The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 522

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.

t.i.tUS. 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

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ACT IV. SCENE I.

Rome. t.i.tUS' garden

Enter YOUNG LUCIUS and LAVINIA running after him, and the boy flies from her with his books under his arm.

Enter t.i.tUS and MARCUS

BOY. 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.

t.i.tUS. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm.

BOY. Ay, when my father was in Rome she did.

MARCUS. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs?

t.i.tUS. 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?

BOY. 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 n.o.ble 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 ladys.h.i.+p.

MARCUS. Lucius, I will. [LAVINIA turns over with her stumps the books which Lucius has let fall]

t.i.tUS. 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 d.a.m.n'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.

t.i.tUS. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so?

BOY. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses; My mother gave it me.

MARCUS. For love of her that's gone, Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest.

t.i.tUS. 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.

t.i.tUS. 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 G.o.ds delight in tragedies?

t.i.tUS. 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!

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

This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst, This after me. I have writ my name Without the help of any hand at all.

Curs'd be that heart that forc'd us to this s.h.i.+ft!

Write thou, good niece, and here display at last What G.o.d 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 stumps, and writes]

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

t.i.tUS. 'Stuprum- Chiron- Demetrius.'

MARCUS. What, what! the l.u.s.tful sons of Tamora Performers of this heinous b.l.o.o.d.y deed?

t.i.tUS. 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.

t.i.tUS. 'Tis sure enough, an you knew how; But if you hunt these bear-whelps, then beware: The dam will wake; and if she wind ye 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 bra.s.s, 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?

BOY. 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.

BOY. And, uncle, so will I, an if I live.

t.i.tUS. 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?

BOY. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire.

t.i.tUS. 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 t.i.tUS, LAVINIA, and YOUNG LUCIUS MARCUS. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan And not relent, or not compa.s.sion him?

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

Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus! Exit

SCENE II.

Rome. The palace

Enter AARON, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, 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.

BOY. My lords, with all the humbleness I may, I greet your honours from Andronicus- [Aside] And pray the Roman G.o.ds confound you both!

DEMETRIUS. Gramercy, lovely Lucius. What's the news?

BOY. [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 lords.h.i.+ps, that, whenever you have need, You may be armed and appointed well.

And so I leave you both- [Aside] like b.l.o.o.d.y 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.