Titus Andronicus

A goodly lady, trust me, of the hue That I would choose were I to choose anew.— Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance; Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer, Thou com’st not to be made a scorn in Rome; Princely shall be thy usage every way.

A nobler man, a braver warrior, Lives not this day within the city walls.

A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than stones; A stone is silent, and offendeth not, And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.

A very fatal place it seems to me. Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall? MART. O brother, with the dismall’st object hurt That ever eye with sight made heart lament

Ah, now thou turn’st away thy face for shame! And notwithstanding all this loss of blood, As from a conduit with three issuing spouts, Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan’s face Blushing to be encount’red with a cloud.

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

And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy Shed on this earth for thy return to Rome. O, bless me here with thy victorious hand, Whose fortunes Rome’s best citizens applaud!

And then they call’d me foul adulteress, Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms That ever ear did hear to such effect;

Andronicus, I do not flatter thee, But honor thee, and will do till I die. My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, I will most thankful be, and thanks to men Of noble minds is honorable meed.

Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood! Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods? Draw near them then in being merciful: Sweet mercy is nobility’s true badge.

As when the golden sun salutes the morn, And, having gilt the ocean with his beams, Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach, And overlooks the highest-peering hills: So Tamora.

Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon. Lords, accompany Your noble emperor and his lovely bride, Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine, Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered. There shall we consummate our spousal rites.

Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts! I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold, To wait upon this new-made emperess.

Ay, come, Semiramis, nay, barbarous Tamora, For no name fits thy nature but thy own!

Ay, such a place there is where we did hunt (O had we never, never hunted there!), Pattern’d by that the poet here describes, By nature made for murders and for rapes.

But I have done a thousand dreadful things, As willingly as one would kill a fly, And nothing grieves me heartily indeed, But that I cannot do ten thousand more.

But if I live, his feigned ecstasies Shall be no shelter to these outrages, But he and his shall know that justice lives In Saturninus’ health, whom, if he sleep, He’ll so awake as he in fury shall Cut off the proud’st conspirator that lives.

But were our witty Empress well afoot, She would applaud Andronicus’ conceit, But let her rest in her unrest a while.—

Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus’ age, Th’ effects of sorrow for his valiant sons, Whose loss hath pierc’d him deep and scarr’d his heart, And rather comfort his distressed plight Than prosecute the meanest or the best For these contempts.

Chiron, thy years wants wit, thy wits wants edge, And manners, to intrude where I am grac’d, And may, for aught thou knowest, affected be.

Come and take choice of all my library, And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens Reveal the damn’d contriver of this deed.

Come, come, be every one officious To make this banquet, which I wish may prove More stern and bloody than the Centaurs’ feast.

Come, come, sweet emperor—come, Andronicus— Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart That dies in tempest of thy angry frown.

Even now I curse the day—and yet I think Few come within the compass of my curse— Wherein I did not some notorious ill:

For shame, be friends, and join for that you jar. ’Tis policy and stratagem must do That you affect, and so must you resolve, That what you cannot as you would achieve, You must perforce accomplish as you may.

For these, tribunes, in the dust I write My heart’s deep languor, and my soul’s sad tears: Let my tears staunch the earth’s dry appetite, My sons’ sweet blood will make it shame and blush.

Give me a sword, I’ll chop off my hands too, For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain; And they have nurs’d this woe, in feeding life; In bootless prayer have they been held up, And they have serv’d me to effectless use.

Go drag the villain hither by the hair, Nor age nor honor shall shape privilege; For this proud mock I’ll be thy slaughter-man, Sly frantic wretch, that holp’st to make me great, In hope thyself should govern Rome and me.

Gracious Lavinia, Rome’s rich ornament, That I will here dismiss my loving friends; And to my fortunes and the people’s favor Commit my cause in balance to be weigh’d.

Hark, villains, I will grind your bones to dust, And with your blood and it I’ll make a paste, And of the paste a coffin I will rear, And make two pasties of your shameful heads, And bid that strumpet, your unhallowed dam, Like to the earth swallow her own increase.

Have we done aught amiss, show us wherein, And, from the place where you behold us pleading, The poor remainder of Andronici Will hand in hand all headlong hurl ourselves, And on the ragged stones beat forth our souls, And make a mutual closure of our house.

Here stands the spring whom you have stain’d with mud, This goodly summer with your winter mix’d.

How would he hang his slender gilded wings And buzz lamenting doings in the air! Poor harmless fly, That, with his pretty buzzing melody, Came here to make us merry! And thou hast kill’d him.

I am Revenge, sent from th’ infernal kingdom To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind, By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes.

I am surprised with an uncouth fear, A chilling sweat o’erruns my trembling joints, My heart suspects more than mine eye can see.

I am the turned forth, be it known to you, That have preserv’d her welfare in my blood, And from her bosom took the enemy’s point, Sheathing the steel in my advent’rous body.

I have dogs, my lord, Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase, And climb the highest promontory top. TIT. And I have horse will follow where the game Makes way, and runs like swallows o’er the plain.

I would not for a million of gold The cause were known to them it most concerns, Nor would your noble mother for much more Be so dishonored in the court of Rome.

If thou do this, I’ll show thee wondrous things, That highly may advantage thee to hear. If thou wilt not, befall what may befall, I’ll speak no more but Vengeance rot you all!

In summer’s drought I’ll drop upon thee still, In winter with warm tears I’ll melt the snow, And keep eternal spring-time on thy face, So thou refuse to drink my dear sons’ blood.

Is the sun dimm’d, that gnats do fly in it? The eagle suffers little birds to sing, And is not careful what they mean thereby, Knowing that with the shadow of his wings He can at pleasure stint their melody;

It was my dear, 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, Expecting ever when some envious surge Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.

Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserv’d The cordial of mine age to glad my heart! Lavinia, live, outlive thy father’s days, And fame’s eternal date, for virtue’s praise!

Knock at his study, where they say he keeps To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge; Tell him Revenge is come to join with him, And work confusion on his enemies.

Let him that thinks of me so abjectly Know that this gold must coin a stratagem, Which cunningly effected will beget A very excellent piece of villainy. And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest,

Let them not speak a word, the guilt is plain, For by my soul, were there worse end than death, That end upon them should be executed.

Let us entreat by honor of his name, Whom worthily you would have now succeed, And in the Capitol and Senate’s right, Whom you pretend to honor and adore, That you withdraw you, and abate your strength, Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should, Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness.

Lo, as the bark that hath discharg’d his fraught Returns with precious lading to the bay From whence at first she weigh’d her anchorage, Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs, To re-salute his country with his tears, Tears of true joy for his return to Rome.

Madam, though Venus govern your desires, Saturn is dominator over mine: What signifies my deadly-standing eye, My silence, an’ my cloudy melancholy, My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls, Even as an adder when she doth unroll To do some fatal execution?

Many a time he danc’d thee on his knee, Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow; Many a story hath he told to thee, And bid thee bear his pretty tales in mind, And talk of them when he was dead and gone.

Many good morrows to your Majesty; Madam, to you as many and as good. I promised your Grace a hunter’s peal.

Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy, That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart Than foemen’s marks upon his batt’red shield, But yet so just that he will not revenge.

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 limbo is from bliss!

My mistress is my mistress, this myself, The vigor and the picture of my youth: This before all the world do I prefer, This maugre all the world will I keep safe, Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome.

No funeral rite, nor man in mourning weed, No mournful bell shall ring her burial, But throw her forth to beasts and birds to prey: Her life was beastly and devoid of pity, And being dead, let birds on her take pity.

No, not a word, how can I grace my talk, Wanting a hand to give’t that accord? Thou hast the odds of me, therefore no more.

Now will I to that old Andronicus, And temper him with all the art I have, To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths, And now, sweet emperor, be blithe again, And bury all thy fear in my devices.

O brother, help me with thy fainting hand— If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath— Out of this fell devouring receptacle, As hateful as Cocytus’ misty mouth.

O gracious Emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark That gives sweet tidings of the sun’s uprise?

O, calm thee, gentle lord, although I know There is enough written upon this earth To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts, And arm the minds of infants to exclaims.

O, had the monster seen those lily hands Tremble like aspen leaves upon a lute, And make the silken strings delight to kiss them, He would not then have touch’d them for his life!

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!

One hour’s storm will drown the fragrant meads, What will whole months of tears thy father’s eyes?

Revenge it, as you love your mother’s life, Or be ye not henceforth call’d my children.

Romans, make way! The good Andronicus, Patron of virtue, Rome’s best champion, Successful in the battles that he fights, With honor and with fortune is return’d. From where he circumscribed with his sword, And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome.

SAT. So, Bassianus, you have play’d your prize. God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride! BAS. And you of yours, my lord! I say no more, Nor wish no less, and so I take my leave.

SAT. ’Tis good, sir, you are very short with us; But if we live we’ll be as sharp with you. BAS. My lord, what I have done, as best I may, Answer I must, and shall do with my life;

Single you thither then this dainty doe, And strike her home by force, if not by words; This way, or not at all, stand you in hope.

Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours, To attend the Emperor’s person carefully. I have been troubled in my sleep this night, But dawning day new comfort hath inspir’d.

Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome To beautify thy triumphs, and return Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke; But must my sons be slaughtered in the streets For valiant doings in their country’s cause?

TAM. But when ye have the honey we desire, Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting. CHI. I warrant you, madam, we will make that sure. Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy That nice-preserved honesty of yours.

TAM. O cruel, irreligious piety! CHI. Was never Scythia half so barbarous.

TIT. A better head her glorious body fits Than his that shakes for age and feebleness. What should I don this robe and trouble you?

TIT. How, sir? Are you in earnest then, my lord? BAS. Ay, noble Titus, and resolv’d withal To do myself this reason and this right.

The birds chaunt melody on every bush, The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun, The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind And make a checker’d shadow on the ground.

The forest walks are wide and spacious, And many unfrequented plots there are, Fitted by kind for rape and villainy.

Their heads, I mean. O 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.

Then all too late I bring this fatal writ, The complot of this timeless tragedy, And wonder greatly that man’s face can fold In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny.

Then at my suit look graciously on him; Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose, Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart.

Then cheer thy spirit, for know thou, Emperor, I will enchant the old Andronicus With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous, Than baits to fish, or honey-stalks to sheep, When as the one is wounded with the bait, The other rotted with delicious feed.

Then, gracious auditory, be it known to you That Chiron and the damn’d Demetrius Were they that murd’red our Emperor’s brother, And they it were that ravished our sister.

There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, And sleep in peace, slain in your country’s wars! O sacred receptacle of my joys, Sweet cell of virtue and nobility, How many sons hast thou of mine in store, That thou wilt never render to me more!

There speak, and strike, brave boys, and take your turns, There serve your lust, shadowed from heaven’s eye, And revel in Lavinia’s treasury.

Therefore, my lords, it highly us concerns By day and night t’ attend him carefully, And feed his humor kindly as we may, Till time beget some careful remedy.

These are their brethren, whom your Goths beheld Alive and dead, and for their brethren slain Religiously they ask a sacrifice: To this your son is mark’d, and die he must, T’ appease their groaning shadows that are gone.

They told me, here, at dead time of the night, A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, Would make such fearful and confused cries, As any mortal body hearing it Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly.

This done, see that you take no longer days, But send the midwife presently to me. The midwife and the nurse well made away, Then let the ladies tattle what they please.

Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay. Hie to the Goths and raise an army there, And if ye love me, as I think you do, Let’s kiss and part, for we have much to do.

Tis true, the raven doth not hatch a lark, Yet have I heard—O, could I find it now!— The lion, mov’d with pity, did endure To have his princely paws par’d all away.

Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep, Or if not so, thy noble heart to break: I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.

Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak: For I must talk of murders, rapes, and massacres, Acts of black night, abominable deeds, Complots of mischief, treason, villainies, Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform’d.

We may, each wreathed in the other’s arms (Our pastimes done), possess a golden slumber, Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds Be unto us as is a nurse’s song Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep.

Welcome, my lord; welcome, dread queen; Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius; And welcome, all. Although the cheer be poor, ’Twill fill your stomachs, please you eat of it

What shall we do? Let us that have our tongues Plot some device of further misery, To make us wonder’d at in time to come.

What, is Lavinia then become so loose, Or Bassianus so degenerate, That for her love such quarrels may be broach’d, Without controlment, justice, or revenge? Young lords, beware! And should the Empress know This discord’s ground, the music would not please.

Why makes thou it so strange? She is a woman, therefore may be woo’d, She is a woman, therefore may be won, She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov’d.

Why, she was wash’d, and cut, and trimm’d, and ’twas Trim sport for them which had the doing of it.

Why, there they are, both baked in this pie; Whereof their mother daintily hath fed, Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred. ’Tis true, ’tis true, witness my knive’s sharp point.

Why, ’tis no matter, man: if they did hear, They would not mark me; if they did mark, They would not pity me; yet plead I must, And bootless unto them.

With this, my weapon drawn, I rush’d upon him, Surpris’d him suddenly, and brought him hither To use as you think needful of the man.

You sad-fac’d men, people and sons of Rome, By uproars sever’d, as a flight of fowl Scatter’d by winds and high tempestuous gusts, O, let me teach you how to knit again This scattered corn into one mutual sheaf, These broken limbs again into one body.