Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips; Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, 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. 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, O, what a sympathy of woe is this! As far from help as limbo3 is from bliss! 3 The Limbus patrum, as it was called, is a place that the schoolmen supposed to be in the neighbourhood of hell, where the souls of the patriarchs were detained, and those good men who died before our Saviour's resurrection. Milton gives the name of Limbo to his Paradise of Fools. Enter AARON. 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 hand, your And send it to the king: he, for the same, 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, And rear'd aloft the bloody battleaxe, To ransome my two nephews from their death; 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. 4 It appears from Grose on Antient Armour, that a castle was a kind of close helmet, probably so named from casquetel, old French. See vol. vii. p. 444, note 23. Tit. Sirs, strive no more; such wither'd herbs as these 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. 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. Luc. 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. 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: : And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: To that I call:-What, wilt thou kneel with me? prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, Tit. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? Enter a Messenger, with Two Heads and a Hand. Mess. 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, Mar. Now let hot Ætna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever burning hell! [Exit. These miseries are more than may be borne ! 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! [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: And would usurp upon my watry eyes, |