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Tit. When will this fearful slumber have an end? Mar. Now farewell flattery: Die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads; Thy warlike hand; thy mangled daughter here; Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah! now no more will I control thy griefs: Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of your most wretched eyes! Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? Tit. Ha, ha, ha!
Mar. Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this
Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed:
And would usurp upon my wat'ry eyes,
Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these things;
And, if you love me, as I think you do,
Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do.
[Exeunt Titus, Marcus, and Lavinia.
O, 'would thou wert as thou 'tofore hast been!
If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs;
SCENE II.-A room in Titus's house. A banquet
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 ten-fold grief
With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine
And when my heart, all mad with misery,
Then thus I thump it down.
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.
Mar. Fye, brother, fye! teach her not thus to lay Such violent hands upon her tender life.
Tit. How now! has sorrow made thee dote already?
Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I.
What violent hands can she lay on her life!
Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands;To bid Æneas tell the tale twice o'er,
How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable?
As begging hermits in their holy prayers:
Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven,
And, by still practice, learn to know thy meaning.
my. aunt merry
with some pleasing tale.
Mar. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd, Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness.
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 kill'd, my lord; a fly. Tit. Out on thee, murderer! thou kill'st my heart; Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny: A deed of death, done on the innocent, Becomes not Titus' brother: Get thee gone; I see, thou art not for my company.
Mar. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly.
Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and mother? How would he hang his slender gilded wings, And buz lamenting doings in the air?
Poor harmless fly!
That with his pretty buzzing melody,
Came here to make us merry; and thou hast kill'd him.
Mar. Pardon me, sir; 'twas a black ill-favour'd fly, Like to the empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him. Tit. 0, 0, 0!
Then pardon me for reprehending thee,
Yet I do think we are not brought so low,
That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor.
Mar. Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on
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
SCENE I.-The same. Before Titus's house. Enter TITUS and MARCUS. Then enter young LUCIUS, LAVINIA running after him.
Boy. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia Follows me every where, I know not why:Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes! Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean. Mar. Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear thine
Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. Boy. Ay, when my father was in Rome, she did. Mar. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs?
Tit. Fear her not, Lucius:-Somewhat doth she
See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee:
Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus?
Unless some fit of frenzy do possess her: