His napkin, with his true tears all bewet,
Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks.
O, what a sympathy of woe is this!
As far from help as limbo 1 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. O gracious emperor! O 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?

Lucius. 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. Mar. Which of your hands hath not defended

Rome,

And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe,

Here used popularly for hell.

Writing destruction on the enemy's castle ?
O, 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.

Mar. My hand shall go.
Lucius.

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. Lucius. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death.

Mar. 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. Lucius. Then I'll go fetch an axe.

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.
Aaron. 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:
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 purchased 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. O, how this villany
Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it!

[aside.

Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace;

Aaron will have his soul black like his face.

[Exit.

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?

[to Lavinia. 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.
Mar. O 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.
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 doth weep, doth not the earth o'er flow?

If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,
Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face?
And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? 1
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 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 MESSENGER, with two heads and a hand. Mes. 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.

Mar. Now let hot Ætna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell!

[Exit.

Bustle, tumult.

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.

Lucius. 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!
[Lavinia kisses him.

Mar. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless,
As frozen water to a starved snake.

Tit. When will this fearful slumber have an end?
Mar. 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 thy griefs:
Rent 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!

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 watery eyes,
And make them blind with tributary tears:
Then which way shall I find revenge's cave?