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Tit. Will it confume me? Let me fee it then.
Mar. This was thy Daughter.

Tit. Why, Marcus, fo the is.

Luc. Ah me, this Object kills me.

Tit. Faint-hearted Boy, arife and look upon her;
Speak my Lavinia, what accurfed Hand
Hath made thee handlefs in thy Father's fight?
What Fool hath added Water to the Sea?
Or brought a Faggot to bright-burning Troy?
My Grief was at the heighth before thou cam'ft,
And now like Nilus it difdaineth 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 nurs'd this woe, in feeding Life:
In bootless Prayer have they been held up,
And they have ferv'd me to effectless ufe.
Now all the Service I require of them,
Is, that the one will help to cut the other:
'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou haft no Hands,
For Hands to do Rome Service are but vain.

Luc. Speak, gentle Sifter, who hath martyr'd thee?
Mar. O that delightful Engine of her Thoughts,
That blab'd them with fuch pleafing Eloquence,
Is torn from forth that pretty hollow Cage,
Where like afweet melodious Bird it fung,
Sweet various Notes inchanting every Ear.
Luc. Oh fay thou for her,

Who hath done this Deed?

Mar. Oh thus I found her ftraying in the Park,

Seeking to hide her felf, as doth the Decr

That hath receiv'd fome unrecuring Wound.

Tit. It was my Deer,

And he that wounded her

Hath hurt me more than had he kill'd me dead:

For now I ftand, as one upon a Rock,

Environ'd with a Wildernefs of Sea,

Who makse the waxing Tide grow Wave by Wave,
Expecting ever when fome envious Surge

Will in his brinifh Bowels fwallow him.

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This way to death my wretched Sons are gone:
Here ftands my other Son, a banish'd Man,
And here Brother weeping at my Woes.
my

But that which gives my Soul the greatest spurn,
Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my Soul

Had I but feen thy Picture in this plight,

It would have madded me.

What shall I do,

Now I behold thy lively Body fo?

Thou haft no Hands to wipe away thy Tears,
Nor Tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee;
Thy Husband he is dead, and for his Death
Thy Brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this.
Look Marcus, ah Son Lucius look on her:
When I did name her Brothers, then fresh Tears
Stood on her Cheeks, as doth the Honey dew,
Upon a gather'd Lilly almoft wither'd.

Mar. Perchance the weeps because they kill'd her Husband. Perchance because she knows him Innocent.

Tit. If they did kill thy Husband, then be joyful,
Because the Law hath ta'en revenge on them.
No, no, they would not do fo foul a Deed,
Witnefs the Sorrow that their Sifter makes.
Gentle Lavinia, let me kifs thy Lips,

Or make fome figns how I may do thee ease:
Shall thy good Uncle, and thy Brother Lucius,
And thou and I fit round about fome Fountain,
Looking all downwards to behold our Cheeks,
How they are ftain'd like Meadows yet not dry
With miery flime left on them by a Flood:
And in the Fountain fhall we gaze fo long,
'Till the fresh tafte be taken from that clearness,
And made a Brine-pit with our bitter Tears?
Or fhall we cut away our Hands like thine?
Or fhall we bite our Torgues, and in dumb Shows
Pass the remainder of our hateful Days?

What fhall we do? Let us that have our Tongues
Plot fome devife of further miferies

To make us wondred at in time to come.

Luc. Sweet Father,. ceafe your Tears, for at your Grief See how my wretched Sifter fobs and weeps.

Mar.

Mar. Patience, dear Niece, good Titus dry thine Eyes.
Tit. Ah Marcus, Marcus, Brother, well I wor,
Thy Napkin cannot drink a tear of mine,

For thou, poor Man, haft drown'd it with thine own.
Luc. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy Cheeks.
Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark, I understand her Signs,
Had the a Tongue to speak, now would she say
That to her Brother which I faid to thee.
His Napkin with his true tears all bewet,
Can do no fervice on her forrowful Cheeks.
Oh what a fympathy of Woe is this!
As far from help as Limbo is from Blifs.
Enter Aaron alone.

Aar. Titus Andronicus, my Lord the Emperor
Sends thee this Word, that if thou love thy Sons,
Let Marcus, Lucius, or thy felf, old Titus,
Or any one of you chop off

your Hand,
And fend it to the King; he for the same
Will fend thee hither both thy Sons alive,
And that shall be the Ranfom for their Fault.

Tit. Oh gracious Emperor! oh gentle Aaron!
Did ever Raven fing fo like a Lark,

That gives fweet Tydings of the Sun's uprife?
With all my Heat, I'll fend the Emperor my Hand,
Good Auron wilt thou help to chop it off?

Luc. Stay, Father, for that noble Hand of thine,
That hath thrown down fo many Enemies,
Shall not be fent; my Hand will ferve the turn.
My Youth can better fpare my Blood than you,
And therefore mine fhall fave my Brothers lives.

Mar. Which of your Hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody Battel-ax,

Writing Dft uction on the Enemies Castle?
Oh none of both but are of high defert:
My Hand hath been but idle, let it ferve
To ranfome my two Nephews from their Death,
Then have I kept it to a worthy end.

Aar. Nay, come agree, whofe Hand (hall go along,
For fear they die before their pardon come.

Mar. My Hand thall go.

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Luc. By Heaven it fhall not go..

T. Sus, frive no more, fuch wither'd Herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.

Luc. Sweet Father, if I fhall be thought thy Son, Let me redeem my Brothers both from Death.

Mar. And for our Father's fake, and Mother's care,
Now let me fhew Brother's love to thee.

Tit. Agree b tween you, I will fpare my Hand.
Luc. Then I'll go fetch an Ax.
Mar. But I will ufe the Ax.

[Exeunt.

Tit. Come hither, Aaron, Pil deceive them both;
Lend me thy Hand, and I will give thee mine.
Aar. If that be call'd deceit, I will be honeft,
And never whilft I live deceive Men fo;

But I'll deceive you in another fort,

And that you'll lay e'er half an hour pafs.

[Afide.

[He cuts off Titus's Hand.

Enter Lucius and Marcus again.

Tit. Now ftay your Strife; what fhall be, is difpatcht: Good Aaron, give his Majefty my Hand: Tell him, it was a Hand that warded him From thousand Dangers, bid him bury it, More hath it merited: That let it have. As for my Sons, fay, I account of them, As Jewels purchas'd at an eafie Price, And yet dear too, becaufe I bought mine own. Aar. Igo, Andronicus, and for thy Hand Look by and by to have thy Sons with thee:

Their Heads I mean. Oh, how this Villany [Afide.
Doth fat me with the very thought of it.

Let Fools do good, and fair Men call for Grace,
Aaron will have his Soul black like his Face.

Tit. Ohear! 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 wilt thou kneel with me?
Do then, dear Heart, for Heaven fhall hear our Prayers,
Or with our fighs we'll breath the Welkin dim,
And ftain the Sun with Fog, as fometime Clouds,
When they do hug him in their melting Bofoms.

Mar. Oh, Brother, fpeak with Poffibilities,

[Exit.

And

And, do not break into thefe two Extreams.
Tit. Is not my Sorrow deep, having no bottom?
Then be my Paffions bottomlefs with them.

Mar. But yet let Reafon govern thy Lament.
Tit. If there were Reafon for thefe Miferies
Then into limits could bind my Woes;

When Heaven doth weep, doth not the Earth o'er flow?
If the Winds rage, doth not the Sea wax mad,
Threatning the Welkin with his big-fwoln Face?
And wilt thou have a Reafon for this Coil?
I am the Sea, hark how her Sighs do blow;
She is the weeping Welkin, I the Earth:
Then muft my Sea be moved with ber Sighs,
Then muft my Earth with her continual Tears
Become a Deluge, over-flow'd and drown'd:
For why, my Bowels cannot hide her Wocs,
But like a Drunkard muft I vomit them;
Then give me leave, for lofers will have leave,
To cafe their Stomachs with their bitter Tongues.

Enter a Meffenger with two Heads and a H.n!.
Mef. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repay'd,
For that good Hand thou fent'ft the Emperor;
Here are the Heads of thy two noble Sons,
And here's thy Hand in fcorn to thee fent back;
Thy Griefs, their Sports, thy Refolution mockt:
That woe is me to think upon thy Woes,
More than Remembrance of my Father's Death.
Mar. Now let hot Erna cool in Sicily,

And be my Heart an ever-burning Hell;
Thefe Miferies are more than may be born.

To weep with them that weep, doth eafe fome deal,
But Sorrow flouted at is double Death.

[Exit

Luc. Ah that this fight fhould make fo deep a Wound,

And yet detefted Life not fhrink thereat;

That ever Death fhould let Life bear his Name,
Where Life hath no more Intereft but to breathe.
Mar. Alas, poor Heart, that Kiss is comfortless,
As frozen Water to a ftarved Snake.

Tit. When will this fearful flumber have an end?
Mar. Now farewel Flattery, die Andronicus,
Thou doft not flumber, fee thy two Sons Heads,

Kk 4

Thy

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