Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal, But sorrow flouted at is double death. 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! [Exit. [LAVINIA kisses him. Mar. Alas, poor heart! that kiss is comfortless, Tit. When will this fearful slumber have an end? 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 threat me, I shall never come to bliss, And in this hand the other will I bear: Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these things; [Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA. Luc. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father; O, would thou wert as thou 'tofore hast been! If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs, SCENE II. A Room in TITUS's House. A Banquet set out. [Exit. Enter TITUS, MARCUS, LAVINIA, and young Lucius, a Boy. Tit. So, so, now sit; and look, you eat no more Than will preserve just so much strength in us As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot: Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands, With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine Is left to tyrannize upon my breast; And when my heart, all mad with misery, Then, thus I thump it down. Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs, [TO LAVINIA. Mar. Fie, brother, fie! teach her not thus to lay Such violent hands upon her tender life. Tit. How now! has sorrow made thee dote already? Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I. What violent hands can she lay on her life? Ah! wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands? -- How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable? In thy dumb action will I be as perfect, Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven, And by still practice learn to know thy meaning. Boy. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments: Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. Mar. Alas! the tender boy, in passion mov'd, Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness. Tit. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears, And tears will quickly melt thy life away. [MARCUS strikes the Dish with a Knife. A deed of death, done on the innocent, I see, thou art not for my company. Mar. Alas! my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and mother, How would he hang his slender gilded wings, And buz 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. Then pardon me for reprehending thee, Give me thy knife, I will insult on him; There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora. Ah, sirrah! But that between us we can kill a fly, That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. Mar. Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on him, He takes false shadows for true substances. Tit. Come, take away. Lavinia, go with me: I'll to thy closet; and go read with thee [Exeunt. Enter TITUS and MARCUS. Then enter young LUCIUS, LAVINIA running after him. Boy. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia Mar. Stand by me, Lucius: do not fear thine aunt. Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. Boy. Ay, when my father was in Rome, she did. Mar. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs? Tit. Fear her not, Lucius: somewhat doth she mean. See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee: Somewhither would she have thee go with her. Ah, boy! Cornelia never with more care Read to her sons, than she hath read to thee, Sweet poetry, and Tully's Orator. Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus? Boy. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess, Ran mad through sorrow: that made me to fear; |