That shall distil from these two ancient urns,7 Enter LUCIUS, with his Sword drawn. O, reverend tribunes! gentle aged men!8 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," 7 two ancient urns,] Oxford editor.-Vulg. two ancient ruins. JOHNSON. 8 9 Edition 1600,-ruines, as in other old copies. O, reverend tribunes! gentle aged men!] TODD. Edition 1600: Todd. They would not pitty me, yet pleade I must, Therefore &c. This I conceive to be the right reading. TODD. All bootless to them, they'd not pity me. 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? Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their death: For which attempt, the judges have pronounc'd My everlasting doom of banishment. TIT. 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. MAR. Titus, prepare thy noble eyes to weep; Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break; I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. 1A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than stones:] The author, we may suppose, originally wrote: Stone's soft as wax, &c. STEEVĒNS. TIT. Will it consume me? let me see it then. MAR. This was thy daughter. TIT. Why, Marcus, so she is. Luc. Ah me! this object kills me! TIT. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her : Speak, my Lavinia, what accursed hand Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy? 2 Speak, my Lavinia,] My, which is wanting in the first folio, was supplied by the second. STEEVENS. 3 3 —— in thy father's sight?] We should read-spight? ·I'll chop off my hands too;] WARBURTON. Perhaps we should read: It is not easy to discover how Titus, when he had chopped off one of his hands, would have been able to have chopped off the other. STEEVENS. I have no doubt but the text is as the author wrote it. Let him answer for the blunder. In a subsequent line Titus supposes himself his own executioner: "Now all the service I require of them" &c. MALONE. MAR. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts,5 That blab'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! Luc. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed? MAR. O, thus I found her, straying in the park, Seeking to hide herself; as doth the deer, That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound. TIT. 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, This way to death my wretched sons are gone; Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears; O, that delightful engine of her thoughts,] This piece furnishes scarce any resemblances to Shakspeare's works; this one expression, however, is found in his Venus and Adonis: "Once more the engine of her thoughts began." MALONE. • It was my deer;] The play upon deer and dear has been used by Waller, who calls a lady's girdle "The pale that held my lovely deer" JOHNSON. 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. MAR. Perchance, she weeps because they kill'd her husband: Perchance, because she knows them innocent. TIT. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful, Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them.- Or make some sign how I may do thee ease; What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, To make us wonder'd at in time to come. 7 Luc. Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, like meadows,] Old copies-in meadows. Corrected by Mr. Rowe. MALONE. |