Mar. This was thy daughter. Tit. Why, Marcus, so she is. Luc. Ah me! this object kills me! Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her:- Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy? L 70 80 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 vary'd notes, enchanting every ear 1 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, Eij 90 Hath Hath hurt me more, than had he kill'd me dead: Environ'd with a wilderness of sea; Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, 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; 100 110 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 joyful, Because the law hath ta'n 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; 120 Or Or make some signs how I may do thee ease. To make us wonder'd at in time to come. 130 Luc. Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See, how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. 1 Mar. Patience, dear niece:good Titus, dry thine eyes. 140 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. A Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now she would 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. O, what a sympathy of woe is this! As far from help as limbo is from bliss. Enter AARON. Aar. Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor 150 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, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? Luc. Stay, father; for that noble hand of thine, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemies' castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: 170 Aar. Nay, come, agree, whose hand shall go along, For 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 and therefore mine. Luc. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. 181 Mar. And, for our father's sake, and mother's care, Now let me shew a brother's love to thee. Tit. Agree between you; I will spare my Luc. Then I'll go fetch an axe. Mar. But I will use the axe. hand. [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, 190 And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. [Aside. [He cuts off TITUS's Hand. Enter LUCIUS and MARCUS again. Tit. Now, stay your strife; what shall be, is dis patch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my band: Tell him, it was a hand that warded him my sons, say, I account of them As |