The fields are fragrant, and the woods are green:
Uncouple here, and let us make a bay,
And wake the emperor and his lovely bride,
And rouse the prince; and ring a hunter's peal,
That all the court may echo with the noise.
Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours,
To tend the emperor's person carefully:
I have been troubled in my sleep this night,
But dawning day new comfort hath inspir'd.
Horns wind a Peal. Enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA,
BASSIANUS, LAVINIA, CHIRON, DEMETRIUS, and
Attendants.

Tit. Many good-morrows to your majesty ;-
Madam, to you as many and as good!—
I promised your grace a hunter's peal.
Sat. And you have rung it lustily, my lords,
Somewhat too early for new-married ladies.
Bas. Lavinia, how say you?
Lar.

I say, no;

I have been broad awake two hours and more.
Saf. Come on then, horse and chariots let us have,
And to our sport :-Madam, now shall ve see
Our Roman hunting.
TO TAMORA.
Marc.
I have dogs, my lord,
"Vill rouse the proudest panther in the chase,
And climb the highest promontory top.
Til. And I have horse will follow where the game
Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain.
Dem. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor
hound,

But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. [Exeunt.

SCENE III-A desert Part of the Forest.
Enter AARON, with a Bag of Gold.

Aar. He that had wit would think that I had none,
To bury so much gold under a tree,
And never after to inherit it.

Let him, that thinks of me so abjectly,
Know, that this gold must coin a stratagem;
Which, cunningly effected, will beget
A very excellent piece of villany;
And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest.3
[Hites the Gold.
That have their alms out of the empress' chest.

Enter TAMORA.

Tam. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad,

When every thing doth make a gleeful boast?
The birds chaunt melody on every bush;
The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun;
The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind,
And make a checquer'd shadow on the ground:
Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit,
And-whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds,
Replying shrilly to the well-tuned horns,
As if a double hunt were heard at once,-
Let us sit down, and mark their yelling noise:
And-after conflict, such as was suppos'd
The wandering prince of Dido once enjoy'd,
When with a happy storm they were surpris'd,
And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave,-
We may, each wreathed in the other's arms,
Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber;
Whiles hounds, and horns, and sweet melodious

birds,

Be unto us, as is a nurse's song

O lullaby, to bring her babe asleep.

Enter BASSIANUS and LAVINIA.
Bas. Who have we here? Rome's royal empren
Unfurnish'd of her well-beseemir g troop?
Or is it Dian, habited like her;

Who hath abandoned her holy groves,
To see the general hunting in this forest?
Tum. Saucy controller of our private steps?
Had I the power, that, some say, Dian had,
Thy temples should be planted presently
With horns, as was Acteon's; and the hounds
Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs,
Unmannerly intruder as thou art!

Lar. Under your patience, gentle emperess. 'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning, And to be doubted, that your Moor and you Are singled forth to try experiments: Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day! 'Tis pity they should take him for a stag.

Bas. Believe me, queen, your swarth Cimmerian Doth make your honor of his body's hue, Spotted, detested, and abominable. Why are you sequester'd from all your train? Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed, And wander'd hither to an obscure plot, Accompanied with a barbarous Moor, If foul desire had not conducted you?

Lav. And, being intercepted in your sport, Great reason that my noble lord be rated For sauciness.-I pray you, let us hence, And let her 'joy her raven-color'd love; This valley fits the purpose passing well. Bas. The king, my brother, shall have note of

this.

Lav. Ay, for these slips have made him noted long:

Good king! to be so mightily abused!
Tam. Why have I patience to endure all this?

Enter CHIRON and DEMETRIUS.

Dem. How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother,

Why doth your highness look so pale and wan?
Tam. Have I not reason, think you, to look pale?
These two have 'ticed me hither to this place,
A barren, detested vale, you see, it is:
The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean,
O'ercome with moss, and baneful mistletoe.
Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds,
Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven.
And when they show'd me this abhorred pit,
They told me here, at dead time of the night,
A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes,
Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins,6
Would make such fearful and confused cries,
As any mortal body, hearing it,

Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly.
No sooner had they told this hellish tale,

But straight they told me they would bind me here
Unto the body of a dismal yew;

And leave me to this miserable death.

Saturn is dominator over mine:

What signifies my deadly-standing eye,
My silence, and my cloudy melancholy?

My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls,
Even as an adder, when she doth unroll
To do some fatal execution?

No, madam, these are no venereal signs;
Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,
Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.
Hark, Tamora, the empress of my soul,

Which never hopes more heaven than rests in

thee,

This is the day of doom for Bassianus; is Philomel must lose her tongue to-day: Thy sons make pillage of her chastity, And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood. Deest thou this letter? take it up, I pray thee, • Possess.

• See Ovid's Metamorphoses, book vi.

Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms
That ever ear did hear to such effect.
And, had you not by wondrous fortune come,
This vengeance on me had they executed:
Revenge it, as you love your mother's life,
Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children.
Dem. This is a witness that I am thy son.
Stabs BASSIANUS.
Chi. And this for me, struck home to show my
strength.
[Stabbing him likewise.
Lav. Ay, come, Semiramis, - nay, barbarous

Tamora!

⚫ Disquiet.

First, thrash the corn, then after burn the straw:
This minion stood upon her chastity,
Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty,

And with that painted hope braves your mightiness:
And shall she carry this unto her grave?

Chi. An if she do, I would I were an eunuch. Drag hence her husband to some secret hole, And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust.

Tan. But when you have the honey you desire, Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting.

Chi. I warrant you, madam; we will make that

sure.

Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy
That nice-preserved honesty of yours.

Lav. O Tamora! Thou bear'st a woman's face,-
Tam. I will not hear her speak; away with her.
Lav. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word.
Dem. Listen, fair madam: Let it be your glory
To see her tears: but be your heart to them,
As unrelenting flint to drops of rain.

Lav. When did the tiger's young ones teach the dam?

O, do not learn her wrath; she taught it thee:
The milk thou suck'dst from her, did turn to
marble;

Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny.-
Yet every mother breeds not sons alike;
Do thou entreat her show a woman pity.

[TO CHIRON. Chi. What! wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard?

Lav. 'Tis true; the raven doth not hatch a lark; Yet I have heard, (O could I find it now!) The lion, mov'd with pity, did endure To have his princely paws pared all away. Some say, that ravens foster forlorn children, The whilst their own birds famish in their nests: O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no, Nothing so kind, but something pitiful!

Tam. I know not what it means; away with

her.

Lav. O, let me teach thee: for my father's sake, That gave thee life, when well he might have slain thee,

Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears.

Tam. Hadst thou in person ne'er offended me, Even for his sake am I pitiless:

Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain,
To save your brother from the sacrifice;
But fierce Andronicus would not relent.
Therefore, away with her, and use her as you will:
The worse to her, the better lov'd of me.

Lav. O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen,
And with thine own hands kill me in this place;
For 'tis not life, that I have begg'd so long;
Poor I was slain when Bassianus died.

Tam. What begg'st thou then? fond woman, let me go.

Lav. 'Tis present death I beg: and one thing

Quin. My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes. Mart. And mine, I promise you: were't not fo shame,

Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile.
[MARTIUS falls into the Pit
Quin. What, art thou fallen? What subtle hole
is this,

Whose mouth is cover'd with rude-growing briers
Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood,
As fresh as morning's dew distill'd on flowers!
A very fatal place it seems to me:-
Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall!
Mart. O, brother, with the dismallest object
That ever eye, with sight, made heart lament.
Aar. [Aside.] Now will I fetch the king to find
them here;

That he thereby may give a likely guess,
How these were they that made away his brother
Erit A ABON.
Mart. Why dost not comfort me, and help me out
From this unhallow'd and blood-stained hole!

Quin. I am surprised with an uncouth fear:
A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints;
My heart suspects more than mine eye can see.
Mart. To prove thou hast a true-divining heart,
Aaron and thou look down into this den,
And see a fearful sight of blood and death.

Quin. Aaron is gone; and my compassionate heart Will not permit mine eyes once to behold The thing whereat it trembles by surmise: O, tell me how it is; for ne'er till now Was I a child, to fear I know not what.

Mart. Lord Bassianus lies embrued here, All on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb, In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. Quin. If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he? Mart. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear A precious ring, that lightens all the hole, Which, like a taper in some monument, Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks, And shows the ragged entrails of this pit: So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus, When he by night lay bathed in maiden blood. O brother, help me with thy fainting handIf fear hath made thee faint, as me it hathOut of this fell devouring receptacle, As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth.

Quin. Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee

Enter SATURNINUS and AARON.
Sat. Along with me:-I'll see what hole is here
And what he is, that now is leap'd into it.
Say, who art thou, that lately didst descend
Into this gaping hollow of the earth?

Brought hither in a most unlucky hour,
Mart. The unhappy son of old Andronicus;
To find thy brother Bassianus dead.

He and his lady both are at the lodge,
Sat. My brother dead? I know thou dost but jest:
Upon the north side of this pleasant chase:
'Tis not an hour since I left him there.

But, out alas! here have we found him dead.
Mart. We know not where you left him all alive,
Enter TAMORA, with Attendants; TITUS ANDRO
NICUS, and LUCIUS.

Tam. Where is my lord the king?
Sat. Here, Tamora; though griev'd with killing

grief.

Sat. [Reads.] An if we miss to meet him handsomely

Sweet huntsman, Bassianus 'tis, we mean.—
Do thou so much as dig the grave for him;
Thou know'st our meaning: Look for thy reward
Among the nettles at the elder-tree,

Which overshades the mouth of that same pit,
Where we decreed to bury Bassianus.
Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.
0, Tamora! was ever heard the like?
This is the pit, and this the elder-tree:
Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out,
That should have murder'd Bassianus here.

Aar. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold.
[Showing it.
Sat. Two of thy whelps, [To TIT.] fell curs of
bloody kind,

Have here bereft my brother of his life :-
Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison;
There let them bide, until we have devis'd
Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them.
Tum. What, are they in this pit? O wondrous
thing!

How easily murder is discovered!

Tit. High emperor, upon my feeble knee
I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed,
That this fell fault of my accursed sons,
Accursed, if the fault be prov'd in them,-

Sat. If it be prov'd! you see it is apparent,-
Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you?
Tam. Andronicus himself did take it up.
Tit. I did, my lord: yet let me be their bail:
For by my father's reverend tomb, I vow,
They shall be ready at your highness' will,
To answer their suspicion with their lives.

Sat. Thou shalt not bail them: see, thou follow

Marc. Who's this,-my niece, that flies away so fast?

Cousin, a word; Where is your husband?-
If I do dream, 'would all my wealth would wake
me!

If I do wake, some planet strike me down,
That I may slumber in eternal sleep!—
Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands
Have lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare
Of her two branches? those sweet ornaments,
Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep
in;

And might not gain so great a happiness,
As half thy love? Why dost not speak to me?-
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,
Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind,
Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips,
Coming and going with thy honey breath
But, sure, some Tereus hath defloured thee;
And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue
Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame!
And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood,—
As from a conduit with three issuing spouts,-
Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face,
Blushing to be encounter'd with a cloud.
Shall I speak for thee? shall I say, 'tis so?
O, that I knew thy heart; and knew the beast,
That I might rail at him to ease my mind!
Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd,
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.
Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue,
And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind:
But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee;
A craftier Tereus hast thou met withal,
And he hath cut those pretty fingers off,
That could have better sew'd than Philomel.
O, had the monster seen those lily hands
Tremble, like aspen-leaves, upon a lute,
And make the silken strings delight to kiss them,
He would not then have touch'd them for his life.
Or, had he heard the heavenly harmony,
Which that sweet tongue hath made,
He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep,
As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet.
Come, let us go, and make thy father blind:
For such a sight will blind a father's eye:
One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads;
What will whole months of tears thy father's
eyes?

Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee;
O, could our mourning ease thy misery!
[Exeunt

SCENE I.-Rome. A Street.

Enter Senators, Tribunes, and Officers of Justice, with MARTIUS and QUINTUS, bound, passing on to the Place of Execution: TITUS going before, pleading.

Tit. 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 watch'd; 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 honor's lofty bed. For these, these, tribunes, in the dust I write

[Throwing himself on the Ground. My heart's deep languor, and my soul's sad tears. Let my tears stanen 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 winter, with warm tears I'll melt the snow,
In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still;
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! 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.

Luc. O, noble father, you lament in vain;
The tribunes hear you not, no man is by,
And you recount your sorrows to a stone.

Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead: Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you. Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak.

Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, man: if they did hear They would not mark me; or, if they did mark, All bootless to them, they'd not pity me.

• Orpheus.

Enter LUCIUS and MARCUS. Tul. 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 at 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.
Aar. I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand,
Look by and by to have thy sons with thee:-
Their heads, I mean.-0, how this villany

[Aside.

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.
Tit. O, here I hit this one hand up to heaven,
And bow this feeble ruin to the earth:
If any power pities wretched tears,

To that I call:-What, wilt thou kneel with me?
[TO LAVINIA.
Do then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our
prayers;

Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin3 dim,
And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds,
When they do hug him in their melting bosoms.
Murc. O brother speak with possibilities,
And do not break into these deep extremes.

Tut. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom?
Then be my passions bottomless with them.
Mare. But yet let reason govern thy lament.
Tu. If there were reason for these miseries,
Then into limits could I bind my woes:

When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow?

If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,
Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swoln face?
And wilt thou have a reason for this coil?5
I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow!
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.
Mess. 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 griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd:
That woe is me to think upon thy woes.
More than remembrance of my father's death.

Exit.

Marc. Now let hot Ætna 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.

Luc. 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.
Marc. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless,
As frozen water to a starved snake.

Tit. When will this fearful slumber have an end?
Marc. 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
Strick pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I,
Even like a stony image, cold and numb.
Ah! now no more will I control thy griefs:
Rend off thy 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?
Tit. Ha ha, ha!

Marc. Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour.

Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, • Suffering.

The sky.

⚫ Stir, bustle.

And would usurp upon my wat'ry eyes,
And make them blind with tributary tears;
Then which way shall I find revenge's cave?
For these two heads do seem to speak to me;
And threat me, I shall never come to bliss,
Till all these mischiefs be 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:
Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these things:
Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy
teeth.

Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay:
As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight:
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
Luc. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father;
The woeful'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 'totore 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 Saturninus 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.

SCENE II-A Room in Titus's House.
A Banquet set out.

Enter TITUS, MARCUS, LAVINIA, and young Lu
CIUS, a Boy.

Tit. 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.-

Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs!
[TO LAVINIA
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.

Marc. Fye, brother, tye! teach her not thus to lay

Such violent hands upon her tender life.

Tit. 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, wheretore dost thou urge the name of hands;-
To bid Eneas 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.-
Fye, fye, how franticly 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 sorrows, mesh'd upon her cheeks 6
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.
• An allusion to brewing. Constant or continual practice