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
PUBLIUS, &c. lay hold on CHIRON and DEMETRIUS
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.
Re-enter TITUS, with LAVINIA; he bearing a knife, and she a basin
TITUS ANDRONICUS 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 stain’d with mud,
This goodly summer with your winter mix’d.
You kill’d her husband, and for that vile fault
Two of her brothers were condemn’d 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 constrain’d 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,
Whilst 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 unhallow’d 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 Progne I will be revenged:
And now prepare your throats. Lavinia, come,
He cuts their throats
Receive the blood: 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 every one 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 ‘gainst their mother comes.
Exeunt, bearing the dead bodies
Scene 3
Court of TITUS’s house. A banquet set out.
Enter LUCIUS, MARCUS, and Goths, with AARON prisoner
LUCIUS Uncle Marcus, since it is 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 sustenance, 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 mine ear,
And prompt me, that my tongue may utter forth
The venomous malice of my swelling heart!
LUCIUS Away, inhuman dog! unhallow’d slave!
Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in.
Exeunt Goths, with AARON. Flourish within
The trumpets show the emperor is at hand.
Enter SATURNINUS and TAMORA, with AEMILIUS, Tribunes, Senators, and others
SATURNINUS What, hath the firmament more suns than one?
LUCIUS What boots it thee to call thyself a sun?
MARCUS ANDRONICUS Rome’s emperor, and nephew, break the parle;
These quarrels must be quietly debated.
The feast is ready, which the careful Titus
Hath ordain’d 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.
Hautboys sound. The Company sit down at table
Enter TITUS dressed like a Cook, LAVINIA veiled, Young LUCIUS, and others. TITUS places the dishes on the table
TITUS ANDRONICUS Welcome, my gracious 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 ANDRONICUS Because I would be sure to have all well,
To entertain your highness and your empress.
TAMORA We are beholding to you, good Andronicus.
TITUS ANDRONICUS 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, stain’d, and deflower’d?
SATURNINUS It was, Andronicus.
TITUS ANDRONICUS Your reason, mighty lord?
SATURNINUS Because the girl should not survive her shame,
And by her presence still renew his sorrows.
TITUS ANDRONICUS 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;
Kills LAVINIA
And, with thy shame, thy father’s sorrow die!
SATURNINUS What hast thou done, unnatural and unkind?
TITUS ANDRONICUS Kill’d her, for whom my tears have made me blind.
I am as woful 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 ravish’d? tell who did the deed.
TITUS ANDRONICUS Will’t please you eat? will’t please your
highness feed?
TAMORA Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus?
TITUS ANDRONICUS Not I; ’twas Chiron and Demetrius:
They ravish’d 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 ANDRONICUS 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.
Kills TAMORA
SATURNINUS Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed!
Kills TITUS
LUCIUS Can the son’s eye behold his father bleed?
There’s meed for meed, death for a deadly deed!
Kills SATURNINUS. A great tumult. LUCIUS, MARCUS, and others go up into the balcony
MARCUS ANDRONICUS You sad-faced men, people and sons of Rome,
By uproar sever’d, like a flight of fowl
Scatter’d by winds and high tempestuous gusts,
O, let me teach you how to knit again
This scatter’d corn into one mutual sheaf,
These broken limbs again into one body;
Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself,
And she whom mighty kingdoms court’sy 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,
To LUCIUS
Speak, Rome’s dear friend, 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 bewitch’d 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,
Lending your kind commiseration.
Here is a captain, let him tell the tale;
Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him speak.
LUCIUS Then, noble auditory, be it known to you,
That cursed Chiron and 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 cozen’d
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 turn’d weeping out,
To beg relief among Rome’s enemies:
Who drown’d 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 adventurous 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 ANDRONICUS Now is my turn to speak. Behold this child:
Pointing to the Child in the arms of an Attendant
Of this was Tamora delivered;
The issue of an irreligious Moor,
Chief architect and plotter of these woes: