  What fool hath added water to the sea,

  Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy?

  My grief was at the height before thou camest,

  And now like Nilus, it disdaineth 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 nursed this woe, in feeding life;

  In bootless prayer have they been held up,

  And they have served me to effectless use:

  Now all the service I require of them

  Is that the one will help to cut the other.

  ’Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands;

  For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain.

  Lucius

  Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr’d thee?

  Marcus Andronicus

  O, that delightful engine of her thoughts