And they have serv'd me to effectless use: Now, all the service I require of them Is, that the one will help to cut the other.— 'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands; For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain. Luc. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee? Mar. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts, That blab'd them with such pleasing eloquence, Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage; Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear! Luc. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed? Mar. O, thus I found her straying in the park, Seeking to hide herself; as doth the deer, That hath receiv'd some 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 stand as one upon a rock, Environ'd with a wilderness of sea; Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, This way to death my wretched sons are gone; 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 Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears; Mar. Perchance, she weeps because they kill'd her husband: Perchance, because she knows them innocent. Tit. If they did kill thy husband, then be joy ful, Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them.- Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: Pass the remainder of our hateful days? To make us wonder'd at in time to come. Luc. Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See, how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. Mar. Patience, dear niece:-good Titus, dry thine eyes. Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot, 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. signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she As far from help as limbo is from bliss. Enter Aaron. say Aar. 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, Tit. O gracious emperor! O, gentle Aaron! That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? 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: And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Aar. Nay, come, agree, whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. Mar. My hand shall go. Luc. By heaven, it shall not go. Tit. Sirs, strive no more; such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. Tit. Agree between you; I will Mar. 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. Aar. If that be call'd 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 can 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: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call:-What, wilt thou kneel with me? [To Lavinia. Do then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers; E |