[Throwing himself on the ground.]

For these, 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 Senators, Tribunes, &c., with the prisoners.]

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 sword 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.

[Rises.]

But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn? 

LUCIUS.
To rescue my two brothers from their death:
For which attempt the judges have pronounc'd
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 and 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, my Lavinia, what accursed hand
Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight?
What fool hath added water to the sea,
Or brought a fagot 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 nurs'd this woe in feeding life;
In bootless prayer have they been held up,
And they have serv'd 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, are but vain.

LUCIUS.
Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee?

MARCUS.
O, that delightful engine of her thoughts,
That blabb'd 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 receiv'd some unrecuring wound.

TITUS.
It was my deer; and he that wounded her
Hath hurt me more than had he kill'd me dead:
For now I stand as one upon a rock,
Environ'd with a wilderness of sea;
Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave,
Expecting ever when some envious surge
Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.
This way to death my wretched sons are gone;
Here stands my other son, a banish'd 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 martyr'd thee:
Thy husband he is dead; and for his death
Thy brothers are condemn'd, 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 gather'd lily almost wither'd.

MARCUS.
Perchance she weeps because they kill'd 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 stain'd, 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 wonder'd 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 drown'd 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.]

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 rear'd 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 wither'd 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 call'd deceit, I will be honest,
And never whilst I live deceive men so:--
But I'll deceive you in another sort,
And that you'll say ere half an hour pass.

[He cuts off TITUS'S hand.]

[Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS.]

TITUS.
Now stay your strife: what shall be is despatch'd.--
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 purchas'd 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, wilt 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 possibilities,
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 do 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, overflow'd and drown'd;
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 mock'd:
That woe is me to think upon thy woes,
More than remembrance of my father's death.

[Exit.]

MARCUS.
Now let hot Aetna 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 him.]

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 banish'd son with this dear sight
Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I,
Even like a stony image, cold and numb.
Ah! now no more will I control thy griefs:
Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand
Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight
The closing up of our most wretched eyes:
Now is a time to storm; why art thou still?

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 return'd 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 employ'd in these things;
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 liv'd in Rome:
Farewell, proud Rome; till Lucius come again,
He leaves 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 reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine.  

[Exit.]



SCENE II. Rome. A Room in TITUS'S House. A banquet set out.

[Enter TITUS, MARCUS, LAVINIA, and YOUNG LUCIUS, a boy.]

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;
And, when my heart, all mad with misery,
Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,
Then thus I thump it down.--
[To LAVINIA]  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 Aeneas 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 martyr'd signs;--
She says she drinks no other drink but tears,
Brew'd with her sorrow, mesh'd 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.

BOY.
Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments:
Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale.

MARCUS.
Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd,
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 kill'd, my lord,--a fly.

TITUS.
Out on thee, murderer! thou kill'st my heart;
Mine eyes are cloy'd 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 kill'd 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 kill'd him.

MARCUS.
Pardon me, sir; 'twas a black ill-favour'd fly,
Like to the empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd 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 TITUS and MARCUS. Then enter YOUNG LUCIUS running, with
books under his arm, and LAVINIA running after him.]

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 skill'd:
Come and take choice of all my library, 
And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens
Reveal the damn'd 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 cull'd 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 surpris'd, sweet girl,
Ravish'd, and wrong'd, as Philomela was,
Forc'd 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!--
Pattern'd 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, when I have writ my name
Without the help of any hand at all.

[He writes his name with his staff, guiding it with feet and
mouth.]

Curs'd be that heart that forc'd us to this shift!--
Write thou, good niece; and here display at last
What God will have discover'd 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, guides it with her stumps, and
writes.]

TITUS.
O, do ye read, my lord, what she hath writ?

'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 dishonour'd 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 bad-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 batter'd shield;
But yet so just that he will not revenge:--
Revenge, ye heavens, for old Andronicus!         

[Exit.]



SCENE II. Rome. A Room in the Palace.

[Enter AARON, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, at one door; at another
door, YOUNG LUCIUS and an Attendant, 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 decipher'd, that's the news,
For villains mark'd with rape.--May it please you,
My grandsire, well advis'd, 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 jaculis, 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 wrapp'd 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.
[Flourish within.]

DEMETRIUS.
Why do the emperor's trumpets flourish thus?

CHIRON.
Belike, for joy the emperor hath a son.

DEMETRIUS.
Soft! who comes here?

[Enter a 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 deliver'd, lords,--she is deliver'd.

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 fairest 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.
Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choice!
Accurs'd 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 despatch it.

AARON.
Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up. 

[Takes the CHILD from the NURSE, and draws.]

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-lim'd 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 sham'd.

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 fram'd 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 imprison'd 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 deliver'd 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:--

[Stabs her, and she dies.]

Weke, weke!--so cries a pig prepar'd 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-tongu'd 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 advanc'd,
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.

[Pointing to 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, bearing off the dead NURSE.]

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-lipp'd 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.]



SCENE III. Rome. A public Place.

[Enter TITUS, bearing arrows with letters at the ends of them;
with him MARCUS, YOUNG LUCIUS, and other gentlemen, with bows.]

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 Astrea reliquit:
Be you remember'd, 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 unsearch'd:
This wicked emperor may have shipp'd 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.
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 employ'd,
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-bon'd men, fram'd 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, tTo 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, 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 gall'd, 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 laugh'd, 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 a 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 Jupiter; 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 imperial'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.

TITUS.
Come, Marcus, let us go.--Publius, follow me.

[Exeunt.]



SCENE IV. Rome. Before the Palace.

[Enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON; Lords, and others;
SATURNINUS with the arrows in his hand that TITUS shot.]

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, us'd 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 pass'd
But even with law, against the wilful sons
Of old Andronicus. And what an if
His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits,
Shall we be thus afflicted in his freaks,
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,
The effects of sorrow for his valiant sons,
Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep, and scarr'd his heart;
And rather comfort his distressed plight
Than prosecute the meanest or the best
For these contempts.--[Aside]  Why, thus it shall become
High-witted Tamora to gloze with all:
But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick,
Thy life-blood on't; 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 mistership be imperial.

TAMORA.
Empress I am, but yonder sits the emperor.

CLOWN.
'Tis he.--God and Saint Stephen give you good-den; 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 hang'd.

CLOWN.
Hang'd! 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 slaughter-man;
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 gather'd 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 wish'd 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 dimm'd, that gnats do fly in it?
The eagle suffers little birds to sing,
And is not careful what they mean thereby,
Knowing that with the shadow of his wing
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 ear
With golden promises that, were his heart
Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf,
Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue.--
Go thou before [to AEMILIUS]; 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 GOTHS, with drum and colours.]

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 aveng'd 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 AARON with his CHILD in his arms.]

SECOND GOTH.
Renowned Lucius, from our troops I stray'd
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 controll'd with this discourse:--
'Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dam!
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 rush'd upon him,
Surpris'd 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 robb'd Andronicus of his good hand;
This is the pearl that pleas'd your empress' eye;
And here's the base fruit of his burning lust.--
Say, wall-ey'd slave, whither wouldst thou convey
This growing image of thy fiend-like face?
Why dost not speak? what, deaf? No; 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 brought, which AARON is obliged 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: an if it please me which thou speak'st,
Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourish'd.

AARON.
An 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 perform'd:
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 ador'st 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 murder'd Bassianus; 
They cut thy sister's tongue, and ravish'd her,
And cut her hands, and trimm'd her as thou saw'st.

LUCIUS.
O detestable villain! call'st thou that trimming?

AARON.
Why, she was wash'd, and cut, and trimm'd; 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 learn'd of me,
As true a dog as ever fought at head.
Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth.
I train'd 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 mention'd,
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 play'd the cheater for thy father's hand; 
And, when I had it, drew myself apart,
And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter:
I pry'd me through the crevice of a wall
When, for his hand, he had his two sons' heads;
Beheld his tears, and laugh'd so heartily
That both mine eyes were rainy like to his:
And when I told the empress of this sport,
She swooned 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 stray and break their necks;
Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night,
And bid the owners quench them with their tears.
Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves,
And set them upright at their dear friends' doors,
Even when their sorrows almost were 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.'
Tut, 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!