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Titus 1999 CD2

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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 watched,
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 honor's lofty bed!
For these, these, Tribunes, in the dust I write
my heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears!
Let my tears staunch the earth's dry appetite!
My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush!
O earth,
I shall befriend thee more with rain
that shall distill from these two ancient urns
than youthful April shall with all his showers.
I n summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still.
I n winter, with warm tears
I'll melt the snow and keep eternal springtime on thy face,
so thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood.
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!
O noble Father, you lament in vain.
The tribunes hear you not. No man is by.
And you recount your sorrows to a stone!
For thy brothers let me plead!
Grave Tribunes, once more I entreat of you...
My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak.
Why, 'tis no matter, man.
If they did hear, they would not mark me,
or if they did mark, they would not pity me.
Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones.
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.
But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn?
To rescue my two brothers from their death.
For which attempt, the judges have pronounced
my everlasting doom of banishment.
Oh, 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?
Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep,
or if not so, thy noble heart to break.
I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.
Will it consume me?
Let me see it, then.
This...was thy daughter.
Why, Marcus, so she is.
This object kills me.
Fainthearted 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 torch 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.
I n 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.
Speak, gentle Sister. Who hath martyred thee?
Oh, that delightful engine of her thoughts
is torn from forth that pretty, hollow cage.
Say thou for her. Who hath done this deed?
Oh, thus I found her straying in the park,
seeking to hide herself as doth the deer
that hath received some unrecuring wound.
It was my deer,
and he that wounded her hath hurt me more
than had he killed me dead.
For now I stand as one upon a rock,
environed with a wilderness of sea.
This way to death my wretched sons have gone.
Here stands my other son, a banished 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.
Gentle daughter,
let me kiss thy lips...
or make some sign how I may do thee ease.
Shall thy good uncle and thy brother Lucius
and thou and I...
sit round about some fountain looking all downwards
to behold our cheeks...
how they are stained, like meadows, by a flood?
Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine?
Or shall we bite our tongues
and in dumb shows pass the remainder
of our hateful days?
What shall we do?
Let us that have our tongues
plot some device of further misery
to make us wondered at in time to come.
Titus Andronicus,
my lord the emperor sends thee this word--
that if thou love thy sons,
let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus,
or any one of you chop off your hand
and send it to the king.
He for the same will send thee hither both thy sons alive,
and that shall be the ransom for their fault.
O gracious Emperor! O gentle Aaron!
Did ever raven sing so like a lark?
With all my heart, I'll send His Majesty my hand.
Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off?
Stay, Father!
For that noble hand of thine
that hath thrown down so many enemies
shall not be sent.
My hand will serve the turn.
My youth can better spare my blood than you.
Which of your hands hath not defended Rome
and reared aloft the bloody battle-ax?
My hand hath been but idle.
Let it serve to ransom my two nephews from their death!
Nay, come, agree to whose hand shall go along,
for fear they die before their pardon come.
My hand shall go!
By heaven, it shall not go.
Now let me show a brother's love to thee.
Agree between you. I will spare my hand.
Then I'll go fetch an ax.
But I will use the ax.
Come hither, Aaron. I'll deceive them both.
Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.
If that be called deceit, I will be honest.
Oh, now stay your strife!
What shall be is dispatched.
Good Aaron, give His Majesty my hand.
Tell him it was a hand
that warded him from thousand dangers.
Bid him bury it!
As for my sons, say I account of them
as jewels purchased at an easy price.
I go, Andronicus.
And for thy hand, look by and by
to have thy sons with thee.
Their heads, I mean.
Oh, how this villainy doth fat me with the very thoughts of it!
Let fools do good and fair men call for grace.
Aaron will have his soul black...
like his face.
Oh, here I lift this one hand up to heaven
and bow this feeble ruin to the earth.
If any power pities wretched tears,
to that I call.
What, wouldst thou kneel with me?
Do, then, dear heart,
for heaven shall hear our prayers,
or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim
and stain the sun with fog,
as sometimes clouds
when they do hug him in their melting bosoms.
O Brother, speak with possibility,
and do not break into these deep extremes.
Are not my sorrows deep, having no bottom?
Then be my passions bottomless with them.
But yet let reason govern thy lament.
Ha ha! If there were reason for these miseries,
then into limits could I bind my woes!
When heaven doth weep...
doth not the earth overflow?
If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,
threatening the welkin with his big, swollen face?
Wouldst 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, overflowed and drowned.
For why my bowels cannot hide her woes,
but like a drunkard must I vomit them.
Then give me leave.
For losers will have leave to ease their stomachs
with their bitter tongues.
Worthy Andronicus,
ill art thou repaid for that good hand
thou sent'st the emperor.
Here are the heads of thy two noble sons,
and here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back.
And be my heart an ever burning hell!
These miseries are more than may be borne.
That this sight should make so deep a wound,
and yet detested life not shrink thereat!
Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless
as frozen water to a starved snake.
When will this fearful slumber have an end?
Die, Andronicus!
Thou dost not slumber.
See thy two sons' heads,
thy warlike hand,
thy mangled daughter here,
thy other banished 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 our most wretched eyes.
Now is a time to storm! Why art thou still?
Why dost thou laugh?
Why, I have not another tear to shed.
Besides, this sorrow is the enemy
and would usurp upon my watery eyes
and make them blind with tributary tears.
Then which way shall I find revenge's cave?
For these two heads do seem to speak to me
and threat me I shall never come to bliss
till all these mischiefs be returned again
even in their throats that have committed them.
Now, let me see what task I have to do.
You heavy people, circle me about
that I may turn me to each one of you
and swear unto my soul to right your wrongs.
The vow is made.
Come, Brother, take a head.
I n this hand, the other will I bear.
And thou, Lavinia, thou shalt be employed.
Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth.
As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight.
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 kiss and part,
for we have much to do.
Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father.
The woe fullest man that ever lived in Rome.
Now will I to the Goths
and raise a power to be revenged on Rome...
and Saturnine.
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.
Thou map of woe that thus dost talk in signs,
when thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating,
thou canst not strike it thus to make it still.
Wound it with sighing, girl. Kill it with groans.
Or get some little knife between thy teeth
and, just against thy heart, make thou a hole,
that all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall
may run into that sink
and, soaking in, drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears.
Fie, Brother, fie!
Teach her not thus
to lay such violent hands upon her tender life.
How now! Has sorrow made thee dote already?
Oh, handle not the theme, to talk of hands,
lest we remember still that we have none.
Come, let's fall to.
And, gentle girl, eat this.
Here is no drink.
Hark, Marcus, what she says.
I can interpret all her martyred signs.
She says she drinks no other drink but tears.
Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought.
Thou shalt not sigh nor hold thy stumps to heaven
nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign,
but I of these will wrest an alphabet
and by still practice learn to know thy meaning.
What dost thou strike at, Lucius, with thy knife?
At that that I have killed, my lord, a fly.
Out on thee, murderer! Kill'st my heart!
A deed of death done on the innocent
becomes not Titus' grandson.
Get thee gone.
I see thou art not for my company.
Alas, my lord, I have but killed a fly.
How, if that fly had a father and mother?
How would they hang their slender, gilded wings
and buzz lamenting doings in the air!
Poor, harmless fly,
that with his pretty, buzzing melody
came here to make us merry.
And thou hast killed him.
Pardon me, sir.
It was a black, ill-favored fly,
like to the empress' Moor.
Therefore I killed him.
Ha ha ha ha!
Pardon me for reprehending thee,
for thou hast done a charitable deed.
Give me thy knife.
I will insult on him,
flattering myself as if it were the Moor
come hither purposely to poison me.
There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora!
Ah, sirrah!
As yet, I think, we are not brought so low
but that between us we can kill a fly
that comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor.
Hey, baby, want to go for a ride?
Help, Grandsire! Help!
My aunt Lavinia follows me everywhere.
I know not why.
Good Uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes.
Alas, sweet Aunt, I know not what you mean.
Stand by me, Lucius. Do not fear thine aunt.
Now, Lavinia, what means this?
Soft! So swiftly she turns the leaves.
Help her.
What would she find?
Lavinia, shall I read?
"This is the tragic tale of Philomel
and treats of Tereus' treason and his rape."
See, Brother, see.
Note how she quotes the leaves.
Lavinia, wert thou thus surprised, sweet girl,
ravished and wronged as Philomela was?
Forced in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy wood?
Ay, such a place there is where we did hunt.
Oh, why should nature build so foul a den
unless the gods delight in tragedies?
Give sign, sweet girl,
what Roman lord it was durst do this deed.
My lord, look here. Look here, Lavinia!
This sandy plot is plain.
Guide, if thou canst, this after me
when I have writ my name
without the help of any hand at all.
Write thou, good Niece, and here display at last
what God will have discovered for revenge.
Cursed be the heart that forced us to this shift.
It's Chiron and Demetrius.
My lord, kneel down with me.
Kneel, Lavinia, and kneel, sweet boy,
and swear with me that we will prosecute,
by good advice, mortal revenge
upon these traitorous Goths
and see their blood or die with this reproach.
'Tis sure enough, an you knew how.
But if you hunt these bear-whelps,
then beware.
You are a young huntsman, Marcus.
Let alone.
Come, go with me into mine armory, Lucius. I'll fit thee.
And withal my boy shall send from me to the empress' sons
presents that I intend to send them both.
Come, thou'lt do my message, wilt thou not?
Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, Grandsire.
No, not so. I'll teach thee another course.
Lavinia, come.
Marcus, look to my house.
O heavens, can you hear a good man groan
and not relent or not compassion him?
Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy
that hath more scars of sorrow in his heart
than foemen's marks upon his battered shield,
but yet so just that he will not revenge.
Revenge, ye heavens, for old Andronicus!
Demetrius! Here's the son of Lucius!
He hath some message to deliver us.
Ay, some mad message from his mad grandfather.
My lords, with all the humbleness I may,
I greet your honors from Andronicus.
Gramercy, lovely Lucius. What's the news?
My grandsire, well advised, hath sent by me
the goodliest weapons of his armory
to gratify your honorable youth--
the hope of Rome, for so he bid me say,
and so I do.
And so I leave you both.
Like bloody villains.
Oh, 'tis a verse in Horace.
I know it well.
" He who is pure of life and free of sin
needs no bow and arrow of the Moor."
Ay, just. A verse in Horace.
Right, you have it.
Now, what a thing it is to be an ass.
Here's no sound jest.
The old man hath found their guilt
and sends them weapons wrapped about with lines
that wound beyond their feeling, to the quick.
But were our witty empress well afoot,
she would applaud Andronicus' conceit, but...
let her rest in her unrest awhile.
Come, let's go,
and pray to all the gods to aid our mother
in her labor pains.
Pray to the devils.
The gods have given us over.
Why do the emperor's trumpets flourish thus?
Oh, belike for joy the emperor hath a son.
Soft! Who comes here?
Good morrow, lords.
Oh, tell me,
did you see Aaron the Moor?
Well, more or less, or ne'er a wit at all.
Here Aaron is, and what with Aaron now?
O gentle Aaron...
we are all undone!
Now, help, or woe betide thee evermore.
What a caterwauling dost thou keep.
What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine arms?
Oh, that which I would hide from heaven's eye--
our empress' shame and stately Rome's disgrace.
She is delivered, lords, she is delivered.
To whom?
I mean, she is brought abed.
Well, God give her good rest.
What hath he sent her?
A devil.
Why, then, she is the devil's dam,
a joyful issue.
A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue.
Here is the babe,
as loathsome as a toad
amongst the fairest breeders of our clime.
The empress sends it thee,
thy stamp, thy seal,
and bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point.
'Zounds, ye whore!
Is black so base a hue?
Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom, sure.
what hast thou done?
That which thou canst not undo.
Thou hast undone our mother.
Villain, I have done thy mother.
And therein, hellish dog,
thou hast undone her!
Accursed the offspring of so foul a fiend!
It shall not live.
It shall not die!
Aaron, it must. The mother wills it so.
What? Must it, Nurse?
Then let no man but I do execution
on my flesh and blood.
I'll broach the tadpole on this rapier's point.
Nurse, give it me!
My sword shall soon dispatch it!
Sooner this sword shall plow thy bowels up!
Stay, murderous villains!
Will you kill your brother?
Now, by the burning tapers of the sky
that shone so brightly when this boy was got,
he dies upon my scimitar's sharp point
that touches this my first-born son and heir!
What, ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys?
Ye white-limed walls!
Ye alehouse painted signs!
Coal-black is better than another hue
in that it scorns to bear another hue.
For all the water of the ocean
could never turn a swan's black legs to white
although she lave them hourly in the flood.
Tell the empress from me
that I am of age to keep mine own.
Excuse it how she can.
Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus?
My mistress is my mistress.
The vigor and the picture of my youth.
This before all the world do I prefer.
This, 'spite all the world, will I keep safe,
or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome.
By this our mother is forever shamed.
The emperor in his rage will doom her death.
I blush to think upon this ignomy.
Why, there's the privilege your beauty bears.
Fie, treacherous hue, that will betray with blushing
the close enacts and counsels of the heart!
Here's a young lad framed of another leer.
Ha ha! Look!
Look how the black slave smiles upon the father,
as who should say, "Old lad, I am thine own."
Aaron, what shall I say unto the empress?
Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done,
so that we may all subscribe to thy advice.
Save thou the child, so we may all be safe.
Then sit we down,
and let us all consult.
Ah! My son and I will have the wind of you.
Keep there!
Now, talk at pleasure of your safety.
How many women saw this child of his?
Ah, so, brave lords!
When we join in league, I am a lamb.
But if you brave the Moor,
the chafed boar, the mountain lioness,
the ocean swells not so as Aaron storms.
But say again, how many saw the child?
Cornelia the midwife and myself
and no one else but the delivered empress.
The empress...
the midwife...
and yourself.
Two may keep counsel when the third's away.
Go to the empress...
tell her this I said!
So cries a pig prepared to the spit.
What meanest thou, Aaron?
Wherefore didst thou this?
Oh, lord, sir,
'tis a deed of policy.
What? Should she live to betray this guilt of ours,
a long-tongued babbling gossip?
No, lords. No.
Harkye, lords.
You see I have given her physic.
You must needs bestow her funeral.
The fields are near. You are gallant grooms.
This done, make sure you take no longer days
but send the midwife presently to me.
The midwife and the nurse well made away,
then let the ladies tattle what they please.
Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air with secrets.
For this care of Tamora,
herself and hers are highly bound to thee.
Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies,
there to dispose this treasure in mine arms
and secretly to greet the empress' friends.
Come on, you thick-lipped slave.
I'll bear you hence,
for it is you who puts us to our shifts.
I'll make you feed on berries and on roots
and cabin in a cave
and bring you up to be a warrior
and command a camp.
Hep! Hep!
Come, Marcus, come.
Kinsmen, this is the way.
Sir boy, now let me see your archery.
Lookye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight.
Goddess of justice has left the earth.
Be remembered, Marcus,
she's gone, she's fled.
Sirs, take you to your tools.
You, cousins, shall go sound the ocean and cast your nets.
Happily you may catch her in the sea.
Yet there's as little justice as at land.
No. Publius and Sempronius, you must do it.
'Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade
and pierce the inmost center of the earth.
Then, when you come to Pluto's region,
I pray you, give him this petition.
Tell him it is for justice and for aid,
and that it comes from old Andronicus
shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome.
Ah, Rome.
Well, well...
I made thee miserable
that time I threw the people's suffrages
on him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me.
Go, get you gone, and pray be careful all
and leave you not a man of war unsearched.
This wicked emperor may have shipped her hence
and, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.
O Publius,
is not this a heavy case,
to see thy noble uncle thus distract?
Therefore, my lord,
it highly us concerns by day and night
to attend him carefully
and feed his humor kindly as we may
till time beget some careful remedy.
Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy.
Publius, how now?
How now, my masters?
You are a good archer, Marcus. Come to this gear.
Ad Jovem. That's for you.
Here. Ad Apollinem.
Here, boy, to Pallas.
Here, to Mercury.
To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine.
You were as good to shoot against the wind.
To it, boy.
Marcus, loose when I bid.
Of my word, I've written to effect.
There's not a god left unsolicited.
My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon.
Your letter is with Jupiter by this.
Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we,
no big-boned men framed of the Cyclops' size.
But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back,
yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can bear.
And sith there's no justice in earth nor hell,
we will solicit heaven
and move the gods to send down justice
for to wreak our wrongs.
Come, masters, draw.
shoot all your shafts into the court.
We will afflict the emperor in his pride.
Good boy, in Virgo's lap. Give it Pallas.
It's from Titus! It's from Titus!
My lords, what wrongs are these?
Was ever seen an emperor in Rome thus overborne,
troubled, confronted thus,
and for the extent of equal justice
used in such contempt?
My lords, you know, as do the mightful gods,
however these disturbers of our peace buzz
in the people's ears,
there naught has passed, but even with law,
against the willful sons of old Andronicus.
And what and if his sorrows do overwhelm his wits?
Shall we be thus afflicted by his wreaks, his fits,
his frenzies, and his bitterness?
And now he writes to heaven for his redress.
See? Here's to Jove, this to Apollo,
this to Mercury, this to the god of war--
Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome!
What's this but libeling against the Senate
and blazoning our injustice everywhere?
A goodly humor, is it not, my lords?
For who would say in Rome no justice were?
Lord of my life,
commander of my thoughts--
But if I live...
his feigned ecstasies shall be no shelter
to these outrages.
But he and his shall know
that justice lives in Saturninus' health,
whom, if she sleep, he'll so awake
as she in fury shall cut off
the proud'st conspirator that lives.
Calm thee,
and bear the faults of Titus' age,
the effects of sorrow for his valiant sons,
whose loss hath pierced him deep
and scarred his heart.
O Titus, I have touched thee to the quick.
Take arms, my lords.
Rome never had more cause!
The Goths have gathered head.
And with a power of high-resolved men
bent to the spoil,
they hither march amain under conduct of Lucius,
son to old Andronicus.
Is warlike Lucius leader of the Goths?
Ay, now begins our sorrows to approach.
'Tis he the common people love so much.
Myself have often heard them say--
when I have walked like a private man--
that Lucius' banishment was wrongfully,
and that they have wished
that Lucius were their emperor.
Why should you fear?
Is not your city strong?
Ay, but the citizens favor Lucius
and will revolt from me to succor him.
King, be thy thoughts imperious like thy name!
Is the sun dimmed, that gnats do fly in it?
Then cheer thy spirit.
For know, thou Emperor,
I will enchant the old Andronicus
with words more sweet and yet more dangerous
than bait to fish or honey stalks to sheep.
But he will not entreat his son for us.
If Tamora entreat him, then he will.
Go thou before. Be our ambassador.
Say that the emperor requests a parley of warlike Lucius
and appoint the meeting even at his father's house--
the old Andronicus.
Aemelius, do this message honorably.
And if he stand on hostage for his safety,
bid him demand...
what pledge shall please him best.
Your bidding shall I do effectually.
Now will I to that old Andronicus
and temper him with all the art I have.
Then go successantly...
and plead to him.
Approved warriors,
and my faithful friends,
I have received letters from great Rome
which signify what hate they bear their emperor
and how desirous of our sight they are.
Therefore, great lords,
be as your titles witness--
imperious and impatient of your wrongs.
And wherein Rome hath done you any scathe,
let him make treble satisfaction.
Brave slip, sprung from the great Andronicus--
whose name was once our terror, now our comfort--
whose high exploits and honorable deeds
ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt...
be bold in us.
We'll follow where thou leadest
and be avenged on cursed Tamora.
And as he saith, so say we all with him!
O worthy Goths...
this is the incarnate devil
that robbed Andronicus of his good hand.
This is the pearl that pleased your empress' eye.
And here's the base fruit of his burning lust.
Say, walleyed slave,
whither wouldst thou convey
this growing image of thy fiendlike face?
Why dost not speak?
Ha ha ha ha!
Not a word?
A halter, soldiers!
Hang him on this tree.
And by his side,
his fruit of bastardy!
Touch not the boy!
He is of royal blood.
Too like the sire for ever being good.
First hang the child,
that he may see it sprawl--
A sight to vex the father's soul withal.
Get me a ladder! the child.
If thou do this, I'll show thee wondrous things
that highly may advantage thee to hear.
If thou wilt not, befall what may befall.
I'll speak no more, but vengeance rot you all!
Ha ha ha! Say on,
and if it please me which thou speakst,
thy child shall live,
and I will see it nourished.
And if it please thee!
Why, assure thee, Lucius,
'twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak,
for I must talk of murders, rapes, and massacres,
acts of black night, abominable deeds,
complots of mischief, treason, villainies.
And this shall all be buried in my death
unless thou swear to me my child shall live.
Tell on thy mind. I say thy child shall live.
Swear that he shall. Then I will begin.
Who should I swear by? Thou believest no god.
What if I do not?
As indeed I do not.
Yet--for I know thou art religious
and hast a thing within thee called conscience--
therefore thou shalt vow by that same god,
what god soe'er it be, to save my boy--
to nourish and bring him up...
or else I will discover naught to thee.
Even by my god,
I swear to thee I will.
First know thou...
I begot him on the empress.
Oh, most insatiate and luxurious woman!
Tut, Lucius, this was but a deed of charity
to that which thou shalt hear of me anon.
'Twas her two sons that murdered Bassianus.
cut thy sister's tongue and ravished her,
and cut her hands and trimmed her as thou sawest.
Detestable villain!
Callest thou that trimming?
Why, she was washed... and cut...and trimmed,
and 'twas trim sport for them that had the doing of it.
Oh, barbarous, beastly villains,
like thyself!.
I deed, I was their tutor to instruct them.
Ah, that codding spirit had they from their mother.
That bloody mind, I think, they learned of me.
Let my deeds be witness of my worth.
I trained thy brethren to that guileful hole
where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay.
I wrote the letter that thy father found
and hid the bag of gold beneath the tree.
I played the cheater for thy father's hand,
and when I had it, drew myself apart
and almost broke my heart with extreme laughter.
And when I told the empress of this sport,
she swooned almost at my pleasing tale,
and for my tidings gave me twenty kisses.
Canst thou say all this and never blush?
Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is.
Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds?
that I had not done a thousand more.
Even now, I curse the day--
and yet, I think, few come within the compass of my curse--
wherein I did not some notorious ill as kill a man
or else devise his death;
ravish a maid or plot the way to do it;
accuse some innocent and forswear myself;
make poor men's cattle break their necks;
set fire on barns and haystacks in the night
and bid the owners quench them with their tears.
Oft have I digged up dead men from their graves
and set them upright at their dear friends' doors,
even when their sorrows almost was forgot.
And on their skins, as on the barks of trees,
have with my knife carved in Roman letters,
" Let not thy sorrow die, though I am dead."
I have done a thousand dreadful things
as willingly as one would kill a fly.
And nothing grieves me heartily indeed...
but that I cannot do ten thousand more.
Bring down the devil,
for he must not die so sweet a death
as hanging presently.
If there be devils, would I were a devil
to live and burn in everlasting fire
that I might have your company in hell
but to torment you with my bitter tongue!
Sirs, stop his mouth.
Let him speak no more.
My lord,
there's a messenger from Rome.
Welcome, Aemelius.
What news from Rome?
Lord Lucius, and you princes of the Goths,
the Roman Emperor greets you all by me and,
for he understands you are in arms,
craves a parley at your father's house.
Willing you to demand your hostages,
and they shall be immediately delivered.
What says our general?
Aemelias, let the emperor
give his pledges unto my father
and my uncle Marcus, and we will come.
Who doth molest my contemplation?
Is it your trick to make me ope the door
that so my sad decrees may fly away
and all my study be to no effect?
You are deceived, for what I mean to do
see here in bloody lines I have set down.
And what is written shall be executed.
Ha ha ha!
I am come to talk with thee.
No. Not a word.
If thou didst know me, thou wouldst talk with me.
I am not mad. I know thee well enough
for our proud empress mighty Tamora.
Is not thy coming for my other hand?
Know, thou sad man, I am not Tamora.
She is thy enemy and I thy friend.
I am Revenge, sent from the infernal kingdom,
accompanied by Rape and Murder here
to ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind
by working wreakful vengeance on thy foes.
Come down and welcome me to this world's light.
Confer with me on murder and on death.
Art thou Revenge, and art thou sent to me
to be a torment to mine enemies?
I am. Therefore come down
and welcome me and my ministers.
Good Lord!
How like the empress' sons they are,
and you the empress!
But we worldly men have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes.
Oh, sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee.
And if one arm's embracement will content thee,
I will embrace thee in it by and by.
Ha ha ha ha!
Ha ha! This closing with him fits his lunacy.
Whate'er I forge to feed his brainsick fits,
do you uphold and maintain in your speeches,
for now he firmly takes me for Revenge.
And--Ha ha!-- being credulous in this mad thought--
Ha ha ha!
I'll make him send for his son Lucius.
Shh! Shh!
See? Here he comes.
Ha ha ha!
And I must ply my theme.
Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee.
Welcome, dread Fury, to my woeful house.
Rapine and Murder, you are welcome, too.
Ha ha ha!
How like the empress and her sons you are.
Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor.
Could not all hell afford you such a devil?
What wouldst thou have us do, Andronicus?
Show me a murderer, and I'll deal with him.
Show me a villain that hath done a rape,
and I am sent to be revenged on him.
Look round about the wicked streets of Rome.
When thou finds a man that's like thyself,
good Murder, stab him.
He's a murderer.
Go thou with him,
and when it is thy hap to find
another that is like to thee,
good Rapine, stab him!
He's a ravisher.
Ha ha ha ha!
Go thou with them, and in the emperor's court,
there is a queen attended by a Moor.
Well mayst thou know her by thy own proportion,
for up and down she doth resemble thee.
I pray thee, do on them some violent death.
They have been violent to me and mine.
Well hast thou lessoned us.
This shall we do.
But...would it please thee, good Andronicus,
to send for Lucius thy thrice valiant son,
and bid him come and banquet at thy house?
I will bring in the empress and her sons,
the emperor himself, and all thy foes.
And at thy mercy...
shall they stoop and kneel,
and on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart.
Ha ha!
What says Andronicus to this device?
Marcus, my brother?
'Tis sad Titus calls.
Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius.
Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths.
Bid him repair to me and bring with him
some of the chiefest princes of the Goths.
Tell him the emperor
and the empress, too, feast at my house,
and he shall feast with them.
This do thou for my love,
and so let him
as he regards his aged father's life.
This will I do and soon return again.
Now will I hence about thy business
and take my ministers along with me.
Nay, nay.
Let Rape and Murder stay with me,
or else I'll call my brother back again
and cleave to no revenge but Lucius.
What say you, boys?
Will you abide with him
whiles I go tell my lord the emperor
how I have governed our determined jest?
Madam, depart at pleasure.
Leave us here.
Farewell, Andronicus.
Revenge now goes to lay a complot to betray thy foes.
I know thou dost,
and, sweet Revenge, farewell.
Tell us, old man, how shall we be employed?
Tut. I have work well enough for you.
Come hither, Publius, Caius, Valentin!
What is your will?
Know you these two?
The empress' sons, I take them--Chiron and Demetrius.
Fie, Publius, fie! Thou art too much deceived.
The one is Murder. Rape is the other's name.
And therefore bind them, gentle Publius.
Caius and Valentin, lay hands on them.
Villains, forbear!
We are thy empress' sons!
And therefore do we what we are commanded.
Come. Come, Lavinia.
Thy foes are bound.
Now let them hear what fearful words I utter.
O villains Chiron and Demetrius!
Here stands the spring whom you have stained with mud--
this goodly summer with your winter mixed.
You killed her husband, and for that vile fault
two of her brothers were condemned to death,
my hand cut off and made a merry jest.
Both her sweet hands, her tongue,
and that more dear than hands or tongue-- her spotless chastity--
inhuman traitors, you constrained and forced.
What would you say if I should let you speak?
Villains, for shame
you could not beg for grace.
Hark, wretches, how I mean to martyr you.
This one hand yet is left to cut your throats,
whilst that Lavinia between her stumps doth hold
the basin that receives your guilty blood.
You know your mother means to feast with me
and calls herself Revenge and thinks me mad.
Hark, villains!
I shall grind your bones to dust,
and with your blood and it I'll make a paste.
And of the paste a coffin I will rear
and make two pastries of your shameful heads,
and bid that strumpet your unhallowed dam,
like to the earth, swallow her own increase.
This is the feast that I have bid her to
and this the banquet she shall surfeit on.
And now prepare your throats.
Lavinia, come.
Receive the blood.
Come, be everyone officious to make this banquet...
which I wish may prove
more stern and bloody than the Centaur's Feast.
now cut them down, for I shall play the cook
and see them ready 'gainst their mother comes.
The feast is ready
which the careful Titus hath ordained to an honorable end--
for peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome.
Please you, therefore,
draw nigh and take your places.
Marcus, we will.
Welcome, my gracious lord.
Welcome, dread Queen. Welcome, ye warlike Goths.
Welcome, Lucius.
And welcome, all.
Ha ha ha!
Although the cheer be poor,
'twill fill your stomachs.
Please you eat of it.
Why art thou thus attired...
Andronicus? Hmm?
Because I would be sure to have all well
to entertain Your Highness and your empress.
We are beholden to you, good Andronicus.
And if Your Highness knew my heart, you were.
Ha ha ha ha!
Will it please you eat?
Will it please Your Highness feed?
My lord the emperor...
Resolve me this.
Was it well done of rash Virginius
to slay his daughter with his own right hand
because she was enforced, stained, and deflowered?
It was, Andronicus.
Your reason, mighty lord?
Because the girl should not survive her shame
and by her presence still renew his sorrows.
A reason mighty, strong, and effectual.
A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant
for me, most wretched, to perform the like.
Die, die, Lavinia,
and thy shame with thee.
What hast thou done...
unnatural and unkind?
Killed her for whom my tears have made me blind.
I am as woeful as Virginius was
and have a thousand times more cause than he
to do this outrage,
and it now is done.
What, was she ravished?
Tell who did the deed.
Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus?
Not I.
'Twas Chiron and Demetrius.
They ravished her and cut away her tongue.
And they, 'twas they...
that did her all this wrong.
Go fetch them to us hither presently.
Why, there they are, both baked in that pie
whereof their mother daintily hath fed,
eating the flesh that she herself hath bred.
'Tis true. 'Tis true! Witness my knife's sharp point.
You sad-faced men,
people and sons of Rome by uproar severed
like a flight of fowl scattered by winds
and high tempestuous gusts,
oh, let me teach you how to knit again
this scattered corn into one mutual sheaf,
these broken limbs again into one body.
Come, you reverend men of Rome,
and take our emperor gently by the hand--
Lucius our emperor,
for well I know the common voice do cry it shall be so.
Now is my turn to speak.
Behold this child.
Of this was Tamora delivered--
the issue of an irreligious Moor,
chief architect and plotter of our woes.
O thou sad Andronicus,
give sentence on this execrable wretch.
Set him breast-deep in earth and famish him.
There let him stand and rave and cry for food.
If anyone relieves or pities him,
for the offense he dies.
This is our doom.
Oh, why should wrath be mute and fury dumb?
I am no baby, I,
that with base prayers
I should repent the evils I have done.
If one good deed in all my life I did...
I do repent it from my very soul.
Go, some of you.
Bear Saturninus hence,
and give him burial in his father's grave.
My father and Lavinia
shall forthwith be closed in our household monument.
As for that ravenous tiger Tamora...
no funeral rite,
no man in mourning weeds,
nor mournful bell shall ring her burial,
but throw her forth to beasts and birds of prey.
Her life was beastlike
and devoid of pity.
And, being dead...
let birds on her take pity.
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