Titus Andronicus & Timon of Athens (11 page)

Their heads I mean. O, how this villainy

Doth
fat
²⁰⁴
me with the very thoughts of it!

Let fools do good and
fair
²⁰⁵
men call for grace.

Aaron will have his soul black like his face.

TITUS
    O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven

And bow this feeble
ruin
²⁰⁸
to the earth.

If any power pities wretched tears,

To that I call!— What, wilt thou kneel with me?

Do then, dear heart, for heaven shall hear our prayers,

Or with our sighs we’ll breathe the
welkin
²¹²
dim,

And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds

When they do hug him in their melting bosoms.

MARCUS
    O brother, speak
with possibilities,
²¹⁵

And do not break into these deep extremes.

TITUS
    Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom?

Then be my
passions
²¹⁸
bottomless with them.

MARCUS
    But yet let reason govern thy lament.

TITUS
    If there were reason for these miseries,

Then into limits could I bind my woes:

When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth
o’erflow?
²²²

If the winds rage doth not the sea wax mad,

Threat’ning the welkin with his big-swoll’n face?

And wilt thou have a reason for this
coil?
²²⁵

I am the sea. Hark how
her
²²⁶
sighs do blow!

She is the weeping welkin, I the earth:

Then must my sea
be movèd
²²⁸
with her sighs,

Then must my earth with her continual tears

Become a deluge overflowed and drowned,

For why
my
bowels
²³¹
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
²³⁴
with their bitter tongues.

MESSENGER
    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:

Thy griefs their
sports
²³⁹
, thy resolution mocked,

That
²⁴⁰
woe is me to think upon thy woes

More than remembrance of my father’s death.

MARCUS
    Now let hot
Aetna
²⁴²
cool in Sicily,

And be my heart an ever-burning hell!

These miseries are more than may be borne.

To weep with them that weep doth ease
some deal,
²⁴⁵

But sorrow
flouted
²⁴⁶
at is double death.

LUCIUS
    Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound,

And yet detested life not
shrink
²⁴⁸
thereat!

That ever death should let life
bear his name,
²⁴⁹

Where life hath no more interest but to breathe!

MARCUS
    Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless

As frozen water to a
starvèd
²⁵²
snake.

TITUS
    When will this fearful slumber have an end?

MARCUS
    Now farewell
flattery
²⁵⁴
, 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
²⁵⁷
sight

Struck pale and bloodless, and thy brother, I,

Even like a stony image, cold and numb.

Ah, now no more will I
control
²⁶⁰
thy griefs:

Rend 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?

TITUS
    Ha, ha, ha!

MARCUS
    Why dost thou laugh? It fits not with this hour.

TITUS
    Why? I have not another tear to shed:

Besides, this sorrow is an enemy

And would usurp upon my wat’ry eyes

And make them blind with
tributary
²⁷⁰
tears.

Then which way shall I find Revenge’s cave?

For these two heads do seem to speak to me

And
threat
²⁷³
me I shall never come to bliss

Till all these
mischiefs
²⁷⁴
be returned again

Even in their throats that have committed them.

Come, let me see what task I have to do.

You
heavy
²⁷⁷
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,

And in this hand the other I will bear.

And Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these things:

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.

LUCIUS
    Farewell Andronicus, my noble father,

The woefull’st man that ever lived in Rome.

Farewell, proud Rome, till Lucius come again.

He loves his
pledges
²⁹²
dearer than his life.

Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister,

O, would thou wert as thou
tofore
²⁹⁴
hast been!

But now
nor
²⁹⁵
Lucius nor Lavinia lives

But
²⁹⁶
in oblivion and hateful griefs.

If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs

And make proud Saturnine and his empress

Beg at the gates, like
Tarquin and his queen.
²⁹⁹

Now will I to the Goths and raise a
power,
³⁰⁰

To be revenged on Rome and Saturnine.

TITUS
    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:
⁴

Thy niece and I, poor creatures,
want
⁵
our hands

And cannot
passionate
⁶
our tenfold grief

With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine

Is left to
tyrannize
⁸
upon my breast,

Who
⁹
, when my heart, all mad with misery,

Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,

Then thus I thump it down.—

Thou
map
¹²
of woe, that thus dost talk in signs,

When thy poor heart beats with
outrageous
¹³
beating,

Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still.

Wound it with
sighing
¹⁵
, 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
¹⁹
, and soaking in

Drown the lamenting
fool
²⁰
in sea-salt tears.

MARCUS
    Fie, brother, fie! Teach her not thus to lay

Such violent hands upon her
tender
²²
life.

TITUS
    How now? Has sorrow made thee
dote
²³
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
Aeneas
²⁷
tell the tale twice o’er

How Troy was burnt and he made miserable?

O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands,

Lest we remember
still
³⁰
that we have none.

Fie, fie, how
franticly
I
square
³¹
my talk,

As if we should forget we had no hands

If Marcus did not name the word of hands.

Come, let’s
fall to
³⁴
, 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,

Brewed with her sorrow,
meshed
³⁸
upon her cheeks.—

Speechless
complainer
³⁹
, I will learn thy thought.

In thy dumb
action
will I be as
perfect
⁴⁰

As begging hermits in their holy prayers:

Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven,

Nor
wink
⁴³
, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign,

But I of these will wrest an alphabet

And by
still
⁴⁵
practice learn to know thy meaning.

BOY
    Good
grandsire
⁴⁶
, leave these bitter deep laments:

Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale.

MARCUS
    Alas, the
tender
⁴⁸
boy in passion moved

Doth weep to see his grandsire’s
heaviness.
⁴⁹

TITUS
    Peace, tender sapling, thou art made of tears,

And tears will quickly melt thy life away.

What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife?

MARCUS
    At that that I have killed, my lord: a fly.

TITUS
    
Out on thee
⁵⁴
, murderer! Thou kill’st my heart:

Mine eyes are cloyed 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.

MARCUS
    Alas, my lord, I have but killed a fly.

TITUS
    ‘But’? How if that fly had a father and mother?

How would he hang his slender gilded wings,

And
buzz lamenting doings
⁶²
in the air!

Poor harmless fly,

That with his pretty buzzing melody

Came here to make us merry, and thou hast killed him.

MARCUS
    Pardon me, sir, it was a black
ill-favoured
⁶⁶
fly,

Like to the empress’ Moor: therefore I killed him.

TITUS
    O, O, O!

Then pardon me for reprehending thee,

For thou hast done a charitable deed.

Give me thy knife, I will
insult on
⁷¹
him,

Flattering myself as if
⁷²
it were the Moor

Come hither purposely to poison me.—

There’s for thyself, and that’s for Tamora.

Ah,
sirrah!
⁷⁵

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.

MARCUS
    Alas, poor man! Grief has so
wrought on
⁷⁹
him

He takes false shadows for true substances.

TITUS
    Come,
take away
⁸¹
. Lavinia, go with me:

I’ll to thy
closet
⁸²
, and go read with thee

Sad stories
chancèd
⁸³
in the times of old.

Come, boy, and go with me: thy sight is young,

And thou shalt read when mine begin to
dazzle.
⁸⁵

BOY
    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.

MARCUS
    Stand by me, Lucius: do not fear thy aunt.

TITUS
    She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm.

BOY
    Ay, when my father was in Rome she did.

MARCUS
    What means my niece Lavinia by these signs?

TITUS
    Fear her not, Lucius —
somewhat
⁹
doth she mean:

See, Lucius, see how much she makes of thee:

Somewhither would she have thee go with her.

Ah, boy,
Cornelia
¹²
never with more care

Read to her sons than she hath read to thee

Sweet poetry and
Tully’s
¹⁴
Orator
.

Canst thou not guess wherefore she
plies
¹⁵
thee thus?

BOY
    My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess,

Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her,

For I have heard my grandsire say full oft

Extremity of griefs would make men mad,

And
I have read that Hecuba of Troy
²⁰

Ran mad through sorrow: that made me to fear,

Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt

Loves me as dear as e’er my mother did,

And would not, but in
fury
²⁴
, fright my youth,

Which made me down to throw my books and fly,

Causeless perhaps. But pardon me, sweet aunt:

And, madam, if my uncle Marcus
go,
²⁷

I will most willingly attend your ladyship.

MARCUS
    Lucius, I will.