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Titus 1999 CD1

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Ok, on your toes, men.
Hi-ho, Silver!
Hey, we got to save Olive Oyl!
Hail, Rome!
Victorious... in thy mourning weeds!
Lo, as the bark that hath discharged her freight
returns with precious lading to the bay
from whence at first she weighed her anchorage,
cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs,
to re-salute his country with his tears.
Stand gracious to the rites that we intend!
Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons
behold the poor remains, alive and dead.
These that survive, let Rome reward with love.
These that I bring unto their latest home
with burial amongst their ancestors.
Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my sword.
Titus, unkind and careless of thine own,
why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet,
to hover on the dreadful shore of Styx?
Make way to lay them by their brethren!
O sacred receptacle of my joys,
sweet cell of virtue and nobility,
how many sons of mine hast thou in store
that thou wilt never render to me more?
And there greet in silence, as the dead are wont,
and sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars.
Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths
that we may hew his limbs, and on a pile...
Admanes fratrum.
sacrifice his flesh.
That so the shadows be not unappeased,
nor we disturbed with prodigies on earth.
I give him you, the noblest that survives:
the eldest son of this distressed queen.
No! Stay, Roman brethren!
Gracious conqueror,
victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed--
the mother's tears in passion for her son.
No!
If thy sons were ever dear to thee,
oh, think my son to be as dear to me.
Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome
to beautify your triumphs and return,
captive to thee and thy Roman yoke?
But must my sons be slaughtered in the streets
for valiant doings in their country's cause?
Oh, if to fight for king and commonweal were piety in thine,
it is in these.
Andronicus...
stain not thy tomb with blood.
Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods?
Draw near them then in being merciful.
Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge.
Thrice noble Titus...
spare my born-born son.
Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me.
These are their brethren, whom your Goths beheld
alive and dead,
and for their brethren slain,
religiously they ask a sacrifice.
To this your son is marked...
and die he must to appease their groaning shadows
that are gone.
Away with him and make a fire straight.
And with our swords, upon a pile of wood
let's hew his limbs till they be clean consumed.
O cruel, irreligious piety!
Was ever Scythia half so barbarous?
Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.
Alarbus goes to rest,
and we survive to tremble under Titus' threatening looks.
Stand resolved...
but hope withal the gods may favor Tamora,
the queen of Goths,
to quit these bloody wrongs upon her foes.
See, lord and Father,
how we have performed our Roman rites!
Alarbus' limbs are lopped,
and entrails feed the sacrificing fire.
Remaineth not, but to inter our brethren
and with loud alarums welcome them to Rome.
I n peace and honor rest you here, my sons,
secure from worldly chances and mishaps.
Here lurks no treason.
Here no envy swells.
Here grow no damned drugs.
Here are no storms,
no noise...
but silence and eternal sleep.
I n peace and honor rest you here, my sons.
I n peace and honor live Lord Titus long.
My noble lord and father, live in fame.
Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears I render
for my brethren's obsequies.
And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy
shed on the earth for thy return to Rome.
Bless me here with thy victorious hand.
Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserved
the cordial of mine age to glad my heart.
Lavinia, live.
Outlive thy father's days and fame's eternal date,
for virtue's praise.
Noble patricians, patrons of my right,
defend the justice of my cause with arms!
And, countrymen, my loving followers,
plead my successive title with your swords!
Romans, friends, followers, favorers of my right,
if ever Bassianus, Caesar's son,
were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome,
keep, then, this passage to the capitol!
I am the born-born son!
That was the last that wear the imperial diadem of Rome.
And suffer not dishonor to approach the imperial seat:
to virtue, consecrate...
to justice, continence, and nobility!
Then let my father's honors live in me!
Nor wrong mine age with this indignity!
But let desert in pure election shine,
and, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice.
Princes...
that strive by factions and by friends ambitiously
for rule and empery!
Know that the people of Rome have by common voice
in elections for the Roman empery chosen Andronicus.
A nobler man,
a braver warrior, lives not this day within the city walls.
He by the Senate is accited home from weary wars
against the barbarous Goths.
Let us entreat, by honor of his name,
that you withdraw you, dismiss your followers,
and, as suitors should, plead your deserts in peace
and humbleness.
Marcus Andronicus...
so I do rely on thy uprightness and integrity,
and so I love and honor thee and thine--
thy noble brother Titus and his sons
and her to whom my thoughts are humbled all,
gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament--
that I will here dismiss my loving friends.
And to my fortunes and the people's favor,
commit my cause in balance to be weighed.
Friends...
that have been thus forward in my right,
I thank you all and here dismiss you all.
And to the love and favor of my country
commit myself, my person,
and the cause!
Rome...
be as just and gracious unto me
as I am confident and kind to thee.
Open the gates and let me in!
Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother.
Thanks, gentle Tribune,
noble brother Marcus.
And welcome, nephews, from successful wars...
you that survive and those that sleep in fame.
Titus Andronicus,
the people of Rome send thee by me,
their tribune and their trust,
this palliament of white and spotless hue
and name thee in election for the empire
with these our late-deceased emperor's sons.
Be candidatus, then,
and put it on,
and help to set a head on headless Rome.
A better head her glorious body fits
than this that shakes for age and feebleness.
Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years
and led my country's strength successfully...
and buried one and twenty valiant sons.
Give me a staff of honor for mine age,
but not a scepter to control the world.
Upright he held it, lords, that held it last.
Titus, thou shalt but ask and have the empery.
Proud and ambitious Tribune, canst thou tell?
Patience, Prince Saturnine.
Romans, do me right!
Patricians, draw your swords and sheathe them not
till Saturninus be Rome's emperor!
Andronicus, would thou wert shipped to hell
rather than rob me of the people's hearts!
Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good
that noble-minded Titus means to thee.
Content thee, Prince.
I will restore to thee the people's hearts
and wean them from themselves.
Andronicus,
I do not flatter thee but honor thee,
and will do till I die.
My faction, if thou strengthen with thy friends,
I will most thankful be.
People of Rome and people's tribunes here,
I ask your voices and your suffrages.
Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus?
To gratify the good Andronicus
and gratulate his safe return to Rome,
the people will accept whom he admits.
Tribunes, I thank you, and this suit I make...
that you create your emperor's eldest son,
Lord Saturnine, whose virtues will, I hope,
reflect on Rome as Titan's rays on Earth.
And if you will elect by my advice,
crown him and say,
" Long live our emperor!"
Long live our Emperor Saturnine!
Patricians and plebeians,
we create Lord Saturninus Rome's great emperor
and say, " Long live our Emperor Saturnine!"
Titus Andronicus,
for thy favors done to us in our election this day
I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts
and will with deeds requite thy gentleness.
And, for an onset, Titus,
to advance thy name and honorable family,
Lavinia will I make my empress,
Rome's royal mistress,
mistress of my heart,
and in the sacred Pantheon her espouse.
Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee?
Hmm?
It doth, my worthy lord,
and in this match I hold me
highly honored of Your Grace.
And here, in sight of Rome,
to Saturnine, king and commander of our commonweal,
the wide world's emperor,
do I consecrate my sword, my chariot, and my prisoners:
presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord.
Thanks, noble Titus,
father of my life.
How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts
Rome shall record.
And when I do forget the least of these unspeakable deserts,
Romans, forget thy fealty to me.
Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor--
to him that, for your honor and your state,
will use you nobly and your followers.
Mmm...
a goodly lady.
Trust me, of the hue that I would choose...
were I to choose anew.
Clear up, fair Queen, that cloudy countenance.
Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer,
thou comest not to be made a scorn in Rome.
Princely shall be thy usage...
every way.
Rest on my word,
and let not discontent daunt all your hopes.
Madam, he that comforts you
can make you greater than queen of Goths.
Lavinia, you are not displeased with this?
Not I, my lord,
sith true nobility warrants these words
in princely courtesy.
Thanks, sweet Lavinia.
Romans, let us go!
Ransomless here we set our prisoners free.
Proclaim our honors, lords, with trump and drum.
Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine!
How, sir! Are you in earnest, then, my lord?
Ay, noble Titus, and resolved withal.
This prince in justice seizeth but his own.
And that he will and shall, if Lucius live.
Traitors, avaunt!
Where is the emperor's guard?
Treason, my lord, Lavinia is surprised!
Surprised? By whom?
By him that justly may bear
his betrothed from all the world away.
Fear not, my lord, I'll soon bring her back.
Brothers, help to convey her hence away!
And with my sword I'll keep this way safe.
My lord, you pass not here.
What, villain boy?
Barr'st me my way in Rome, huh?
Help! Lucius!
My lord!
You are unjust!
And more than so,
in wrongful quarrel, you have slain your son.
Nor thou nor he are any sons of mine.
My sons would never so dishonor me.
Traitor!
Restore Lavinia to the emperor.
Dead, if you will, but not to be his wife
that is another's lawful promised love.
No, Titus, no!
The emperor needs her not!
Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock!
I'll trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once.
Thee never!
Nor thy traitorous, haughty sons,
confederates all, thus to dishonor me.
But go thy ways. Go!
A valiant son-in-law shalt thou enjoy,
one fit to bandy with thy lawless sons!
And therefore, lovely Tamora,
Queen of Goths,
if thou be pleased with this my sudden choice,
behold.
I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride
and will create thee empress of Rome.
Speak, Queen of Goths.
Dost thou applaud my choice?
If Saturnine advance the queen of Goths,
she will a handmaid be to his desires,
a loving nurse, a mother to his youth.
Ascend, fair Queen, to the Pantheon.
Lords, accompany your noble emperor
and his lovely bride.
There shall we consummate our spousal rites.
Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone,
dishonored thus and challenged of wrongs?
O Titus, see.
Oh, see what thou hast done--
in a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son.
No, foolish Tribune, no.
No son of mine, nor thou, nor these,
confederates in the deed
that hath dishonored all our family.
But let us give him burial as becomes.
Give Mutius burial with our brethren.
Traitors, away! He rests not in this tomb.
Here none but soldiers
and Rome's servitors repose in fame--
none basely slain in brawls.
Bury him where you can. He comes not here.
My lord, this is impiety in you.
He must be buried with his brethren.
And shall, or him we will accompany!
And shall?
What villain was it spake that word?
He that would vouch it in any place but here.
What, would you bury him in my despite?
No, noble Titus...
but entreat of thee to pardon Mutius
and to bury him.
Marcus, even thou has struck upon my crest
and, with these boys, mine honor thou hast wounded.
My foes I do repute you every one,
so trouble me no more, but get you gone.
He is not with himself. Let us withdraw.
Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried.
Father...
and in that name doth nature speak...
Dear Father, soul and substance of us all...
Renowned Titus, more than half my soul...
Rise, Marcus, rise.
The dismall'st day is this
that e'er I saw,
to be dishonored by my sons in Rome.
Well, bury him!
And bury me the next.
I'll have another.
So, Bassianus, you have played your prize.
God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride.
And you of yours, my lord.
I say no more nor wish no less,
and so I take my leave.
Traitor!
If Rome have law or we have power,
thou and thy faction shall repent this rape.
Rape call you it, my lord,
to seize my own, my true-betrothed love,
and now my wife?
But let the laws of Rome determine all.
Meanwhile, I am possessed of that is mine.
'Tis good, sir.
You are very short with us.
But if we live,
we'll be as sharp with you.
My lord, what I have done, as best I may,
answer I must and shall do with my life.
This noble gentleman-- Lord Titus here--
is in opinion and in honor wronged.
That in the rescue of Lavinia, with his own hand
did slay his youngest son in zeal to you.
Receive him then to favor, Saturnine.
Prince Bassianus,
leave to plead my deeds.
'Tis thou and those that have dishonored me.
Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge
how I have loved and honored Saturnine.
I can do no more.
Patience, Bassianus.
My worthy lord, if ever Tamora were gracious
in those princely eyes of thine,
then hear me speak indifferently for all.
And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past.
What, madam? Be dishonored openly
and basely put it up without revenge?
Not so, my lord. The gods of Rome for fend
I should be author to dishonor you.
But on mine honor dare I undertake
for good Lord Titus' innocence in all,
whose fury, not dissembled, speaks his griefs.
Then at my suit look graciously on him.
Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose.
My lord, be ruled by me.
Be won at last.
Dissemble all your griefs and discontents.
You are but newly planted in your throne.
Lest then the people and patricians too,
upon a just survey, take Titus' part
and so supplant you for ingratitude.
Yield at entreats, and let me alone.
I'll find a day to massacre them all
and raze their faction and their family--
the cruel father and his traitorous sons
to whom I sued for my dear son's life,
and make them know what 'tis to let a queen kneel in the streets
and beg for grace in vain.
Come, come, sweet Emperor.
Come, Andronicus.
Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart
that dies in tempest of thy angry frown.
Rise, Titus, rise. My empress hath prevailed.
I thank Your Majesty and her, my lord.
And let it be mine honor, good my lord,
that I have reconciled your friends and you.
For you, Prince Bassianus,
I have passed my word and promise
to the emperor that you will be
more mild and tractable.
And fear not, lords, and you, Lavinia.
By my advice, all humbled on your knees,
you shall ask pardon of His Majesty.
We do, and vow to heaven and to Your Highness
that what we did was mildly as we might,
tendering our sister's honor and our own.
That, on mine honor, here I do attest.
Away, and talk not. Trouble us no more.
Nay, nay, sweet Emperor.
We must all be friends.
The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace.
I will not be denied.
Sweet heart, look back.
Marcus, for thy sake and thy brother's here,
and at my lovely Tamora's entreats,
I do remit these young men's heinous faults.
Stand up!
Lavinia, though you left me like a churl,
I found a friend.
Come.
If the emperor's court can feast two brides,
you are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends.
This day shall be a love-day, Tamora.
Tomorrow, an it please Your Majesty
to hunt the panther and the hart with me.
Be it so, Titus, and gramercy, too.
Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top,
safe out of fortune's shot and sits aloft,
secure of thunder's crack or lightning flash,
advanced above pale envy's threatening reach.
As when the golden sun salutes the morn
and, having gilt the ocean with his beams,
gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach
and overlooks the highest peering hills.
So Tamora.
Upon her wit doth earthly honor wait,
and virtue stoops and trembles at her frown.
Then, Aaron, arm thy heart and fit thy thoughts
to mount aloft with thy imperial mistress
and mount her pitch, whom thou in triumph
long hast prisoner held fettered in amorous chains.
Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts!
I will be bright and shine in pearl and gold
to wait upon this new-made empress.
To wait, said I ?
To wanton with this queen, this goddess,
this Semiramis, this nymph,
this siren that will charm Rome's Saturnine
and see his shipwreck and his commonweal's.
Holloa!
What storm is this?
Chiron, thy years wants wit.
Thy wit wants edge and manners
to intrude where I am graced
and may, for aught thou knowest, affected be.
Demetrius, thou dost overween in all,
and so in this,
to bear me down with braves.
'Tis not the difference of a year or two
makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate.
I am as able and as fit as thou to serve
and to deserve my mistress' grace.
That my sword upon thee shall approve
and plead my passions for Lavinia's love.
Clubs, clubs!
These lovers will not keep the peace.
Why, boy,
although our mother, unadvised,
gave you a dancing rapier by your side,
are you so desperate grown to threat your friends?
Go to.
Have your lath glued within your sheath
till you know better how to handle it.
Meanwhile, sir,
with what little skill I have,
full well thou shalt perceive
how much I dare.
Ay, boy.
Grow ye so brave?
How now, lords!
Here in the emperor's palace dare you draw
and maintain such a quarrel openly?
Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge.
I would not for a million of gold
the cause were known to them it most concerns,
nor would your noble mother for much more
be so dishonored in the court of Rome.
For shame, put up.
Not I, till I have sheathed my rapier in his bosom
and withal thrust these reproachful speeches down his throat
that he hath breathed in my dishonor here.
For that I am prepared and full resolved.
Foul-spoken coward,
that thunderest with thy tongue
and with thy weapon nothing darest perform.
Away, I say!
Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore,
this petty brabble will undo us all.
Why, lords, think you not how dangerous it is
to step upon a prince's right?
What, is Lavinia then become so loose
or Bassianus so degenerate that for her love
such quarrels may be broached without controlment,
justice, or revenge?
Young lords, beware!
And should the empress know this discord's ground,
the music would not please.
I care not, I, knew she and all the world.
I love Lavinia more than all the world!
Youngling...
learn thou to make some meaner choice.
Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope.
Why, are ye mad? Or know ye not in Rome
how furious and impatient they be
and cannot brook competitors in love?
I tell you, lords,
you do but plot your deaths by this device.
Aaron...
a thousand deaths would I propose
to achieve her whom I love.
To achieve her! How?
Why makest thou it so strange?
She's a woman, and therefore may be wooed.
She's a woman...
Ah!
therefore may be won.
She is Lavinia,
and therefore must be loved.
Why, then, it seems,
some certain snatch or so would serve your turns.
Ay, so the turn were served.
Aaron, thou hast hit it.
Would you had hit it, too.
Then should not we be tired with this ado.
Are you such fools to square for this?
Would it offend you then that both should speed?
Faith, not me.
Nor me, so I were one.
For shame.
Be friends and join for that you jar.
'Tis policy and stratagem must do that you affect.
And I have found the path.
My lords...
a solemn hunting is at hand.
There will the lovely Roman ladies troop.
Ah, the forest walks are wide and spacious,
and many unfrequented plots there are
fitted by kind for rape and villainy.
Single you thither then this dainty doe
and strike her home by force,
if not by words.
This way, or not at all, stand you in hope.
Come.
Come. Our empress, with her sacred wit,
will we acquaint with all that we intend.
He that had wit would think that I had none
to bury so much gold under a tree,
never after to inherit it.
Let him that thinks of me so abjectly know
that this gold must coin a stratagem which,
cunningly effected,
will beget a very excellent piece of villainy.
And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest
that have their alms out of the empress' chest.
My lovely Aaron,
wherefore lookst thou sad
when everything doth make a gleeful boast?
The birds chant melody on every bush.
The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun.
The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind.
Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit.
Ha ha ha!
And after conflict, we may,
each wreathed in the other's arms,
our pastimes done,
possess a golden slumber.
Whiles hounds and horns
and sweet, melodious birds be unto us
as is a nurse's song of lullaby
to bring her babe asleep.
Madam, though Venus govern your desires,
Saturn is dominator over mine.
What signifies my deadly-standing eye,
my silence, and my cloudy melancholy?
No, madam, these are no venereal signs.
Vengeance is in my heart,
death in my hand.
Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.
Hark, Tamora, the empress of my soul,
which never hopes more heaven
than rests in thee...
This is the day of doom for Bassianus.
Ha ha!
His Philomel must lose her tongue today.
Thy sons make pillage of her chastity
and wash their hands in Bassianus' blood.
Seest thou this letter?
Take it up, I pray thee,
and give the king this fatal-plotted scroll.
Question me no more. We are espied.
Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life!
No more, great Empress. Bassianus comes.
Be cross with him,
and I'll go fetch thy sons to back thy quarrels,
whatsoe'er they be.
Who have we here?
Rome's royal empress,
unfurnished of her well-beseeming troop?
Or is it Dian, habited like her,
who hath abandoned her holy groves
to see the general hunting in this forest?
Saucy controller of our private steps!
Had I the power some say Dian had,
thy temples should be planted presently with horns,
as was Actaeon's.
And the hounds should drive upon
thy new-transformed limbs,
unmannerly intruder as thou art!
Under your patience, gentle Empress.
'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning
and to be doubted that your Moor and you
are singled forth to try experiments.
Jove shield your husband from his hounds today!
'Tis pity they should take him for a stag.
Why are you sequestered from all your train,
dismounted from your snow-white, goodly steed,
and wandered hither to an obscure plot
accompanied but with a barbarous Moor
if foul desire had not conducted you?
And, being intercepted in your sport,
great reason that my noble lord
be rated for sauciness.
I pray you, let us hence,
and let her 'joy her raven-colored love.
This valley fits the purpose passing well.
The king my brother shall have notice of this.
Good king, to be so mightily abused!
Why have I patience to endure all this?
Yah!
Aah!
How now, dear sovereign and our gracious mother!
Why doth Your Highness look so pale and wan?
Have I not reason, think you, to look pale?
These two have 'ticed me hither to this place--
a barren, detested vale, you see it is.
And when they showed me this abhorred pit,
they told me here, at dead time of the night,
a thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes,
ten thousand swelling toads
would make such fearful and confused cries
as any mortal body hearing it
should straight fall mad or else die suddenly.
No sooner had they told this hellish tale
then straight they told me they would bind me here
and leave me to this miserable death.
And then...
they called me foul adulteress,
lascivious Goth,
and all the bitterest terms
that ever ear did hear to such effect.
And had you not by wondrous fortune come,
this vengeance on me had they executed.
Revenge it, as you love your mother's life,
or be ye not henceforth called my children.
This is a witness that I am thy son.
And this for me, struck home to show my strength.
Ay.
Come, Semiramis!
Nay, barbarous Tamora,
for no name fits thy nature but thy own!
Give me the poniard.
Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong.
Stay, madam.
Here is more belongs to her.
First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw.
This minion stood upon her chastity,
upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty,
and with that painted hope she braves your mightiness.
And shall she carry this unto her grave?
And if she do,
I would I were a eunuch.
Ha ha ha ha!
Drag hence her husband to some secret hole
and make his dead trunk pillow to our lust.
But when ye have the honeyye desire,
let not this wasp outlive us all to sting.
I warrant you, madam, we will make that sure.
Come, mistress.
Now perforce we will enjoy
that nice preserved honesty of yours.
O Tamora, thou bearest a woman's face--
I will not hear her speak.
Away with her.
Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word.
Oh, listen, fair madam.
Let it be your glory to see her tears,
but be your heart to them
as unrelenting flint to drops of rain.
When did the tiger's young ones teach the dam?
Oh, do not learn her wrath.
She taught it thee?
The milk thou suckst from her did turn to marble.
Yet every mother breeds not sons alike.
Do thou entreat her show a woman's pity.
What, wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard?
Oh, be to me, though thy hard heart say no,
nothing so kind, but something pitiful!
I know not what it means. Away with her.
Let me teach thee!
For my father's sake that gave thee life
when well he might have slain thee!
Hadst thou in person never offended me,
even for his sake am I pitiless.
Remember, boys, I poured forth tears in vain
to save your brother from the sacrifice,
but fierce Andronicus would not relent.
Therefore away with her. Use her as you will.
The worse to her, the better loved of me.
Tamora, be called a gentle queen,
and with thine own hands kill me in this place!
And tumble me into some loathsome pit
where never man's eye may behold my body.
Do this, and be a charitable murderer.
So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee?
No.
Let them satisfy their lust on thee.
Away! For thou hast stayed us here too long.
No grace? No womanhood?!
Aaah! Beastly creature!
Confusion fall!
Nay! I'll stop your mouth!
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 deflower.
Come on, my lords, the better foot before.
Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit
where I espied the tiger fast asleep.
My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes.
And mine, I promise you.
Were it not for shame,
well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile.
Aaah!
What, art thou fallen?
What subtle hole is this...
whose mouth is covered with rude-growing briers,
upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood?
Speak, Brother. Hast thou hurt thee with the fall?
O Brother, with the dismall'st object hurt
that ever eye with sight made heart lament.
Why dost not comfort me
and help me out of this unhallowed
and bloodstained hole?
My heart suspects more than mine eye can see.
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.
Aaron is gone!
Lord Bassianus lies embrewed here,
all on a heap...
like to a slaughtered lamb.
O Brother, help me!
I have not strength to pluck thee to the brink!
Aaah!
Along with me.
I'll see what hole is here,
and what he is that now is leapt into it.
Say!
Who art thou that lately didst descend
into this gaping hollow of the earth?
The unhappy sons of old Andronicus...
brought hither in a most unlucky hour
to find thy brother Bassianus dead!
My brother dead?
I know thou dost but jest.
He and his lady both are at the lodge.
'Tis not an hour since I left him there.
Where is my lord the king?
Here, Tamora...
though grieved with killing grief.
And where is thy brother Bassianus?
Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound.
Poor Bassianus here lies murdered.
Oh, then all too late I bring this fatal writ.
"And 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.
My gracious lord...
here is the bag of gold.
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.
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--
If it be proved?!
You see it is apparent!
Who found this letter?
Tamora, was it you?
Andronicus himself did take it up.
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.
Thou shalt not bail them!
See thou follow me.
Some bring the murdered 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.
Andronicus, I will entreat the king.
Fear not thy sons. They shall do well enough.
Come, Lucius, come. Stay not to talk with them.
So now go tell-- an if thy tongue can speak--
who 'twas that cut thy tongue and ravished thee.
Write down thy mind,
bewray thy meaning so,
and if thy stumps will let thee,
play the scribe.
See how with signs and tokens she can scrowl.
Go home! Call for sweet water.
Sweet water! Hither, sweet water!
Wash thy hands!
She hath no tongue to call
nor hands to wash!
And so let's leave her to her silent walks.
And 'twere it my case, I should go hang myself...
if thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord.
- Ha ha ha ha! - Ha ha ha ha!
Who is this?
My niece?
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 lopped
and hewed and made thy body bare of her two branches?
Those...
sweet ornaments...
whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in.
Why dost not speak to me?
Come.
Let us go...
and make thy father blind,
for such a sight will blind a father's eye.
An 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 ease thy misery!
Hear me, grave fathers!
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