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This way to death my wretched Sons are gone:
Here stands my other Son, a banilhid Man,
And here my Brother weeping at my

But that which gives my Soul the greatest spurn,
Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my Soul.
Had I but seen thy Picture in this plight,
It would have madded me. What shall I do,
Now I behold thy lively Body so?
Thou hast 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 condemnd, 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 almost wither’de

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

Tit. If they did killthy Husband, then be joyful,
Because the Law hath ta’en revenge on them.
No, no, they would not do so foul a Deed,
Witness the Sorrow that their Sister makes.
Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy Lips,
Or make some 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 stain'd like Meadows yet not dry
With miery flime left on them by a Flood :
And in the Fountain shall we gaze so long,
'Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearners,
And made a Brine-pit with our bitter Tears?
Or Mall we cut away our Hands like thine?
Or shall we bire our Torgues, and in dumb Shows
Pass the remainder of our hateful Days?
What shall we do? Let us that have our Tongues
Plot some devise of further miseries
To make us wondred at in time to come.

Luc. Sweet Father, cease your Tears, for at your Grief See how my wretched Sister sobs and weeps.


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your Hand,

Mar. Patience, dear Niece, good Titus dry thine Eyes. I

Tit. Ah Marcus, Murcus, Brother, well I wor,
Thy Napkin cannot drink a tear of mine,
For thou, poor Man, hast 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 said to thee.
His Napkin with his true tears all bewet,
Can do no service on her sorrowful Cheeks.
Oh what a sympathy of Woe is this !
As far from help as Limbo is from Bliss.

Ester Aaron alone.
Aar. Titus Andronicus, my Lord the Emperor
Sends chee this Word, that if thou love thy Sons,
Let Marcis, Lucius, or thy self, old Titus,
Or any one of

chop off
And send it to the King; he for the fame
Will send thee hither both thy Sons alive,
And that shall be tie Ransom for their Fault.

Tit. Oh gracious Emperor ! oh gentle Aaron!
Did ever Raven sing fu like a Lark,
That gives sweet Tydings of the

Sun's uprise?
With all my Heait, l'll Tend the Emperor my Hand,
Good Aaron wilc thou help to chop it off

Luc. Stay, Father, for that noble Hand of thine,
That hath torown down so many Enemies,
Shall not be sent; my Hand will serve the turn,
My Yo:ith can better spare my Blood than you,
And therefore mine shall save my Brothers lives.

Mar. Which of your Hands hath not defended Rome,
And rcar'd aloft the bloody Battel-ax,
Wiiting D ft uction on the Enemies Castle?
Oh none of both but are of high desert:
My Hand hath been but idle, let it serve
To ransome my two Ncphews from their Death,
Then have I kept it to a worthy end.

Aar. Nay, come agree, whose Hand shall go along,
För fear they die before their pardon come.
Mar. My Hand thall go.


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Luc. By Hea'en it shall not go.

Tui. Sus, firive no more, fuch wither'd Herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.

Luc. Sweet Father, it I thall be thought thy Son, Let me rodeem my Brothers both from Death.

Mar, And for our Father's fake, and Moi her's care,
Now let me shew a Brother's love to thee.

Tit. 'Aeree btween you, I will spare my Hand.
Luc. Then I'll go fetch an Ax.
Mar. But I will use the Ax.

[Exeunt. Tit. Come hither, Aaron, l'il deceive them both; Lend me thy Gand, and I will give thee mine.

Aar, If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never whilst I live deceive Men fo; But I'll deceive you in another fort, And that you'll lay e'er half an hour pass. [Afide,

[He cuts off Titus's Hand. Enter Lucius and Marcus again. Tit. Now stay your Serife; what shall be, is dispatche: Good Aaron, give his Majesty my Hand: Tell him, it was a Hand that warded him From thousand Dangers, bid him bury it, More bath it merited: Thut let it have. As for my Sons, say, I account of them, As Jewels purchas'd at an easie Price, And yet dear ton, because 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 [Aside,
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. [Exit.

Tit. O hear 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 shall bear our Prayers,
Or with our fighs we'll breath the Welkin dim,
And stain the with Fog, as sometime Clouds,
When they do hug him in their melting Bosoms.
Mar. Oh, Brother, speak with Pollibilities,


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And, do not break into these two Extreams.

Tit. Is not my Sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my Pallaons bottomless with them.

Mar. But yet let Reason govern thy Lament.

Tit. If there were Reason for these Miseries
Then into limits could I bind my Woes ;
When Heaven doch 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 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 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 must I vomit them;
Then give me leave, for losers will have leave,
To café their Stomachs with their bitter Tongues.

Enter a Messenger with two Heads and á
Mes. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repay'd,
For that good Hand thou feni'st the Emperor;
Here are the Heads of thy two noble Sons,
And here's thy Hand in scorn to thee fent back;
Thy Griefs, their Sports, thy Resolution mockt:
That woe is me to think upon thy Woes,
More than Remembrance of my Father's Death. [Exito

Mar. Now let hot Æina cool in Sicily,
And be my Heart an ever-burning Hell;
These Miseries are more than may be born.
To weep with them that weep, doth ease fome dial,
But Sorrow flouted at is double Death,

Luc. Ah that this fight should make so deep a Wound, And yet

derefted Life not shrink thereat; That ever Death should let Life bear his Name, Where Life hath no more Interest but to breache.

Mar. Alas, poor Heart, that Kiss is comfortless, As frozen Water to a starved Snake.

Tit. When will this fearful flumber have an end?

Mar. Now farewel Flattery, die Andronicus, Thou dost not sumber, see rhy two Sons Heads,



Thy warlike Hand, thy mangled Daughter here;
Thy other banith'd Son with this dear Sight
Struck pale and bloodless, and thy Brother I,
Even like a ftony Image, cold and numb.
Ah now no more will I controul my Griefs,
Rent off thy Silver Hair, thy other Hard
Gnawing with thy Teeth, and be this dismal light
The closing up of our most wretched Eyes ;
Now is a time to storm, why art thou still?

Tii. Ha, ha, ha.
Mar. Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this Hour.

Tit. Why I have not another Tear to shed;
Besides, this Sorrow is an Enemy,
And would usurp upon my watry Eyes,
And make them blind with tributary Tears,
Then which way shall I find Revenges Cave ?
For these two Heads do seem to speak to me,
And threat me, I thall never come to Bliss,
Till all these Mischiefs be return'd agair,
Even in their Throats that have committed thein.
Come let me see what Task I have to do
You heavy People circle me about,
That I may turn me to cach one of.

And swear unto my Soul to riglit your Wrongs.
The Vow is made, come Brother take a Head,
And in this Hand the other will I bear,
Lavinia, thou shalt be employd in those things;
Bear thou my Hand, sweit 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, [Excunt,

Mauet Lucius.
Luc. Farewel Adronicus, my noble Father,
The woful’ft Man that ever liv'd in Rome;
Farewel, proud Rome, till Lucius come again,
He leaves his Pledges dearer than his Lise;
Farewel Lavinia, my noble Sister,
O would thou wert as thou to fore haft been,
But now, nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives


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