See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps.
MARC. Patience, dear niece; good Titus, dry thine eyes.
TIT. Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wote

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 she 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!

Enter AARON.

AARON. 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.
TIT. Oh, gracious emperor! oh, gentle Aaron!
Did ever raven sing so like a lark,

That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise?
With all my heart, I'll send the emperor my hand:
Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off?
Luc. 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,
And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives.
MARC. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome,
And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe,
Writing destruction on the enemy's castle a?
Oh, none of both but are of high desert:
My hand hath been but idle: let it serve
To ransom my two nephews from their death,
Then have I kept it to a worthy end.

AARON. Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along,
For fear they die before their pardon come.

MARC. My hand shall go.

Luc.

By heaven, it shall not go!

TIT. Sirs, strive no more; such wither'd herbs as these

a Castle. Theobald changed this to casque. It is probably put for stronghold, power.

Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.
Luc. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son,

Let me redeem my brothers both from death.
MARC. And for our father's sake, and mother's care,
Now let me show a brother's love to thee.
TIT. Agree between you; I will spare my hand.
Luc. Then I'll go fetch an axe.
MARC.

But I will use the axe.

[Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS.

TIT. Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both:
Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.

AARON. If that be called deceit, I will be honest,
And never, whilst I live, deceive men so:
But I ll deceive you in another sort,

And that you 'll say, ere half an hour pass.

[Aside.

[He cuts off TITUS's hand.

Enter LUCIUS and MARCUS.

TIT. Now, stay your strife: what shall be is despatch'd:

Good Aaron, give his majesty 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, say I account of them
As jewels purchas'd at an easy price;

And yet dear too, because I bought mine own.
AARON. 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!

TIT. O, 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, wilt 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 sometime clouds,
When they do hug him in their melting bosoms.
MARC. Oh brother, speak with possibilities ",

And do not break into these deep extremes.
TIT. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom?
Then be my passions bottomless with them.

Wilt, in the folio; the quartos, would.

b Possibilities, in the folio, and quarto of 1611. That of 1600, possibility.

[Aside.

[Exit

[TO LAVINIA.

MARC. 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 doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow?
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?

I am the sea. Hark how her sighs do blow a:
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, overflow'd and drown'd:
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.

Enter a Messenger with two heads and a hand.
MESSEN. 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: thy resolution mock'd:
That woe is me to think upon thy woes,

More than remembrance of my father's death.
MARC. Now let hot Etna 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;
But sorrow flouted at is double death.

Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound,
And yet detested life not shrink thereat!
That ever death should let life bear his name,
Where life hath no more interest but to breathe!
MARC. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless,
As frozen water to a starved snake.

TIT. When will this fearful slumber have an end?
MARC. Now farewell flattery: Die Andronicus;

Thou dost not slumber: see thy two sons' heads,
Thy warlike hand; thy mangled daughter here;
Thy other banish'd 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 my griefs:

b

a Blow, in the second folio. The earlier copies, flow.

[Exit.

[LAVINIA kisses TITUS.

My, in all the early copies. Theobald changed it to thy. We see no necessity for the change.

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?

TIT. Ha, ha, ha!

MARC. 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 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 return'd again,

Even in their throats that have committed them.
Come, 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,

And in this hand the other will I bear.

And, Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd in these things a
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.

Leaves. The old copies have loves. Rowe made the change, which appears judicious.

SCENE II-A Room in Titus's House. A Banquet set outa.

Enter TITUS, MARCUS, LAVINIA, and Young LUCIUS, a boy.

TIT. 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;
Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands,
And cannot passionate our tenfold grief

With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine
Is left to tyrannise upon my breast;

And when my heart, all mad with misery,

Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,

Then thus I thump it down.—

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.
MARC. Fie, brother, fie! teach her not thus to lay
Such violent hands upon her tender life.

TIT. How now! has sorrow made thee dote 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 Æneas 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 that we have none.-
Fie, fie, how franticly I square 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; and, gentle girl, eat this :

Here is no drink! Hark, Marcus, what she says;—

I can interpret all her martyr'd signs;

[To LAVINIA.

This scene is only found in the folio of 1623. Johnson says it "does not contribute anything to the action." The poet no doubt felt that after such tumultuous action repose was wanting. And. The original has who.