Act III, Scene I — Rome. A street
Enter the Judges and Senators, with Titus’ two sons Quintus and Martius bound, passing on 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 aged wrinkles in my cheeks, Be pitiful to my condemned sons, Whose souls are 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.]
[Exeunt with the prisoners as Titus continues speaking.]
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. O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain That shall distil from these two ancient urns, 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 spring-time on thy face, So thou refuse to drink my dear sons’ blood.
Enter Lucius with his weapon drawn.
O reverend tribunes! O gentle aged 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, And bootless unto them. 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 attired 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. 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 banished! But who comes with our brother Marcus here?
Enter Marcus with Lavinia.
MARCUS. Titus, prepare thy aged 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. Ay me, this object kills me!
TITUS. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her. 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 withered.
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 battle-axe, 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.
[Exeunt 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.
[Exit.]
TITUS. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth. If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! [To Lavinia.] 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 sorrow 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, Threatening the welkin with his big-swol’n face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea. Hark how her sighs doth flow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth. Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflowed and drowned; For why 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.
[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 starved snake.
TITUS. When will this fearful slumber have an end?
MARCUS. Now farewell, flattery; 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. 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?
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 watery 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 have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. 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. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other will I bear. And, Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these arms. Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. 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 you love me, as I think you do, Let’s kiss and part, for we have much to do.
[Exeunt Titus, Marcus and Lavinia.]
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.]
Act III, Scene II — Rome. A Room in Titus’s House. A banquet set out
Enter Titus Andronicus, Marcus, Lavinia and the boy Young Lucius.
TITUS. 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, And cannot passionate our tenfold grief With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine Is left to tyrannize upon my breast; Who when my heart, all mad with misery, Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, Then thus I thump it down. Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs, When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating, Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still. Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans; Or get some little knife between thy teeth, And just against thy heart make thou a hole, That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall May run into that sink, and, soaking in, Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears.
MARCUS. Fie, brother, fie! Teach her not thus to lay Such violent hands upon her tender life.
TITUS. 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, To bid Æneas tell the tale twice o’er How Troy was burnt and he made miserable? O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands, Lest we remember still that we have none. Fie, fie, how frantically I square my talk, As if we should forget we had no hands, If Marcus did not name the word of hands! Come, let’s fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this. Here is no drink! Hark, Marcus, what she says; I can interpret all her martyred signs. She says she drinks no other drink but tears, Brewed with her sorrow, meshed upon her cheeks. Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought; In thy dumb action will I be as perfect As begging hermits in their holy prayers. Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven, Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign, But I of these will wrest an alphabet, And by still practice learn to know thy meaning.
YOUNG LUCIUS. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments. Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale.
MARCUS. Alas, the tender boy, in passion moved, Doth weep to see his grandsire’s heaviness.
TITUS. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears, And tears will quickly melt thy life away.
[Marcus strikes the dish with a knife.]
What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife?
MARCUS. At that that I have killed, my lord, a fly.
TITUS. Out on thee, murderer! Thou kill’st my heart; Mine eyes are cloyed with view of tyranny; A deed of death done on the innocent Becomes not Titus’ brother. Get thee gone; I see thou art not for my company.
MARCUS. Alas, my lord, I have but killed a fly.
TITUS. “But”? How if that fly had a father and mother? 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 killed him.
MARCUS. Pardon me, sir; ’twas a black ill-favoured fly, Like to the empress’ Moor; therefore I killed him.
TITUS. O, O, O! Then pardon me for reprehending thee, For thou hast done a charitable deed. Give me thy knife, I will insult on him, Flattering myself as if it were the Moor Come hither purposely to poison me. There’s for thyself, and that’s for Tamora. Ah, sirrah! Yet, I think, we are not brought so low But that between us we can kill a fly That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor.
MARCUS. Alas, poor man, grief has so wrought on him, He takes false shadows for true substances.
TITUS. Come, take away. Lavinia, go with me. I’ll to thy closet, and go read with thee Sad stories chanced in the times of old. Come, boy, and go with me. Thy sight is young, And thou shalt read when mine begin to dazzle.
[Exeunt.]
Act IV, Scene I — Rome. Before Titus’s House
Enter Young Lucius and Lavinia running after him, and the boy flies from her with his books under his arm. Enter Titus and Marcus.
YOUNG LUCIUS. Help, grandsire, help! My aunt Lavinia Follows me everywhere, I know not why. Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes! Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean.
MARCUS. Stand by me, Lucius. Do not fear thine aunt.
TITUS. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm.
YOUNG LUCIUS Ay, when my father was in Rome she did.
MARCUS. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs?
TITUS. 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.
MARCUS. Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus?
YOUNG LUCIUS. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess, Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her; For I have heard my grandsire say full oft, Extremity of griefs would make men mad; And I have read that Hecuba of Troy Ran mad for sorrow. That made me to fear, Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt Loves me as dear as e’er my mother did, And would not, but in fury, fright my youth; Which made me down to throw my books, and fly, Causeless, perhaps. But pardon me, sweet aunt. And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go, I will most willingly attend your ladyship.
MARCUS. Lucius, I will.
[Lavinia turns over with her stumps the books which Lucius has let fall.]
TITUS. How now, Lavinia? Marcus, what means this? Some book there is that she desires to see. Which is it, girl, of these? Open them, boy. But thou art deeper read and better skilled. Come and take choice of all my library, And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens Reveal the damned contriver of this deed. Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus?
MARCUS. I think she means that there were more than one Confederate in the fact. Ay, more there was, Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge.
TITUS. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so?
YOUNG LUCIUS. Grandsire, ’tis Ovid’s Metamorphosis. My mother gave it me.
MARCUS. For love of her that’s gone, Perhaps, she culled it from among the rest.
TITUS. Soft! So busily she turns the leaves! Help her! What would she find? Lavinia, shall I read? This is the tragic tale of Philomel, And treats of Tereus’ treason and his rape; And rape, I fear, was root of thy annoy.
MARCUS. See, brother, see! Note how she quotes the leaves.
TITUS. Lavinia, wert thou thus surprised, sweet girl, Ravished and wronged, as Philomela was, Forced in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods? See, see! Ay, such a place there is where we did hunt,— O, had we never, never hunted there!— Patterned by that the poet here describes, By nature made for murders and for rapes.
MARCUS. O, why should nature build so foul a den, Unless the gods delight in tragedies?
TITUS. Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none but friends, What Roman lord it was durst do the deed. Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, That left the camp to sin in Lucrece’ bed?
MARCUS. Sit down, sweet niece. Brother, sit down by me. Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, Inspire me, that I may this treason find! My lord, look here. Look here, Lavinia. This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst, This after me. I have writ my name
[He writes his name with his staff and guides it with feet and mouth.]
Without the help of any hand at all. Cursed be that heart that forced us to this shift! Write thou, good niece, and here display at last What God will have discovered for revenge. Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain, That we may know the traitors and the truth!
[She takes the staff in her mouth, and guides it with her stumps and writes.]
O, do ye read, my lord, what she hath writ?
TITUS. “Stuprum. Chiron. Demetrius.”
MARCUS. What, what! The lustful sons of Tamora Performers of this heinous bloody deed?
TITUS. _Magni Dominator poli, Tam lentus audis scelera, tam lentus vides?_
MARCUS. 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. My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel; And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector’s hope; And swear with me, as, with the woeful fere And father of that chaste dishonoured dame, Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece’ rape, That we will prosecute, by good advice Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths, And see their blood, or die with this reproach.
TITUS. ’Tis sure enough, an you knew how. But if you hunt these bear-whelps, then beware; The dam will wake, and if she wind you once. She’s with the lion deeply still in league, And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back, And when he sleeps will she do what she list. You are a young huntsman, Marcus; let alone; And come, I will go get a leaf of brass, And with a gad of steel will write these words, And lay it by. The angry northern wind Will blow these sands like Sibyl’s leaves abroad, And where’s our lesson, then? Boy, what say you?
YOUNG LUCIUS. I say, my lord, that if I were a man, Their mother’s bedchamber should not be safe For these base bondmen to the yoke of Rome.
MARCUS. Ay, that’s my boy! Thy father hath full oft For his ungrateful country done the like.
YOUNG LUCIUS. And, uncle, so will I, an if I live.
TITUS. Come, go with me into mine armoury. Lucius, I’ll fit thee; and withal, my boy, Shall carry from me to the empress’ sons Presents that I intend to send them both. Come, come; thou’lt do my message, wilt thou not?
YOUNG LUCIUS. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire.
TITUS. No, boy, not so. I’ll teach thee another course. Lavinia, come. Marcus, look to my house. Lucius and I’ll go brave it at the court; Ay, marry, will we, sir; and we’ll be waited on.
[Exeunt Titus, Lavinia and Young Lucius.]
MARCUS. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan And not relent, or not compassion him? Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy, That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart Than foemen’s marks upon his battered shield, But yet so just that he will not revenge. Revenge ye heavens for old Andronicus!
[Exit.]
Act IV, Scene II — Rome. A Room in the Palace
Enter Aaron, Chiron and Demetrius at one door, and at the other door Young Lucius and another, with a bundle of weapons and verses writ upon them.
CHIRON. Demetrius, here’s the son of Lucius; He hath some message to deliver us.
AARON. Ay, some mad message from his mad grandfather.
YOUNG LUCIUS. My lords, with all the humbleness I may, I greet your honours from Andronicus; [Aside.] And pray the Roman gods confound you both.
DEMETRIUS. Gramercy, lovely Lucius. What’s the news?
YOUNG LUCIUS. [Aside.] That you are both deciphered, that’s the news, For villains marked with rape. [Aloud.] May it please you, My grandsire, well advised, hath sent by me The goodliest weapons of his armoury To gratify your honourable youth, The hope of Rome; for so he bid me say; And so I do, and with his gifts present Your lordships, that, whenever you have need, You may be armed and appointed well. And so I leave you both, [Aside.] like bloody villains.
[Exeunt Young Lucius and Attendant.]
DEMETRIUS. What’s here? A scroll; and written round about? Let’s see: [Reads.] _Integer vitae, scelerisque purus, Non eget Mauri iaculis, nec arcu._
CHIRON. O, ’tis a verse in Horace; I know it well. I read it in the grammar long ago.
AARON. Ay, just; a verse in Horace; right, you have it. [Aside.] Now, what a thing it is to be an ass! Here’s no sound jest! The old man hath found their guilt, And sends them weapons wrapped about with lines, That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick. But were our witty empress well afoot, She would applaud Andronicus’ conceit. But let her rest in her unrest awhile.— And now, young lords, was’t not a happy star Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so, Captives, to be advanced to this height? It did me good before the palace gate To brave the tribune in his brother’s hearing.
DEMETRIUS. But me more good to see so great a lord Basely insinuate and send us gifts.
AARON. Had he not reason, Lord Demetrius? Did you not use his daughter very friendly?
DEMETRIUS. I would we had a thousand Roman dames At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust.
CHIRON. A charitable wish, and full of love.
AARON. Here lacks but your mother for to say amen.
CHIRON. And that would she for twenty thousand more.
DEMETRIUS. Come, let us go and pray to all the gods For our beloved mother in her pains.
AARON. [Aside.] Pray to the devils; the gods have given us over.
[Trumpets sound.]
DEMETRIUS. Why do the emperor’s trumpets flourish thus?
CHIRON. Belike for joy the emperor hath a son.
DEMETRIUS. Soft, who comes here?
Enter Nurse with a blackamoor Child in her arms.
NURSE. Good morrow, lords. O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor?
AARON. Well, more or less, or ne’er a whit at all, Here Aaron is; and what with Aaron now?
NURSE. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone! Now help, or woe betide thee evermore!
AARON. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep! What dost thou wrap and fumble in thy arms?
NURSE. O, that which I would hide from heaven’s eye, Our empress’ shame and stately Rome’s disgrace. She is delivered, lords, she is delivered.
AARON. To whom?
NURSE. I mean, she’s brought a-bed.
AARON. Well, God give her good rest! What hath he sent her?
NURSE. A devil.
AARON. Why, then she is the devil’s dam. A joyful issue.
NURSE. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue. Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad Amongst the fair-faced breeders of our clime. The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal, And bids thee christen it with thy dagger’s point.
AARON. Zounds, ye whore, is black so base a hue? Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom sure.
DEMETRIUS. Villain, what hast thou done?
AARON. That which thou canst not undo.
CHIRON. Thou hast undone our mother.
AARON. Villain, I have done thy mother.
DEMETRIUS. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone her. Woe to her chance, and damned her loathed choice! Accursed the offspring of so foul a fiend!
CHIRON. It shall not live.
AARON. It shall not die.
NURSE. Aaron, it must; the mother wills it so.
AARON. What, must it, nurse? Then let no man but I Do execution on my flesh and blood.
DEMETRIUS. I’ll broach the tadpole on my rapier’s point. Nurse, give it me; my sword shall soon dispatch it.
AARON. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up.
[Taking the baby.]
Stay, murderous villains, will you kill your brother? Now, by the burning tapers of the sky That shone so brightly when this boy was got, He dies upon my scimitar’s sharp point That touches this my first-born son and heir. I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus, With all his threatening band of Typhon’s brood, Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war, Shall seize this prey out of his father’s hands. What, what, ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys! Ye white-limed walls, ye alehouse-painted signs! Coal-black is better than another hue In that it scorns to bear another hue; For all the water in the ocean Can never turn the swan’s black legs to white, Although she lave them hourly in the flood. Tell the empress from me, I am of age To keep mine own, excuse it how she can.
DEMETRIUS. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus?
AARON. My mistress is my mistress; this my self; The vigour 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.
DEMETRIUS. By this our mother is for ever shamed.
CHIRON. Rome will despise her for this foul escape.
NURSE. The emperor in his rage will doom her death.
CHIRON. I blush to think upon this ignomy.
AARON. Why, there’s the privilege your beauty bears. Fie, treacherous hue, that will betray with blushing The close enacts and counsels of thy heart! Here’s a young lad framed of another leer. Look how the black slave smiles upon the father, As who should say “Old lad, I am thine own.” He is your brother, lords, sensibly fed Of that self blood that first gave life to you; And from your womb where you imprisoned were He is enfranchised and come to light. Nay, he is your brother by the surer side, Although my seal be stamped in his face.
NURSE. Aaron, what shall I say unto the empress?
DEMETRIUS. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done, And we will all subscribe to thy advice. Save thou the child, so we may all be safe.
AARON. Then sit we down, and let us all consult. My son and I will have the wind of you. Keep there. Now talk at pleasure of your safety.
[They sit.]
DEMETRIUS. How many women saw this child of his?
AARON. Why, so, brave lords! When we join in league, I am a lamb; but if you brave the Moor, The chafed boar, the mountain lioness, The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms. But say again, how many saw the child?
NURSE. Cornelia the midwife and myself, And no one else but the delivered empress.
AARON. The empress, the midwife, and yourself. Two may keep counsel when the third’s away. Go to the empress; tell her this I said.
[He kills her.]
“Wheak, wheak!” So cries a pig prepared to the spit.
DEMETRIUS. What mean’st thou, Aaron? Wherefore didst thou this?
AARON. O Lord, sir, ’tis a deed of policy. Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours, A long-tongued babbling gossip? No, lords, no. And now be it known to you my full intent. Not far, one Muliteus lives, my countryman; His wife but yesternight was brought to bed. His child is like to her, fair as you are. Go pack with him, and give the mother gold, And tell them both the circumstance of all, And how by this their child shall be advanced, And be received for the emperor’s heir, And substituted in the place of mine, To calm this tempest whirling in the court; And let the emperor dandle him for his own. Hark ye, lords; ye see I have given her physic,
[Indicating the Nurse.]
And you must needs bestow her funeral; The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms. 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.
CHIRON. Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air With secrets.
DEMETRIUS. For this care of Tamora, Herself and hers are highly bound to thee.
[Exeunt Demetrius and Chiron, carrying the Nurse’s body.]
AARON. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies, There to dispose this treasure in mine arms, And secretly to greet the empress’ friends. Come on, you thick-lipped slave, I’ll bear you hence; For it is you that puts us to our shifts. I’ll make you feed on berries and on roots, And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat, And cabin in a cave, and bring you up To be a warrior and command a camp.
[Exit.]
Act IV, Scene III — Rome. A public Place
Enter Titus, old Marcus, his son Publius, Young Lucius, and other gentlemen with bows, and Titus bears the arrows with letters on the ends of them.
TITUS. Come, Marcus, come. Kinsmen, this is the way. Sir boy, let me see your archery. Look ye draw home enough, and ’tis there straight. Terras Astraea reliquit. Be you remembered, Marcus, she’s gone, she’s fled. Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall Go sound the ocean and cast your nets; Happily you may catch her in the sea; Yet there’s as little justice as at land. No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it; ’Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade, And pierce the inmost centre of the earth. Then, when you come to Pluto’s region, I pray you, deliver him this petition; Tell him it is for justice and for aid, And that it comes from old Andronicus, Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome. Ah, Rome! Well, well, I made thee miserable What time I threw the people’s suffrages On him that thus doth tyrannize o’er me. Go, get you gone; and pray be careful all, And leave you not a man-of-war unsearched. This wicked emperor may have shipped her hence; And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.
MARCUS. O Publius, is not this a heavy case, To see thy noble uncle thus distract?
PUBLIUS. Therefore, my lords, it highly us concerns By day and night to attend him carefully, And feed his humour kindly as we may, Till time beget some careful remedy.
MARCUS. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy, But . . . . Join with the Goths, and with revengeful war Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude, And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.
TITUS. Publius, how now? How now, my masters? What, have you met with her?
PUBLIUS. No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word, If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall. Marry, for Justice, she is so employed, He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else, So that perforce you must needs stay a time.
TITUS. He doth me wrong to feed me with delays. I’ll dive into the burning lake below, And pull her out of Acheron by the heels. Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we, No big-boned men framed of the Cyclops’ size; But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back, Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can bear; And sith there’s no justice in earth nor hell, We will solicit heaven and move the gods To send down Justice for to wreak our wrongs. Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus.
[He gives them the arrows.]
“Ad Jovem,” that’s for you; here, “Ad Apollinem”; “Ad Martem,” that’s for myself; Here, boy, “to Pallas”; here, “to Mercury”; “To Saturn,” Caius, not to Saturnine; You were as good to shoot against the wind. To it, boy.—Marcus, loose when I bid.— Of my word, I have written to effect; There’s not a god left unsolicited.
MARCUS. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court. We will afflict the emperor in his pride.
TITUS. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot.] O, well said, Lucius! Good boy, in Virgo’s lap! Give it Pallas.
MARCUS. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon. Your letter is with Jupiter by this.
TITUS. Ha! ha! Publius, Publius, what hast thou done? See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus’ horns.
MARCUS. This was the sport, my lord; when Publius shot, The Bull, being galled, gave Aries such a knock That down fell both the Ram’s horns in the court; And who should find them but the empress’ villain? She laughed, and told the Moor he should not choose But give them to his master for a present.
TITUS. Why, there it goes. God give his lordship joy!
Enter the Clown with a basket and two pigeons in it.
News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come. Sirrah, what tidings? Have you any letters? Shall I have justice? What says Jupiter?
CLOWN. Ho, the gibbet-maker? He says that he hath taken them down again, for the man must not be hanged till the next week.
TITUS. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee?
CLOWN. Alas, sir, I know not Jubiter; I never drank with him in all my life.
TITUS. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?
CLOWN. Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else.
TITUS. Why, didst thou not come from heaven?
CLOWN. From heaven? Alas, sir, I never came there. God forbid I should be so bold to press to heaven in my young days. Why, I am going with my pigeons to the tribunal plebs, to take up a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the emperal’s men.
MARCUS. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to serve for your oration; and let him deliver the pigeons to the emperor from you.
TITUS. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the emperor with a grace?
CLOWN. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life.
TITUS. Sirrah, come hither. Make no more ado, But give your pigeons to the emperor. By me thou shalt have justice at his hands. Hold, hold; meanwhile here’s money for thy charges. Give me pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver up a supplication?
CLOWN. Ay, sir.
TITUS. Then here is a supplication for you. And when you come to him, at the first approach you must kneel; then kiss his foot; then deliver up your pigeons; and then look for your reward. I’ll be at hand, sir; see you do it bravely.
CLOWN. I warrant you, sir; let me alone.
TITUS. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come let me see it. Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration; For thou hast made it like a humble suppliant. And when thou hast given it to the emperor, Knock at my door, and tell me what he says.
CLOWN. God be with you, sir; I will.
[Exit.]
TITUS. Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follow me.
[Exeunt.]
Act IV, Scene IV — Rome. Before the Palace
Enter Emperor Saturninus and Empress Tamora and her two sons Chiron and Demetrius, with Attendants. The Emperor brings the arrows in his hand that Titus shot at him.
SATURNINUS. Why, lords, what wrongs are these! Was ever seen An emperor in Rome thus overborne, Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent Of legal justice, used in such contempt? My lords, you know, as know the mightful gods, However these disturbers of our peace Buzz in the people’s ears, there naught hath passed But even with law against the wilful sons Of old Andronicus. And what an if His sorrows have so overwhelmed his wits? Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks, His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness? And now he writes to heaven for his redress! See, here’s “to Jove,” and this “to Mercury,” This “to Apollo,” this to the god of war. Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome! What’s this but libelling against the senate, And blazoning our injustice everywhere? A goodly humour, is it not, my lords? As who would say, in Rome no justice were. 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 she sleep, He’ll so awake as he in fury shall Cut off the proud’st conspirator that lives.
TAMORA. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine, Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts, Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus’ age, Th’ effects of sorrow for his valiant sons, Whose loss hath pierced him deep and scarred his heart; And rather comfort his distressed plight Than prosecute the meanest or the best For these contempts. [Aside.] Why, thus it shall become High-witted Tamora to gloze with all. But, Titus, I have touched thee to the quick; Thy life-blood out, if Aaron now be wise, Then is all safe, the anchor in the port.
Enter Clown.
How now, good fellow, wouldst thou speak with us?
CLOWN. Yes, forsooth, an your mistresship be emperial.
TAMORA. Empress I am, but yonder sits the emperor.
CLOWN. ’Tis he. God and Saint Stephen give you good e’en. I have brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here.
[Saturninus reads the letter.]
SATURNINUS. Go take him away, and hang him presently.
CLOWN. How much money must I have?
TAMORA. Come, sirrah, you must be hanged.
CLOWN. Hanged! by’r Lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair end.
[Exit guarded.]
SATURNINUS. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs! Shall I endure this monstrous villainy? I know from whence this same device proceeds. May this be borne as if his traitorous sons, That died by law for murder of our brother, Have by my means been butchered wrongfully? Go, drag the villain hither by the hair; Nor age nor honour shall shape privilege. For this proud mock I’ll be thy slaughterman, Sly frantic wretch, that holp’st to make me great, In hope thyself should govern Rome and me.
Enter Aemilius.
What news with thee, Aemilius?
AEMILIUS. Arm, my lord! Rome never had more cause. The Goths have gathered head, and with a power Of high-resolved men, bent to the spoil, They hither march amain, under conduct Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus; Who threats, in course of this revenge, to do As much as ever Coriolanus did.
SATURNINUS. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths? These tidings nip me, and I hang the head As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms. Ay, now begins our sorrows to approach. ’Tis he the common people love so much; Myself hath often overheard them say, When I have walked like a private man, That Lucius’ banishment was wrongfully, And they have wished that Lucius were their emperor.
TAMORA. Why should you fear? Is not your city strong?
SATURNINUS. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius, And will revolt from me to succour him.
TAMORA. King, be thy thoughts imperious like thy name. Is the sun dimmed, 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; Even so mayest thou the giddy men of Rome. 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, Whenas the one is wounded with the bait, The other rotted with delicious feed.
SATURNINUS. But he will not entreat his son for us.
TAMORA. If Tamora entreat him, then he will, For I can smooth and fill his aged ears With golden promises, that, were his heart Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf, Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue. [to Aemilius] Go thou before, be our ambassador. Say that the emperor requests a parley Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting Even at his father’s house, the old Andronicus.
SATURNINUS. Aemilius, do this message honourably, And if he stand on hostage for his safety, Bid him demand what pledge will please him best.
AEMILIUS. Your bidding shall I do effectually.
[Exit.]
TAMORA. 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.
SATURNINUS. Then go successantly, and plead to him.
[Exeunt.]
Act V, Scene I — Plains near Rome
Enter Lucius with an army of Goths, with drums and soldiers.
LUCIUS. Approved warriors and my faithful friends, I have received letters from great Rome Which signifies what hate they bear their emperor And how desirous of our sight they are. Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness, Imperious, and impatient of your wrongs; And wherein Rome hath done you any scath, Let him make treble satisfaction.
FIRST GOTH. Brave slip, sprung from the great Andronicus, Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort, Whose high exploits and honourable deeds Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt, Be bold in us. We’ll follow where thou lead’st, Like stinging bees in hottest summer’s day Led by their master to the flowered fields, And be avenged on cursed Tamora.
GOTHS. And as he saith, so say we all with him.
LUCIUS. I humbly thank him, and I thank you all. But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth?
Enter a Goth, leading of Aaron with his Child in his arms.
SECOND GOTH. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I strayed To gaze upon a ruinous monastery; And as I earnestly did fix mine eye Upon the wasted building, suddenly I heard a child cry underneath a wall. I made unto the noise, when soon I heard The crying babe controlled with this discourse: “Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dame! Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art, Had nature lent thee but thy mother’s look, Villain, thou mightst have been an emperor. But where the bull and cow are both milk-white, They never do beget a coal-black calf. Peace, villain, peace!” even thus he rates the babe, “For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth, Who, when he knows thou art the empress’ babe, Will hold thee dearly for thy mother’s sake.” With this, my weapon drawn, I rushed upon him, Surprised him suddenly, and brought him hither To use as you think needful of the man.
LUCIUS. O worthy Goth, this is the incarnate devil That robbed Andronicus of his good hand; This is the pearl that pleased your empress’ eye; And here’s the base fruit of her burning lust. Say, wall-eyed slave, whither wouldst thou convey This growing image of thy fiend-like face? Why dost not speak? What, deaf? Not a word? A halter, soldiers, hang him on this tree, And by his side his fruit of bastardy.
AARON. Touch not the boy, he is of royal blood.
LUCIUS. Too like the sire for ever being good. First hang the child, that he may see it sprawl, A sight to vex the father’s soul withal. Get me a ladder.
[A ladder is brought, which Aaron is made to ascend.]
AARON. Lucius, save the child; And bear it from me to the empress. 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!”
LUCIUS. Say on, and if it please me which thou speak’st, Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourished.
AARON. And if it please thee? Why, assure thee, Lucius, ’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 performed. And this shall all be buried in my death, Unless thou swear to me my child shall live.
LUCIUS. Tell on thy mind; I say thy child shall live.
AARON. Swear that he shall, and then I will begin.
LUCIUS. Who should I swear by? Thou believ’st no god. That granted, how canst thou believe an oath?
AARON. What if I do not? As indeed I do not; Yet, for I know thou art religious, And hast a thing within thee called conscience, With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies Which I have seen thee careful to observe, Therefore I urge thy oath; for that I know An idiot holds his bauble for a god, And keeps the oath which by that god he swears, To that I’ll urge him. Therefore thou shalt vow By that same god, what god soe’er it be That thou adorest and hast in reverence, To save my boy, to nourish and bring him up; Or else I will discover naught to thee.
LUCIUS. Even by my god I swear to thee I will.
AARON. First know thou, I begot him on the empress.
LUCIUS. O most insatiate and luxurious woman!
AARON. Tut, Lucius, this was but a deed of charity To that which thou shalt hear of me anon. ’Twas her two sons that murdered Bassianus; They cut thy sister’s tongue, and ravished her, And cut her hands, and trimmed her as thou sawest.
LUCIUS. O detestable villain, call’st thou that trimming?
AARON. Why, she was washed, and cut, and trimmed; and ’twas Trim sport for them which had the doing of it.
LUCIUS. O barbarous beastly villains, like thyself!
AARON. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them. That codding spirit had they from their mother, As sure a card as ever won the set; That bloody mind I think they learned of me, As true a dog as ever fought at head. Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth. I trained thy brethren to that guileful hole Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay. I wrote the letter that thy father found, And hid the gold within that letter mentioned, Confederate with the queen and her two sons. And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue, Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in’t? I played the cheater for thy father’s hand, And, when I had it, drew myself apart, And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter. I pried me through the crevice of a wall When, for his hand, he had his two sons’ heads; Beheld his tears, and laughed so heartily That both mine eyes were rainy like to his. And when I told the empress of this sport, She sounded almost at my pleasing tale, And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses.
GOTH. What, canst thou say all this and never blush?
AARON. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is.
LUCIUS. Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds?
AARON. Ay, that I had not done a thousand more. 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, As kill a man, or else devise his death; Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it; Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself; Set deadly enmity between two friends; Make poor men’s cattle break their necks; Set fire on barns and haystalks in the night, And bid the owners quench them with their tears. Oft have I digged up dead men from their graves, And set them upright at their dear friends’ door, Even when their sorrows almost was forgot, And on their skins, as on the bark of trees, Have with my knife carved in Roman letters, “Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.” 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.
LUCIUS. Bring down the devil, for he must not die So sweet a death as hanging presently.
AARON. If there be devils, would I were a devil, To live and burn in everlasting fire, So I might have your company in hell But to torment you with my bitter tongue!
LUCIUS. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak no more.
Enter Aemilius.
GOTH. My lord, there is a messenger from Rome Desires to be admitted to your presence.
LUCIUS. Let him come near. Welcome, Aemilius. What’s the news from Rome?
AEMILIUS. Lord Lucius, and you princes of the Goths, The Roman emperor greets you all by me; And, for he understands you are in arms, He craves a parley at your father’s house, Willing you to demand your hostages, And they shall be immediately delivered.
FIRST GOTH. What says our general?
LUCIUS. Aemilius, let the emperor give his pledges Unto my father and my uncle Marcus, And we will come. March away.
[Exeunt.]
Act V, Scene II — Rome. Before Titus’s House
Enter Tamora and her two sons, disguised.
TAMORA. Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment, I will encounter with Andronicus, And say I am Revenge, sent from below To join with him and right his heinous wrongs. 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.
[They knock.]
Titus above opens his study door.
TITUS. Who doth molest my contemplation? Is it your trick to make me ope the door, That so my sad decrees may fly away And all my study be to no effect? You are deceived; for what I mean to do See here in bloody lines I have set down; And what is written shall be executed.
TAMORA. Titus, I am come to talk with thee.
TITUS. No, not a word; how can I grace my talk, Wanting a hand to give it action? Thou hast the odds of me; therefore no more.
TAMORA. If thou didst know me, thou wouldst talk with me.
TITUS. I am not mad; I know thee well enough. Witness this wretched stump, witness these crimson lines; Witness these trenches made by grief and care; Witness the tiring day and heavy night; Witness all sorrow that I know thee well For our proud empress, mighty Tamora. Is not thy coming for my other hand?
TAMORA. Know thou, sad man, I am not Tamora; She is thy enemy, and I thy friend. I am Revenge, sent from th’ infernal kingdom To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes. Come down and welcome me to this world’s light; Confer with me of murder and of death. There’s not a hollow cave or lurking-place, No vast obscurity or misty vale, Where bloody murder or detested rape Can couch for fear but I will find them out, And in their ears tell them my dreadful name, Revenge, which makes the foul offender quake.
TITUS. Art thou Revenge? And art thou sent to me To be a torment to mine enemies?
TAMORA. I am; therefore come down and welcome me.
TITUS. Do me some service ere I come to thee. Lo, by thy side where Rape and Murder stands; Now give some surance that thou art Revenge: Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot wheels, And then I’ll come and be thy waggoner, And whirl along with thee about the globe. Provide thee two proper palfreys, black as jet, To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away, And find out murderers in their guilty caves. And when thy car is loaden with their heads, I will dismount, and by the waggon-wheel Trot like a servile footman all day long, Even from Hyperion’s rising in the east Until his very downfall in the sea. And day by day I’ll do this heavy task, So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there.
TAMORA. These are my ministers, and come with me.
TITUS. Are they thy ministers? What are they called?
TAMORA. Rapine and Murder; therefore called so ’Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men.
TITUS. Good Lord, how like the empress’ sons they are, And you the empress! But we worldly men Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes. O sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee; And, if one arm’s embracement will content thee, I will embrace thee in it by and by.
[He exits above.]
TAMORA. This closing with him fits his lunacy. Whate’er I forge to feed his brain-sick humours, Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches, For now he firmly takes me for Revenge; And, being credulous in this mad thought, I’ll make him send for Lucius his son; And whilst I at a banquet hold him sure, I’ll find some cunning practice out of hand To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths, Or, at the least, make them his enemies. See, here he comes, and I must ply my theme.
Enter Titus.
TITUS. Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee. Welcome, dread Fury, to my woeful house. Rapine and Murder, you are welcome too. How like the empress and her sons you are! Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor. Could not all hell afford you such a devil? For well I wot the empress never wags But in her company there is a Moor; And, would you represent our queen aright, It were convenient you had such a devil. But welcome as you are. What shall we do?
TAMORA. What wouldst thou have us do, Andronicus?
DEMETRIUS. Show me a murderer, I’ll deal with him.
CHIRON. Show me a villain that hath done a rape, And I am sent to be revenged on him.
TAMORA. Show me a thousand that hath done thee wrong, And I will be revenged on them all.
TITUS. Look round about the wicked streets of Rome, And when thou find’st a man that’s like thyself, Good Murder, stab him; he’s a murderer. Go thou with him; and when it is thy hap To find another that is like to thee, Good Rapine, stab him; he is a ravisher. Go thou with them; and in the emperor’s court There is a queen, attended by a Moor; Well shalt thou know her by thine own proportion, For up and down she doth resemble thee. I pray thee, do on them some violent death; They have been violent to me and mine.
TAMORA. Well hast thou lessoned us; this shall we do. But would it please thee, good Andronicus, To send for Lucius, thy thrice-valiant son, Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths, And bid him come and banquet at thy house? When he is here, even at thy solemn feast, I will bring in the empress and her sons, The emperor himself, and all thy foes, And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel, And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart. What says Andronicus to this device?
TITUS. Marcus, my brother, ’tis sad Titus calls.
Enter Marcus.
Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius; Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths. Bid him repair to me and bring with him Some of the chiefest princes of the Goths; Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are. Tell him the emperor and the empress too Feast at my house, and he shall feast with them. This do thou for my love; and so let him, As he regards his aged father’s life.
MARCUS. This will I do, and soon return again.
[Exit.]
TAMORA. Now will I hence about thy business, And take my ministers along with me.
TITUS. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with me, Or else I’ll call my brother back again And cleave to no revenge but Lucius.
TAMORA. [Aside to them.] What say you, boys? Will you abide with him, Whiles I go tell my lord the emperor How I have governed our determined jest? Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair, And tarry with him till I come again.
TITUS. [Aside.] I knew them all, though they suppose me mad, And will o’erreach them in their own devices, A pair of cursed hell-hounds and their dam.
DEMETRIUS. Madam, depart at pleasure; leave us here.
TAMORA. Farewell, Andronicus. Revenge now goes To lay a complot to betray thy foes.
TITUS. I know thou dost; and, sweet Revenge, farewell.
[Exit Tamora.]
CHIRON. Tell us, old man, how shall we be employed?
TITUS. Tut, I have work enough for you to do. Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine.
Enter Publius and others.
PUBLIUS. What is your will?
TITUS. Know you these two?
PUBLIUS. The empress’ sons, I take them, Chiron, Demetrius.
TITUS. Fie, Publius, fie, thou art too much deceived. The one is Murder, and Rape is the other’s name; And therefore bind them, gentle Publius. Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them. Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour, And now I find it. Therefore bind them sure, And stop their mouths if they begin to cry.
[Exit Titus.]
CHIRON. Villains, forbear! We are the empress’ sons.
PUBLIUS. And therefore do we what we are commanded. Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a word. Is he sure bound? Look that you bind them fast.
Enter Titus Andronicus with a knife, and Lavinia with a basin.
TITUS. Come, come, Lavinia; look, thy foes are bound. Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me, But let them hear what fearful words I utter. O villains, Chiron and Demetrius! Here stands the spring whom you have stained with mud, This goodly summer with your winter mixed. You killed her husband, and for that vile fault Two of her brothers were condemned to death, My hand cut off and made a merry jest, Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more dear Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity, Inhuman traitors, you constrained and forced. What would you say if I should let you speak? Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace. Hark, wretches, how I mean to martyr you. This one hand yet is left to cut your throats, Whiles that Lavinia ’tween her stumps doth hold The basin that receives your guilty blood. You know your mother means to feast with me, And calls herself Revenge, and thinks me mad. 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. This is the feast that I have bid her to, And this the banquet she shall surfeit on; For worse than Philomel you used my daughter, And worse than Procne I will be revenged. And now prepare your throats.—Lavinia, come Receive the blood.
[He cuts their throats.]
And when that they are dead, Let me go grind their bones to powder small, And with this hateful liquor temper it, And in that paste let their vile heads be baked. Come, come, be everyone officious To make this banquet, which I wish may prove More stern and bloody than the Centaurs’ feast. So, now bring them in, for I’ll play the cook, And see them ready against their mother comes.
[Exeunt, carrying the dead bodies.]
Act V, Scene III — Rome. A Pavilion in Titus’s Gardens, with tables, &c
Enter Lucius, Marcus and the Goths, with Aaron, prisoner.
LUCIUS. Uncle Marcus, since ’tis my father’s mind That I repair to Rome, I am content.
FIRST GOTH. And ours with thine, befall what fortune will.
LUCIUS. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous Moor, This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil; Let him receive no sust’nance, fetter him, Till he be brought unto the empress’ face For testimony of her foul proceedings. And see the ambush of our friends be strong; I fear the emperor means no good to us.
AARON. Some devil whisper curses in my ear, And prompt me that my tongue may utter forth The venomous malice of my swelling heart!
LUCIUS. Away, inhuman dog, unhallowed slave! Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in.
[Sound trumpets.]
The trumpets show the emperor is at hand.
[Exeunt Goths with Aaron.]
Enter Emperor Saturninus and Empress Tamora with Aemilius, Tribunes and others.
SATURNINUS. What, hath the firmament more suns than one?
LUCIUS. What boots it thee to call thyself a sun?
MARCUS. Rome’s emperor, and nephew, break the parle; These quarrels must be quietly debated. The feast is ready which the careful Titus Hath ordained to an honourable end, For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome. Please you, therefore, draw nigh and take your places.
SATURNINUS. Marcus, we will.
Trumpets sounding, enter Titus like a cook, placing the dishes, with Young Lucius and others, and Lavinia with a veil over her face.
TITUS. 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.
SATURNINUS. Why art thou thus attired, Andronicus?
TITUS. Because I would be sure to have all well To entertain your highness and your empress.
TAMORA. We are beholden to you, good Andronicus.
TITUS. An if your highness knew my heart, you were. My lord the emperor, resolve me this: Was it well done of rash Virginius To slay his daughter with his own right hand, Because she was enforced, stained, and deflowered?
SATURNINUS. It was, Andronicus.
TITUS. Your reason, mighty lord?
SATURNINUS. Because the girl should not survive her shame, And by her presence still renew his sorrows.
TITUS. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual; A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant For me, most wretched, to perform the like. Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee; And with thy shame thy father’s sorrow die!
[He kills Lavinia.]
SATURNINUS. What hast thou done, unnatural and unkind?
TITUS. Killed her for whom my tears have made me blind. I am as woeful as Virginius was, And have a thousand times more cause than he To do this outrage, and it now is done.
SATURNINUS. What, was she ravished? Tell who did the deed.
TITUS. Will’t please you eat? Will’t please your highness feed?
TAMORA. Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus?
TITUS. Not I; ’twas Chiron and Demetrius. They ravished her, and cut away her tongue; And they, ’twas they, that did her all this wrong.
SATURNINUS. Go fetch them hither to us presently.
TITUS. Why, there they are, both baked in that pie, Whereof their mother daintily hath fed, Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred. ’Tis true, ’tis true; witness my knife’s sharp point.
[He stabs the Empress.]
SATURNINUS. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed.
[He kills Titus.]
LUCIUS. Can the son’s eye behold his father bleed?
[He kills Saturninus.]
There’s meed for meed, death for a deadly deed.
[A great tumult. Lucius, Marcus, and others go aloft to the upper stage.]
MARCUS. You sad-faced men, people and sons of Rome, By uproar severed, as a flight of fowl Scattered 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; Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself, And she whom mighty kingdoms curtsy to, Like a forlorn and desperate castaway, Do shameful execution on herself. But if my frosty signs and chaps of age, Grave witnesses of true experience, Cannot induce you to attend my words, Speak, Rome’s dear friend, [to Lucius] as erst our ancestor, When with his solemn tongue he did discourse To love-sick Dido’s sad attending ear The story of that baleful burning night When subtle Greeks surprised King Priam’s Troy. Tell us what Sinon hath bewitched our ears, Or who hath brought the fatal engine in That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound. My heart is not compact of flint nor steel, Nor can I utter all our bitter grief, But floods of tears will drown my oratory And break my utterance, even in the time When it should move you to attend me most, And force you to commiseration. Here’s Rome’s young captain, let him tell the tale, While I stand by and weep to hear him speak.
LUCIUS. Then, noble auditory, be it known to you That Chiron and the damned Demetrius Were they that murdered our emperor’s brother; And they it were that ravished our sister. For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded, Our father’s tears despised, and basely cozened Of that true hand that fought Rome’s quarrel out And sent her enemies unto the grave. Lastly, myself unkindly banished, The gates shut on me, and turned weeping out, To beg relief among Rome’s enemies; Who drowned their enmity in my true tears, And oped their arms to embrace me as a friend. I am the turned-forth, be it known to you, That have preserved her welfare in my blood And from her bosom took the enemy’s point, Sheathing the steel in my advent’rous body. Alas, you know I am no vaunter, I; My scars can witness, dumb although they are, That my report is just and full of truth. But soft, methinks I do digress too much, Citing my worthless praise. O, pardon me; For when no friends are by, men praise themselves.
MARCUS. Now is my turn to speak. Behold the child. Of this was Tamora delivered, The issue of an irreligious Moor, Chief architect and plotter of these woes. The villain is alive in Titus’ house, And as he is to witness, this is true. Now judge what cause had Titus to revenge These wrongs unspeakable, past patience, Or more than any living man could bear. Now have you heard the truth. What say you, Romans? 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. Speak, Romans, speak, and if you say we shall, Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall.
AEMILIUS. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome, And bring our emperor gently in thy hand, Lucius our emperor; for well I know The common voice do cry it shall be so.
ROMANS. Lucius, all hail, Rome’s royal emperor!
MARCUS. Go, go into old Titus’ sorrowful house, And hither hale that misbelieving Moor To be adjudged some direful slaught’ring death, As punishment for his most wicked life.
[Exeunt Attendants. Lucius and Marcus come down from the upper stage.]
ROMANS. Lucius, all hail, Rome’s gracious governor!
LUCIUS. Thanks, gentle Romans. May I govern so To heal Rome’s harms and wipe away her woe! But, gentle people, give me aim awhile, For nature puts me to a heavy task. Stand all aloof; but, uncle, draw you near To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk.
[He kisses Titus.]
O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips. These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stained face, The last true duties of thy noble son.
MARCUS. Tear for tear and loving kiss for kiss Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips. O, were the sum of these that I should pay Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them.
LUCIUS. Come hither, boy; come, come, and learn of us To melt in showers. Thy grandsire loved thee well. Many a time he danced 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.
MARCUS. How many thousand times hath these poor lips, When they were living, warmed themselves on thine! O, now, sweet boy, give them their latest kiss. Bid him farewell; commit him to the grave. Do them that kindness, and take leave of them.
YOUNG LUCIUS. O grandsire, grandsire, e’en with all my heart Would I were dead, so you did live again! O Lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping; My tears will choke me if I ope my mouth.
Re-enter Attendants with Aaron.
AEMILIUS. You sad Andronici, have done with woes. Give sentence on the execrable wretch That hath been breeder of these dire events.
LUCIUS. Set him breast-deep in earth and famish him; There let him stand and rave and cry for food. If anyone relieves or pities him, For the offence he dies. This is our doom. Some stay to see him fastened in the earth.
AARON. Ah, why should wrath be mute and fury dumb? I am no baby, I, that with base prayers I should repent the evils I have done. Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did Would I perform, if I might have my will. If one good deed in all my life I did, I do repent it from my very soul.
LUCIUS. Some loving friends convey the emperor hence, And give him burial in his father’s grave. My father and Lavinia shall forthwith Be closed in our household’s monument. As for that ravenous tiger, Tamora, No funeral rite, nor man in mournful weed, No mournful bell shall ring her burial; But throw her forth to beasts and birds of prey. Her life was beastly and devoid of pity; And being dead, let birds on her take pity.
[Exeunt.]
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA
Dramatis Personæ
PRIAM, King of Troy
His sons: HECTOR TROILUS PARIS DEIPHOBUS HELENUS MARGARELON, a bastard son of Priam
Trojan commanders: AENEAS ANTENOR
CALCHAS, a Trojan priest, taking part with the Greeks PANDARUS, uncle to Cressida AGAMEMNON, the Greek general MENELAUS, his brother
Greek commanders: ACHILLES AJAX ULYSSES NESTOR DIOMEDES PATROCLUS
THERSITES, a deformed and scurrilous Greek ALEXANDER, servant to Cressida SERVANT to Troilus SERVANT to Paris SERVANT to Diomedes HELEN, wife to Menelaus ANDROMACHE, wife to Hector CASSANDRA, daughter to Priam, a prophetess CRESSIDA, daughter to Calchas
Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants
SCENE: Troy and the Greek camp before it
Prologue
In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece The princes orgulous, their high blood chaf’d, Have to the port of Athens sent their ships Fraught with the ministers and instruments Of cruel war. Sixty and nine that wore Their crownets regal from the Athenian bay Put forth toward Phrygia; and their vow is made To ransack Troy, within whose strong immures The ravish’d Helen, Menelaus’ queen, With wanton Paris sleeps—and that’s the quarrel. To Tenedos they come, And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge Their war-like fraughtage. Now on Dardan plains The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch Their brave pavilions: Priam’s six-gated city, Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Troien, And Antenorides, with massy staples And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts, Stir up the sons of Troy. Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits On one and other side, Trojan and Greek, Sets all on hazard. And hither am I come A prologue arm’d, but not in confidence Of author’s pen or actor’s voice, but suited In like conditions as our argument, To tell you, fair beholders, that our play Leaps o’er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils, Beginning in the middle; starting thence away, To what may be digested in a play. Like or find fault; do as your pleasures are; Now good or bad, ’tis but the chance of war.
Act I, Scene I — Troy. Before Priam’s palace
Enter Troilus armed, and Pandarus.
TROILUS. Call here my varlet; I’ll unarm again. Why should I war without the walls of Troy That find such cruel battle here within? Each Trojan that is master of his heart, Let him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none.
PANDARUS. Will this gear ne’er be mended?
TROILUS. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength, Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant; But I am weaker than a woman’s tear, Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance, Less valiant than the virgin in the night, And skilless as unpractis’d infancy.
PANDARUS. Well, I have told you enough of this; for my part, I’ll not meddle nor make no farther. He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry the grinding.
TROILUS. Have I not tarried?
PANDARUS. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting.
TROILUS. Have I not tarried?
PANDARUS. Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening.
TROILUS. Still have I tarried.
PANDARUS. Ay, to the leavening; but here’s yet in the word ‘hereafter’ the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance burn your lips.
TROILUS. Patience herself, what goddess e’er she be, Doth lesser blench at suff’rance than I do. At Priam’s royal table do I sit; And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts, So, traitor! ‘when she comes’! when she is thence?
PANDARUS. Well, she look’d yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any woman else.
TROILUS. I was about to tell thee: when my heart, As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain, Lest Hector or my father should perceive me, I have, as when the sun doth light a storm, Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile. But sorrow that is couch’d in seeming gladness Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.
PANDARUS. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen’s, well, go to, there were no more comparison between the women. But, for my part, she is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her, but I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise your sister Cassandra’s wit; but—
TROILUS. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus, When I do tell thee there my hopes lie drown’d, Reply not in how many fathoms deep They lie indrench’d. I tell thee I am mad In Cressid’s love. Thou answer’st ‘She is fair’; Pour’st in the open ulcer of my heart Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice, Handlest in thy discourse. O! that her hand, In whose comparison all whites are ink Writing their own reproach; to whose soft seizure The cygnet’s down is harsh, and spirit of sense Hard as the palm of ploughman! This thou tell’st me, As true thou tell’st me, when I say I love her; But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm, Thou lay’st in every gash that love hath given me The knife that made it.
PANDARUS. I speak no more than truth.
TROILUS. Thou dost not speak so much.
PANDARUS. Faith, I’ll not meddle in’t. Let her be as she is: if she be fair, ’tis the better for her; and she be not, she has the mends in her own hands.
TROILUS. Good Pandarus! How now, Pandarus!
PANDARUS. I have had my labour for my travail, ill thought on of her and ill thought on of you; gone between and between, but small thanks for my labour.
TROILUS. What! art thou angry, Pandarus? What! with me?
PANDARUS. Because she’s kin to me, therefore she’s not so fair as Helen. And she were not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not and she were a blackamoor; ’tis all one to me.
TROILUS. Say I she is not fair?
PANDARUS. I do not care whether you do or no. She’s a fool to stay behind her father. Let her to the Greeks; and so I’ll tell her the next time I see her. For my part, I’ll meddle nor make no more i’ the matter.
TROILUS. Pandarus—
PANDARUS. Not I.
TROILUS. Sweet Pandarus—
PANDARUS. Pray you, speak no more to me: I will leave all as I found it, and there an end.
[Exit Pandarus. An alarum.]
TROILUS. Peace, you ungracious clamours! Peace, rude sounds! Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair, When with your blood you daily paint her thus. I cannot fight upon this argument; It is too starv’d a subject for my sword. But Pandarus, O gods! how do you plague me! I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar; And he’s as tetchy to be woo’d to woo As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit. Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne’s love, What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we? Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl; Between our Ilium and where she resides Let it be call’d the wild and wandering flood; Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.
Alarum. Enter Aeneas.
AENEAS. How now, Prince Troilus! Wherefore not afield?
TROILUS. Because not there. This woman’s answer sorts, For womanish it is to be from thence. What news, Aeneas, from the field today?
AENEAS. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.
TROILUS. By whom, Aeneas?
AENEAS. Troilus, by Menelaus.
TROILUS. Let Paris bleed: ’tis but a scar to scorn; Paris is gor’d with Menelaus’ horn.
[Alarum.]
AENEAS. Hark what good sport is out of town today!
TROILUS. Better at home, if ‘would I might’ were ‘may.’ But to the sport abroad. Are you bound thither?
AENEAS. In all swift haste.
TROILUS. Come, go we then together.
[Exeunt.]
Act I, Scene II — Troy. A street
Enter Cressida and her man Alexander.
CRESSIDA. Who were those went by?
ALEXANDER. Queen Hecuba and Helen.
CRESSIDA. And whither go they?
ALEXANDER. Up to the eastern tower, Whose height commands as subject all the vale, To see the battle. Hector, whose patience Is as a virtue fix’d, today was mov’d. He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer; And, like as there were husbandry in war, Before the sun rose he was harness’d light, And to the field goes he; where every flower Did as a prophet weep what it foresaw In Hector’s wrath.
CRESSIDA. What was his cause of anger?
ALEXANDER. The noise goes, this: there is among the Greeks A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector; They call him Ajax.
CRESSIDA. Good; and what of him?
ALEXANDER. They say he is a very man per se And stands alone.
CRESSIDA. So do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs.
ALEXANDER. This man, lady, hath robb’d many beasts of their particular additions: he is as valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant—a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his valour is crush’d into folly, his folly sauced with discretion. There is no man hath a virtue that he hath not a glimpse of, nor any man an attaint but he carries some stain of it; he is melancholy without cause and merry against the hair; he hath the joints of everything; but everything so out of joint that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use, or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight.
CRESSIDA. But how should this man, that makes me smile, make Hector angry?
ALEXANDER. They say he yesterday cop’d Hector in the battle and struck him down, the disdain and shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and waking.
Enter Pandarus.
CRESSIDA. Who comes here?
ALEXANDER. Madam, your uncle Pandarus.
CRESSIDA. Hector’s a gallant man.
ALEXANDER. As may be in the world, lady.
PANDARUS. What’s that? What’s that?
CRESSIDA. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.
PANDARUS. Good morrow, cousin Cressid. What do you talk of?—Good morrow, Alexander.—How do you, cousin? When were you at Ilium?
CRESSIDA. This morning, uncle.
PANDARUS. What were you talking of when I came? Was Hector arm’d and gone ere you came to Ilium? Helen was not up, was she?
CRESSIDA. Hector was gone; but Helen was not up.
PANDARUS. E’en so. Hector was stirring early.
CRESSIDA. That were we talking of, and of his anger.
PANDARUS. Was he angry?
CRESSIDA. So he says here.
PANDARUS. True, he was so; I know the cause too; he’ll lay about him today, I can tell them that. And there’s Troilus will not come far behind him; let them take heed of Troilus, I can tell them that too.
CRESSIDA. What, is he angry too?
PANDARUS. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two.
CRESSIDA. O Jupiter! there’s no comparison.
PANDARUS. What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a man if you see him?
CRESSIDA. Ay, if I ever saw him before and knew him.
PANDARUS. Well, I say Troilus is Troilus.
CRESSIDA. Then you say as I say, for I am sure he is not Hector.
PANDARUS. No, nor Hector is not Troilus in some degrees.
CRESSIDA. ’Tis just to each of them: he is himself.
PANDARUS. Himself! Alas, poor Troilus! I would he were!
CRESSIDA. So he is.
PANDARUS. Condition I had gone barefoot to India.
CRESSIDA. He is not Hector.
PANDARUS. Himself! no, he’s not himself. Would a’ were himself! Well, the gods are above; time must friend or end. Well, Troilus, well! I would my heart were in her body! No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus.
CRESSIDA. Excuse me.
PANDARUS. He is elder.
CRESSIDA. Pardon me, pardon me.
PANDARUS. Th’other’s not come to’t; you shall tell me another tale when th’other’s come to’t. Hector shall not have his wit this year.
CRESSIDA. He shall not need it if he have his own.
ANDARUS. Nor his qualities.
CRESSIDA. No matter.
PANDARUS. Nor his beauty.
CRESSIDA. ’Twould not become him: his own’s better.
PANDARUS. You have no judgement, niece. Helen herself swore th’other day that Troilus, for a brown favour, for so ’tis, I must confess—not brown neither—
CRESSIDA. No, but brown.
PANDARUS. Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown.
CRESSIDA. To say the truth, true and not true.
PANDARUS. She prais’d his complexion above Paris.
CRESSIDA. Why, Paris hath colour enough.
PANDARUS. So he has.
CRESSIDA. Then Troilus should have too much. If she prais’d him above, his complexion is higher than his; he having colour enough, and the other higher, is too flaming a praise for a good complexion. I had as lief Helen’s golden tongue had commended Troilus for a copper nose.
PANDARUS. I swear to you I think Helen loves him better than Paris.
CRESSIDA. Then she’s a merry Greek indeed.
PANDARUS. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him th’other day into the compass’d window—and you know he has not past three or four hairs on his chin—
CRESSIDA. Indeed a tapster’s arithmetic may soon bring his particulars therein to a total.
PANDARUS. Why, he is very young, and yet will he within three pound lift as much as his brother Hector.
CRESSIDA. Is he so young a man and so old a lifter?
PANDARUS. But to prove to you that Helen loves him: she came and puts me her white hand to his cloven chin—
CRESSIDA. Juno have mercy! How came it cloven?
PANDARUS. Why, you know, ’tis dimpled. I think his smiling becomes him better than any man in all Phrygia.
CRESSIDA. O, he smiles valiantly!
PANDARUS. Does he not?
CRESSIDA. O yes, an ’twere a cloud in autumn!
PANDARUS. Why, go to, then! But to prove to you that Helen loves Troilus—
CRESSIDA. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you’ll prove it so.
PANDARUS. Troilus! Why, he esteems her no more than I esteem an addle egg.
CRESSIDA. If you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle head, you would eat chickens i’ th’ shell.
PANDARUS. I cannot choose but laugh to think how she tickled his chin. Indeed, she has a marvell’s white hand, I must needs confess.
CRESSIDA. Without the rack.
PANDARUS. And she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin.
CRESSIDA. Alas, poor chin! Many a wart is richer.
PANDARUS. But there was such laughing! Queen Hecuba laugh’d that her eyes ran o’er.
CRESSIDA. With millstones.
PANDARUS. And Cassandra laugh’d.
CRESSIDA. But there was a more temperate fire under the pot of her eyes. Did her eyes run o’er too?
PANDARUS. And Hector laugh’d.
CRESSIDA. At what was all this laughing?
PANDARUS. Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus’ chin.
CRESSIDA. And’t had been a green hair I should have laugh’d too.
PANDARUS. They laugh’d not so much at the hair as at his pretty answer.
CRESSIDA. What was his answer?
PANDARUS. Quoth she ‘Here’s but two and fifty hairs on your chin, and one of them is white.’
CRESSIDA. This is her question.
PANDARUS. That’s true; make no question of that. ‘Two and fifty hairs,’ quoth he ‘and one white. That white hair is my father, and all the rest are his sons.’ ‘Jupiter!’ quoth she ‘which of these hairs is Paris my husband?’ ‘The forked one,’ quoth he, ’pluck’t out and give it him.’ But there was such laughing! and Helen so blush’d, and Paris so chaf’d; and all the rest so laugh’d that it pass’d.
CRESSIDA. So let it now; for it has been a great while going by.
PANDARUS. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; think on’t.
CRESSIDA. So I do.
PANDARUS. I’ll be sworn ’tis true; he will weep you, and ’twere a man born in April.
CRESSIDA. And I’ll spring up in his tears, an ’twere a nettle against May.
[Sound a retreat.]
PANDARUS. Hark! they are coming from the field. Shall we stand up here and see them as they pass toward Ilium? Good niece, do, sweet niece Cressida.
CRESSIDA. At your pleasure.
PANDARUS. Here, here, here’s an excellent place; here we may see most bravely. I’ll tell you them all by their names as they pass by; but mark Troilus above the rest.
[Aeneas passes.]
CRESSIDA. Speak not so loud.
PANDARUS. That’s Aeneas. Is not that a brave man? He’s one of the flowers of Troy, I can tell you. But mark Troilus; you shall see anon.
[Antenor passes.]
CRESSIDA. Who’s that?
PANDARUS. That’s Antenor. He has a shrewd wit, I can tell you; and he’s a man good enough; he’s one o’ th’ soundest judgements in Troy, whosoever, and a proper man of person. When comes Troilus? I’ll show you Troilus anon. If he see me, you shall see him nod at me.
CRESSIDA. Will he give you the nod?
PANDARUS. You shall see.
CRESSIDA. If he do, the rich shall have more.
[Hector passes.]
PANDARUS. That’s Hector, that, that, look you, that; there’s a fellow! Go thy way, Hector! There’s a brave man, niece. O brave Hector! Look how he looks. There’s a countenance! Is’t not a brave man?
CRESSIDA. O, a brave man!
PANDARUS. Is a’ not? It does a man’s heart good. Look you what hacks are on his helmet! Look you yonder, do you see? Look you there. There’s no jesting; there’s laying on; take’t off who will, as they say. There be hacks.
CRESSIDA. Be those with swords?
PANDARUS. Swords! anything, he cares not; and the devil come to him, it’s all one. By God’s lid, it does one’s heart good. Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris.
[Paris passes.]
Look ye yonder, niece; is’t not a gallant man too, is’t not? Why, this is brave now. Who said he came hurt home today? He’s not hurt. Why, this will do Helen’s heart good now, ha! Would I could see Troilus now! You shall see Troilus anon.
[Helenus passes.]
CRESSIDA. Who’s that?
PANDARUS. That’s Helenus. I marvel where Troilus is. That’s Helenus. I think he went not forth today. That’s Helenus.
CRESSIDA. Can Helenus fight, uncle?
PANDARUS. Helenus! no. Yes, he’ll fight indifferent well. I marvel where Troilus is. Hark! do you not hear the people cry ‘Troilus’?—Helenus is a priest.
CRESSIDA. What sneaking fellow comes yonder?
[Troilus passes.]
PANDARUS. Where? yonder? That’s Deiphobus. ’Tis Troilus. There’s a man, niece. Hem! Brave Troilus, the prince of chivalry!
CRESSIDA. Peace, for shame, peace!
PANDARUS. Mark him; note him. O brave Troilus! Look well upon him, niece; look you how his sword is bloodied, and his helm more hack’d than Hector’s; and how he looks, and how he goes! O admirable youth! he never saw three and twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way. Had I a sister were a grace or a daughter a goddess, he should take his choice. O admirable man! Paris? Paris is dirt to him; and, I warrant, Helen, to change, would give an eye to boot.
CRESSIDA. Here comes more.
[Common soldiers pass.]
PANDARUS. Asses, fools, dolts! chaff and bran, chaff and bran! porridge after meat! I could live and die in the eyes of Troilus. Ne’er look, ne’er look; the eagles are gone. Crows and daws, crows and daws! I had rather be such a man as Troilus than Agamemnon and all Greece.
CRESSIDA. There is amongst the Greeks Achilles, a better man than Troilus.
PANDARUS. Achilles? A drayman, a porter, a very camel!
CRESSIDA. Well, well.
PANDARUS. Well, well! Why, have you any discretion? Have you any eyes? Do you know what a man is? Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse, manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, and such like, the spice and salt that season a man?
CRESSIDA. Ay, a minc’d man; and then to be bak’d with no date in the pie, for then the man’s date is out.
PANDARUS. You are such a woman! A man knows not at what ward you lie.
CRESSIDA. Upon my back, to defend my belly; upon my wit, to defend my wiles; upon my secrecy, to defend mine honesty; my mask, to defend my beauty; and you, to defend all these; and at all these wards I lie, at a thousand watches.
PANDARUS. Say one of your watches.
CRESSIDA. Nay, I’ll watch you for that; and that’s one of the chiefest of them too. If I cannot ward what I would not have hit, I can watch you for telling how I took the blow; unless it swell past hiding, and then it’s past watching.
PANDARUS. You are such another!
Enter Troilus' Boy.
BOY. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you.
PANDARUS. Where?
BOY. At your own house; there he unarms him.
PANDARUS. Good boy, tell him I come. [Exit Boy.] I doubt he be hurt. Fare ye well, good niece.
CRESSIDA. Adieu, uncle.
PANDARUS. I will be with you, niece, by and by.
CRESSIDA. To bring, uncle.
PANDARUS. Ay, a token from Troilus.
[Exit Pandarus.]
CRESSIDA. By the same token, you are a bawd. Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love’s full sacrifice, He offers in another’s enterprise; But more in Troilus thousand-fold I see Than in the glass of Pandar’s praise may be, Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing: Things won are done; joy’s soul lies in the doing. That she belov’d knows naught that knows not this: Men prize the thing ungain’d more than it is. That she was never yet that ever knew Love got so sweet as when desire did sue; Therefore this maxim out of love I teach: ‘Achievement is command; ungain’d, beseech.’ Then though my heart’s content firm love doth bear, Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear.
[Exit.]