For, by my soul, were there worse end than death, Tam. Andronicus, I will entreat the king; Tit. Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them. [Exeunt severally. SCENE V. Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, with LAVINIA, ravished; her Hands cut off, and her Tongue cut out. Dem. So, now go tell, an' if thy tongue can speak, Who 'twas that cut thy tongue, and ravish'd thee. Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so; And, if thy stumps will let thee, play the scribe. Dem. See, how with signs and tokens she can scowl. Chi. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands. Dem. She has no tongue to call, nor hands to wash; And so let's leave her to her silent walks. Chi. An' 'twere my case, I should go hang myself. Dem. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord. [Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON. Mar. Who's this, Enter MARCUS. my niece, that flies away so fast? Cousin, a word; where is your husband?—— 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 lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare Of her two branches? those sweet ornaments, Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in; As half thy love? Why dost not speak to me?— Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind, And make the silken strings delight to kiss them; Which that sweet tongue hath made, He would have dropp'd the knife, and fell asleep, [Exeunt: ACT III. SCENE I.-Rome. A Street. Enter Senators, Tribunes, and Officers of Justice, with MARTIUS and QUINTUS, bound, passing on to the Place of Execution; TITUS going before, pleading. Tit. Hear me, grave fathers! 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 watch'd; 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 honour's lofty bed. For these, these, tribunes, in the dust I write [Throwing himself on the Ground. 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 will befriend thee more with rain, [Exeunt Senators, Tribunes, &c. with the Prisoners. That shall distil from these two ancient urns, Enter LUCIUS, with his Sword drawn. O reverend tribunes! gentle aged men! Luc. O noble father, you lament in vain; Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead :Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you. Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak. Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, man: if they did hear, They would not mark me; or, if they did mark, All bootless to them, they'd not pity me. Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones; Who, though they cannot answer my distress, Yet in some sort they're better than the tribunes, For that they will not intercept my tale: When I do weep, they humbly at my feet with me; Receive my tears, and seem to weep And, were they but attired in grave weeds, Rome could afford no tribune like to these. A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than stones: A stone is silent, and offendeth not; |