Excerpt from Titus Andronicus - anthology.

Excerpt from Titus Andronicus - anthology. Titus Andronicus, thought to have been Shakespeare's first tragedy, moves at a frantic pace through successive sensational episodes of violence and revenge. Returning from war against the Goths, the Roman general Titus sacrifices Alarbus, son of Empress Tamora of the Goths, in honour of the death of his own sons during the campaign. The sacrifice, together with Titus's involvement in the selection of the new emperor of Rome, triggers a chain of violent acts that does not cease until both families have been slaughtered. At the conclusion of the play, only Lucius, Titus's one remaining son, is left to bring about a restoration of order. At the point that has been reached in Act 3, Scene i, Titus is pleading in vain with the Roman tribunes to free two of his sons, who have been wrongly accused and sentenced to death for the murder of their brother-in-law. Titus's misery is compounded by the arrival of his brother Marcus, who has found Titus's daughter, Lavinia, raped and mutilated--her tongue and hands cut off so that she cannot identify her attackers. Titus is then tricked into cutting off his own hand by Aaron, Tamora's lover, who convinces him that it is the only way to save his sons. The horrifying scene reaches its climax when the hand, together with the heads of the young men, is delivered back to Titus, leaving him hysterical, and vowing revenge. The bloody violence in the play reaches outrageous, even ridiculous, extremes--yet there is dignity in the verse with which Titus, Marcus, and Lucius express the depth of their grief. Titus Andronicus Act 3, Scene i Enter the Judges, Tribunes, and Senators with Titus's two sons, Martius and Quintus, bound, passing (over) the stage to the place of execution, and Titus going before, pleading TITUS. Hear me, grave fathers; noble Tribunes, stay. For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent In dangerous wars whilst you securely slept; For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed; For all the frosty nights that I have watched, And for these bitter tears which now you see Filling the agèd wrinkles in my cheeks, Be pitiful to my condemnèd sons, Whose souls is not corrupted as 'tis thought. For two-and-twenty sons I never wept, Because they died in honour's lofty bed. Andronicus lieth down, and the Judges pass by him For these two, Tribunes, in the dust I write My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears. Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite; My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush. (Exeunt all but Titus) O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain That shall distil from these two ancient ruins Than youthful April shall with all his showers. In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still. In winter with warm tears I'll melt the snow And keep eternal springtime on thy face, So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood. Enter Lucius with his weapon drawn O reverend Tribunes, O gentle, agèd men, Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death, And let me say, that never wept before, My tears are now prevailing orators! LUCIUS. O noble father, you lament in vain. The Tribunes hear you not. No man is by, And you recount your sorrows to a stone. TITUS. Ah Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead. Grave Tribunes, once more I entreat of you-- LUCIUS. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak. TITUS. 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. Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones, Who, though they cannot answer my distress, Yet in some sort they are better than the Tribunes For that they will not intercept my tale. When I do weep they humbly at my feet Receive my tears and seem to weep with me, And were they but attirèd in grave weeds Rome could afford no tribunes like to these. 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. But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn? LUCIUS. To rescue my two brothers from their death, For which attempt the Judges have pronounced My everlasting doom of banishment. TITUS. (rising) O happy man, they have befriended thee! Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers? Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey But me and mine. How happy art thou then From these devourers to be banishèd! But who comes with our brother Marcus here? Enter Marcus with Lavinia MARCUS. Titus, prepare thy agèd eyes to weep, Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break. I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. TITUS. Will it consume me? Let me see it then. MARCUS. This was thy daughter. TITUS. Why, Marcus, so she is. LUCIUS. (falling to his knees) Ay me, this object kills me. TITUS. Faint-hearted boy, arise and look upon her. Lucius rises Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight? What fool hath added water to the sea, Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy? My grief was at the height before thou cam'st, And now like Nilus it disdaineth bounds. Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too, For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain; And they have nursed this woe in feeding life; In bootless prayer have they been held up, And they have served me to effectless use. Now all the service I require of them Is that the one will help to cut the other. 'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands, For hands to do Rome service is but vain. LUCIUS. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyred thee. MARCUS. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts, That blabbed them with such pleasing eloquence, Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear. LUCIUS. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed? MARCUS. O, thus I found her, straying in the park, Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer That hath received some unrecuring wound. TITUS. It was my dear, and he that wounded her Hath hurt me more than had he killed me dead; For now I stand as one upon a rock Environed 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. This way to death my wretched sons are gone. Here stands my other son, a banished man, And here my brother, weeping at my woes. But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. Had I but seen thy picture in this plight It would have madded me. What shall I do Now I behold thy lively body so? Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears, Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyred thee. Thy husband he is dead, and for his death Thy brothers are condemned and dead by this. Look, Marcus, ah, son Lucius, look on her! When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew Upon a gathered lily almost witherèd. MARCUS. Perchance she weeps because they killed her husband; Perchance because she knows them innocent. TITUS. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful, Because the law hath ta'en 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; Or make some sign how I may do thee ease. Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stained, like meadows yet not dry With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? Let us that have our tongues Plot some device of further misery, To make us wondered at in time to come. LUCIUS. Sweet father, cease your tears, for at your grief See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS. Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS. Ah, Marcus, Marcus, brother, well I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drowned it with thine own. LUCIUS. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS. 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. Enter Aaron the Moor, alone 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. TITUS. 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. MARCUS. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome And reared aloft the bloody battleaxe, 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. MARCUS. My hand shall go. LUCIUS. By heaven it shall not go. TITUS. Sirs, strive no more. Such withered 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. MARCUS. And for our father's sake and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. TITUS. Agree between you. I will spare my hand. LUCIUS. Then I'll go fetch an axe. MARCUS. But I will use the axe. Exuent Lucius and Marcus TITUS. Come hither, Aaron. I'll deceive them both. Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON. (aside) If that be called 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 pass. He cuts off Titus's hand. Enter Lucius and Marcus again TITUS. Now stay your strife. What shall be is dispatched. 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. (Aside) 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. TITUS. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven And bow this feeble ruin to the earth. He kneels If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call. (To Lavinia, who kneels) What, wouldst thou kneel with me? 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. MARCUS. O brother, speak with possibility, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS. Is not my sorrows deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS. But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS. If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes. When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swoll'n face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea. Hark how her sighs doth blow. She is the weeping welkin, I the earth. Then must my sea be movèd with her sighs, Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge overflowed and drowned, Forwhy 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 a Messenger with two heads and a hand MESSENGER. 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 grief their sports, thy resolution mocked, That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father's death. He sets down the heads and hand. Exit MARCUS. Now let hot Etna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell. 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 Titus MARCUS. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starvèd snake. TITUS. When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS. Now farewell, flatt'ry; die, Andronicus. Thou dost not slumber. See thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here, Thy other banished 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. Rend off thy sliver 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? TITUS. Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS. Why dost thou laugh? It fits not with this hour. TITUS. Why, I have not another tear to shed. Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my wat'ry eyes And make them blind with tributary tears. Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave?-- For these two heads do seem to speak to me And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be returned again Even in their throats that hath committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. He and Lavinia rise You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. Marcus, Lucius, and Lavinia circle Titus. He pledges them The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head, And in this hand the other will I bear. And Lavinia, thou shalt be employed. Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thine arms. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight. 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. They kiss. Exeunt all but Lucius LUCIUS. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father, The woefull'st man that ever lived in Rome. Farewell, proud Rome, till Lucius come again; He loves his pledges dearer than his life. Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister: O, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been! But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives But in oblivion and hateful griefs. If Lucius live he will requite your wrongs And make proud Saturnine and his empress Beg at the gates like Tarquin and his queen. Now will I to the Goths and raise a power, To be revenged on Rome and Saturnine. Exit