Chapter 137

Tit. Marcus my Brother, 'tis sad Titus calls, Go gentle Marcus to thy Nephew Lucius, Thou shalt enquire him out among the Gothes, Bid him repaire to me, and bring with him Some of the chiefest Princes of the Gothes, Bid him encampe his Souldiers where they are, Tell him the Emperour, and the Empresse too, Feasts at my house, and he shall Feast with them, This do thou for my loue, and so let him, As he regards his aged Fathers life

Mar. This will I do, and soone returne againe

Tam. Now will I hence about thy businesse, And take my Ministers along with me

Tit. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with me, Or els Ile call my Brother backe againe, And cleaue to no reuenge but Lucius

Tam. What say you Boyes, will you bide with him, Whiles I goe tell my Lord the Emperour, How I haue gouern'd our determined iest? Yeeld to his Humour, smooth and speake him faire, And tarry with him till I turne againe

Tit. I know them all, though they suppose me mad, And will ore-reach them in their owne deuises, A payre of cursed hell-hounds and their Dam

Dem. Madam depart at pleasure, leaue vs heere

Tam. Farewell Andronicus, reuenge now goes To lay a complot to betray thy Foes

Tit. I know thou doo'st, and sweet reuenge farewell

Chi. Tell vs old man, how shall we be imploy'd? Tit. Tut, I haue worke enough for you to doe, Publius come hither, Caius, and Valentine

Pub. What is your will? Tit. Know you these two? Pub. The Empresse Sonnes I take them, Chiron, Demetrius

Titus. Fie Publius, fie, thou art too much deceau'd, The one is Murder, Rape is the others name, And therefore bind them gentle Publius, Caius, and Valentine, lay hands on them, Oft haue you heard me wish for such an houre, And now I find it, therefore binde them sure, Chi. Villaines forbeare, we are the Empresse Sonnes

Pub. And therefore do we, what we are commanded. Stop close their mouthes, let them not speake a word, Is he sure bound, looke that you binde them fast.

Exeunt.

Enter Titus Andronicus with a knife, and Lauinia with a Bason.

Tit. Come, come Lauinia, looke, thy Foes are bound, Sirs stop their mouthes, let them not speake to me, But let them heare what fearefull words I vtter. Oh Villaines, Chiron, and Demetrius, Here stands the spring whom you haue stain'd with mud, This goodly Sommer with your Winter mixt, You kil'd her husband, and for that vil'd fault, Two of her Brothers were condemn'd to death, My hand cut off, and made a merry iest, Both her sweet Hands, her Tongue, and that more deere Then Hands or tongue, her spotlesse Chastity, Inhumaine Traytors, you constrain'd and for'st. What would you say, if I should let you speake? Villaines for shame you could not beg for grace. Harke Wretches, how I meane to martyr you, This one Hand yet is left, to cut your throats, Whil'st that Lauinia tweene her stumps doth hold: The Bason that receiues your guilty blood. You know your Mother meanes to feast with me, And calls herselfe Reuenge, and thinkes me mad. Harke Villaines, I will grin'd your bones to dust, And with your blood and it, Ile make a Paste, And of the Paste a Coffen I will reare, And make two Pasties of your shamefull Heads, And bid that strumpet your vnhallowed Dam, Like to the earth swallow her increase. This is the Feast, that I haue bid her to, And this the Banquet she shall surfet on, For worse then Philomel you vsd my Daughter, And worse then Progne, I will be reueng'd, And now prepare your throats: Lauinia come. Receiue the blood, and when that they are dead, Let me goe grin'd their Bones to powder small, And with this hatefull Liquor temper it, And in that Paste let their vil'd Heads be bakte, Come, come, be euery one officious, To make this Banket, which I wish might proue, More sterne and bloody then the Centaures Feast. He cuts their throats.

So now bring them in, for Ile play the Cooke, And see them ready, gainst their Mother comes.

Exeunt.

Enter Lucius, Marcus, and the Gothes.

Luc. Vnckle Marcus, since 'tis my Fathers minde That I repair to Rome, I am content

Goth. And ours with thine befall, what Fortune will

Luc. Good Vnckle take you in this barbarous Moore, This Rauenous Tiger, this accursed deuill, Let him receiue no sustenance, fetter him, Till he be brought vnto the Emperours face, For testimony of her foule proceedings. And see the Ambush of our Friends be strong, If ere the Emperour meanes no good to vs

Aron. Some deuill whisper curses in my eare, And prompt me that my tongue may vtter forth, The Venemous Mallice of my swelling heart

Luc. Away Inhumaine Dogge, Vnhallowed Slaue, Sirs, helpe our Vnckle, to conuey him in,

Flourish.

The Trumpets shew the Emperour is at hand.

Sound Trumpets. Enter Emperour and Empresse, with Tribunes and others.

Sat. What, hath the Firemament more Suns then one? Luc. What bootes it thee to call thy selfe a Sunne? Mar. Romes Emperour & Nephewe breake the parle These quarrels must be quietly debated, The Feast is ready which the carefull Titus, Hath ordained to an Honourable end, For Peace, for Loue, for League, and good to Rome: Please you therfore draw nie and take your places

Satur. Marcus we will.

Hoboyes.

A Table brought in. Enter Titus like a Cooke, placing the meat on the Table, and Lauinia with a vale ouer her face.

Titus. Welcome my gracious Lord, Welcome Dread Queene, Welcome ye Warlike Gothes, welcome Lucius, And welcome all: although the cheere be poore, 'Twill fill your stomacks, please you eat of it

Sat. Why art thou thus attir'd Andronicus? Tit. Because I would be sure to haue all well, To entertaine your Highnesse, and your Empresse

Tam. We are beholding to you good Andronicus? Tit. And if your Highnesse knew my heart, you were: My Lord the Emperour resolue me this, Was it well done of rash Virginius, To slay his daughter with his owne right hand. Because she was enfor'st, stain'd, and deflowr'd? Satur. It was Andronicus

Tit. Your reason, Mighty Lord? Sat. Because the Girle, should not suruiue her shame, And by her presence still renew his sorrowes

Tit. A reason mighty, strong, and effectuall, A patterne, president, and liuely warrant, For me (most wretched) to performe the like: Die, die, Lauinia, and thy shame with thee, And with thy shame, thy Fathers sorrow die.

He kils her.

Sat. What hast done, vnnaturall and vnkinde? Tit. Kil'd her for whom my teares haue made me blind. I am as wofull as Virginius was, And haue a thousand times more cause then he

Sat. What was she rauisht? tell who did the deed, Tit. Wilt please you eat, Wilt please your Highnesse feed? Tam. Why hast thou slaine thine onely Daughter? Titus. Not I, 'twas Chiron and Demetrius, They rauisht her, and cut away her tongue, And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong

Satu. Go fetch them hither to vs presently

Tit. Why there they are both, baked in that Pie, Whereof their Mother daintily hath fed, Eating the flesh that she herselfe hath bred. 'Tis true, 'tis true, witnesse my kniues sharpe point.

He stabs the Empresse.

Satu. Die franticke wretch, for this accursed deed

Luc. Can the Sonnes eye, behold his Father bleed? There's meede for meede, death for a deadly deed

Mar. You sad fac'd men, people and Sonnes of Rome, By vprores seuer'd like a flight of Fowle, Scattred by windes and high tempestuous gusts: Oh let me teach you how, to knit againe This scattred Corne, into one mutuall sheafe, These broken limbs againe into one body

Goth. Let Rome herselfe be bane vnto herselfe, And shee whom mightie kingdomes cursie too, Like a forlorne and desperate castaway, Doe shamefull execution on her selfe. But if my frostie signes and chaps of age, Graue witnesses of true experience, Cannot induce you to attend my words, Speake Romes deere friend, as er'st our Auncestor, When with his solemne tongue he did discourse To loue-sicke Didoes sad attending eare, The story of that balefull burning night, When subtil Greekes surpriz'd King Priams Troy: Tell vs what Sinon hath bewicht our eares, Or who hath brought the fatall engine in, That giues our Troy, our Rome the ciuill wound. My heart is not compact of flint nor steele, Nor can I vtter all our bitter griefe, But floods of teares will drowne my Oratorie, And breake my very vttrance, euen in the time When it should moue you to attend me most, Lending your kind hand Commiseration. Heere is a Captaine, let him tell the tale, Your hearts will throb and weepe to heare him speake

Luc. This Noble Auditory, be it knowne to you, That cursed Chiron and Demetrius Were they that murdred our Emperours Brother, And they it were that rauished our Sister, For their fell faults our Brothers were beheaded, Our Fathers teares despis'd, and basely cousen'd, Of that true hand that fought Romes quarrell out, And sent her enemies vnto the graue. Lastly, my selfe vnkindly banished, The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out, To beg reliefe among Romes Enemies, Who drown'd their enmity in my true teares, And op'd their armes to imbrace me as a Friend: And I am turned forth, be it knowne to you, That haue preseru'd her welfare in my blood, And from her bosome tooke the Enemies point, Sheathing the steele in my aduentrous body. Alas you know, I am no Vaunter I, My scars can witnesse, dumbe although they are, That my report is iust and full of truth: But soft, me thinkes I do digresse too much, Cyting my worthlesse praise: Oh pardon me, For when no Friends are by, men praise themselues, Marc. Now is my turne to speake: Behold this Child, Of this was Tamora deliuered, The issue of an Irreligious Moore, Chiefe Architect and plotter of these woes, The Villaine is aliue in Titus house, And as he is, to witnesse this is true. Now iudge what course had Titus to reuenge These wrongs, vnspeakeable past patience, Or more then any liuing man could beare. Now you haue heard the truth, what say you Romaines? Haue we done ought amisse? shew vs wherein, And from the place where you behold vs now, The poore remainder of Andronici, Will hand in hand all headlong cast vs downe, And on the ragged stones beat forth our braines, And make a mutuall closure of our house: Speake Romaines speake, and if you say we shall, Loe hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall

Emilli. Come come, thou reuerent man of Rome, And bring our Emperour gently in thy hand, Lucius our Emperour: for well I know, The common voyce do cry it shall be so

Mar. Lucius, all haile Romes Royall Emperour, Goe, goe into old Titus sorrowfull house, And hither hale that misbelieuing Moore, To be adiudg'd some direfull slaughtering death, As punishment for his most wicked life. Lucius all haile to Romes gracious Gouernour

Luc. Thankes gentle Romanes, may I gouerne so, To heale Romes harmes, and wipe away her woe. But gentle people, giue me ayme a-while, For Nature puts me to a heauy taske: Stand all aloofe, but Vnckle draw you neere, To shed obsequious teares vpon this Trunke: Oh take this warme kisse on thy pale cold lips, These sorrowfull drops vpon thy bloud-slaine face, The last true Duties of thy Noble Sonne

Mar. Teare for teare, and louing kisse for kisse, Thy Brother Marcus tenders on thy Lips: O were the summe of these that I should pay Countlesse, and infinit, yet would I pay them

Luc. Come hither Boy, come, come, and learne of vs To melt in showres: thy Grandsire lou'd thee well: Many a time he danc'd thee on his knee: Sung thee asleepe, his Louing Brest, thy Pillow: Many a matter hath he told to thee, Meete, and agreeing with thine Infancie: In that respect then, like a louing Childe, Shed yet some small drops from thy tender Spring, Because kinde Nature doth require it so: Friends, should associate Friends, in Greefe and Wo. Bid him farwell, commit him to the Graue, Do him that kindnesse, and take leaue of him

Boy. O Grandsire, Grandsire: euen with all my heart Would I were Dead, so you did Liue againe. O Lord, I cannot speake to him for weeping, My teares will choake me, if I ope my mouth

Romans. You sad Andronici, haue done with woes, Giue sentence on this execrable Wretch, That hath beene breeder of these dire euents

Luc. Set him brest deepe in earth, and famish him: There let him stand, and raue, and cry for foode: If any one releeues, or pitties him, For the offence, he dyes. This is our doome: Some stay, to see him fast'ned in the earth

Aron. O why should wrath be mute, & Fury dumbe? I am no Baby I, that with base Prayers I should repent the Euils I haue done. Ten thousand worse, then euer yet I did, Would I performe if I might haue my will: If one good Deed in all my life I did, I do repent it from my very Soule

Lucius. Some louing Friends conuey the Emp[erour]. hence, And giue him buriall in his Fathers graue. My Father, and Lauinia, shall forthwith Be closed in our Housholds Monument: As for that heynous Tyger Tamora, No Funerall Rite, nor man in mournfull Weeds: No mournfull Bell shall ring her Buriall: But throw her foorth to Beasts and Birds of prey: Her life was Beast-like, and deuoid of pitty, And being so, shall haue like want of pitty. See Iustice done on Aaron that damn'd Moore, From whom, our heauy happes had their beginning: Then afterwards, to Order well the State, That like Euents, may ne're it Ruinate.

Exeunt. omnes.

FINIS. The Lamentable Tragedy of Titus Andronicus.

The Tragedie of Romeo and Juliet

Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.

Enter Sampson and Gregory, with Swords and Bucklers, of the House of Capulet.

Sampson. Gregory: A my word wee'l not carry coales

Greg. No, for then we should be Colliars

Samp. I mean, if we be in choller, wee'l draw

Greg. I, While you liue, draw your necke out o'th Collar

Samp. I strike quickly, being mou'd

Greg. But thou art not quickly mou'd to strike

Samp. A dog of the house of Mountague, moues me

Greg. To moue, is to stir: and to be valiant, is to stand: Therefore, if thou art mou'd, thou runst away

Samp. A dogge of that house shall moue me to stand. I will take the wall of any Man or Maid of Mountagues

Greg. That shewes thee a weake slaue, for the weakest goes to the wall

Samp. True, and therefore women being the weaker Vessels, are euer thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Mountagues men from the wall, and thrust his Maides to the wall

Greg. The Quarrell is betweene our Masters, and vs their men

Samp. 'Tis all one, I will shew my selfe a tyrant: when I haue fought with the men, I will bee ciuill with the Maids, and cut off their heads

Greg. The heads of the Maids? Sam. I, the heads of the Maids, or their Maiden-heads, Take it in what sence thou wilt

Greg. They must take it sence, that feele it

Samp. Me they shall feele while I am able to stand: And 'tis knowne I am a pretty peece of flesh

Greg. 'Tis well thou art not Fish: If thou had'st, thou had'st beene poore Iohn. Draw thy Toole, here comes of the House of the Mountagues. Enter two other Seruingmen.

Sam. My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I wil back thee Gre. How? Turne thy backe, and run

Sam. Feare me not

Gre. No marry: I feare thee

Sam. Let vs take the Law of our sides: let them begin

Gr. I wil frown as I passe by, & let the[m] take it as they list Sam. Nay, as they dare. I wil bite my Thumb at them, which is a disgrace to them, if they beare it

Abra. Do you bite your Thumbe at vs sir? Samp. I do bite my Thumbe, sir

Abra. Do you bite your Thumb at vs, sir? Sam. Is the Law of our side, if I say I? Gre. No

Sam. No sir, I do not bite my Thumbe at you sir: but I bite my Thumbe sir

Greg. Do you quarrell sir? Abra. Quarrell sir? no sir

Sam. If you do sir, I am for you, I serue as good a man as you Abra. No better? Samp. Well sir. Enter Benuolio.

Gr. Say better: here comes one of my masters kinsmen

Samp. Yes, better

Abra. You Lye

Samp. Draw if you be men. Gregory, remember thy washing blow.

They Fight.

Ben. Part Fooles, put vp your Swords, you know not what you do. Enter Tibalt.

Tyb. What art thou drawne, among these heartlesse Hindes? Turne thee Benuolio, looke vpon thy death

Ben. I do but keepe the peace, put vp thy Sword, Or manage it to part these men with me

Tyb. What draw, and talke of peace? I hate the word As I hate hell, all Mountagues, and thee: Haue at thee Coward.

Fight.

Enter three or foure Citizens with Clubs.

Offi. Clubs, Bils, and Partisons, strike, beat them down Downe with the Capulets, downe with the Mountagues. Enter old Capulet in his Gowne, and his wife.

Cap. What noise is this? Giue me my long Sword ho

Wife. A crutch, a crutch: why call you for a Sword? Cap. My Sword I say: Old Mountague is come, And flourishes his Blade in spight of me. Enter old Mountague, & his wife.

Moun. Thou villaine Capulet. Hold me not, let me go 2.Wife. Thou shalt not stir a foote to seeke a Foe. Enter Prince Eskales, with his Traine.

Prince. Rebellious Subiects, Enemies to peace, Prophaners of this Neighbor-stained Steele, Will they not heare? What hoe, you Men, you Beasts, That quench the fire of your pernitious Rage, With purple Fountaines issuing from your Veines: On paine of Torture, from those bloody hands Throw your mistemper'd Weapons to the ground, And heare the Sentence of your mooued Prince. Three ciuill Broyles, bred of an Ayery word, By thee old Capulet and Mountague, Haue thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets, And made Verona's ancient Citizens Cast by their Graue beseeming Ornaments, To wield old Partizans, in hands as old, Cankred with peace, to part your Cankred hate, If euer you disturbe our streets againe, Your liues shall pay the forfeit of the peace. For this time all the rest depart away: You Capulet shall goe along with me, And Mountague come you this afternoone, To know our Fathers pleasure in this case: To old Free-towne, our common iudgement place: Once more on paine of death, all men depart.

Exeunt.

Moun. Who set this auncient quarrell new abroach? Speake Nephew, were you by, when it began: Ben. Heere were the seruants of your aduersarie, And yours close fighting ere I did approach, I drew to part them, in the instant came The fiery Tibalt, with his sword prepar'd, Which as he breath'd defiance to my eares, He swong about his head, and cut the windes, Who nothing hurt withall, hist him in scorne. While we were enterchanging thrusts and blowes, Came more and more, and fought on part and part, Till the Prince came, who parted either part

Wife. O where is Romeo, saw you him to day? Right glad am I, he was not at this fray

Ben. Madam, an houre before the worshipt Sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the East, A troubled mind draue me to walke abroad, Where vnderneath the groue of Sycamour, That West-ward rooteth from this City side: So earely walking did I see your Sonne: Towards him I made, but he was ware of me, And stole into the couert of the wood, I measuring his affections by my owne, Which then most sought, wher most might not be found: Being one too many by my weary selfe, Pursued my Honour, not pursuing his And gladly shunn'd, who gladly fled from me

Mount. Many a morning hath he there beene seene, With teares augmenting the fresh mornings deaw, Adding to cloudes, more cloudes with his deepe sighes, But all so soone as the all-cheering Sunne, Should in the farthest East begin to draw The shadie Curtaines from Auroras bed, Away from light steales home my heauy Sonne, And priuate in his Chamber pennes himselfe, Shuts vp his windowes, lockes faire day-light out, And makes himselfe an artificiall night: Blacke and portendous must this humour proue, Vnlesse good counsell may the cause remoue

Ben. My Noble Vncle doe you know the cause? Moun. I neither know it, nor can learne of him

Ben. Haue you importun'd him by any meanes? Moun. Both by my selfe and many other Friends, But he his owne affections counseller, Is to himselfe (I will not say how true) But to himselfe so secret and so close, So farre from sounding and discouery, As is the bud bit with an enuious worme, Ere he can spread his sweete leaues to the ayre, Or dedicate his beauty to the same. Could we but learne from whence his sorrowes grow, We would as willingly giue cure, as know. Enter Romeo.

Ben. See where he comes, so please you step aside, Ile know his greeuance, or be much denide

Moun. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, To heare true shrift. Come Madam let's away.

Exeunt.

Ben. Good morrow Cousin

Rom. Is the day so young? Ben. But new strooke nine

Rom. Aye me, sad houres seeme long: Was that my Father that went hence so fast? Ben. It was: what sadnes lengthens Romeo's houres? Ro. Not hauing that, which hauing, makes them short Ben. In loue

Romeo. Out

Ben. Of loue

Rom. Out of her fauour where I am in loue

Ben. Alas that loue so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proofe

Rom. Alas that loue, whose view is muffled still, Should without eyes, see path-wayes to his will: Where shall we dine? O me: what fray was heere? Yet tell me not, for I haue heard it all: Heere's much to do with hate, but more with loue: Why then, O brawling loue, O louing hate, O any thing, of nothing first created: O heauie lightnesse, serious vanity, Mishapen Chaos of welseeming formes, Feather of lead, bright smoake, cold fire, sicke health, Still waking sleepe, that is not what it is: This loue feele I, that feele no loue in this. Doest thou not laugh? Ben. No Coze, I rather weepe

Rom. Good heart, at what? Ben. At thy good hearts oppression

Rom. Why such is loues transgression. Griefes of mine owne lie heauie in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate to haue it preast With more of thine, this loue that thou hast showne, Doth adde more griefe, to too much of mine owne. Loue, is a smoake made with the fume of sighes, Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in Louers eyes, Being vext, a Sea nourisht with louing teares, What is it else? a madnesse, most discreet, A choking gall, and a preseruing sweet: Farewell my Coze

Ben. Soft I will goe along. And if you leaue me so, you do me wrong

Rom. Tut I haue lost my selfe, I am not here, This is not Romeo, hee's some other where

Ben. Tell me in sadnesse, who is that you loue? Rom. What shall I grone and tell thee? Ben. Grone, why no: but sadly tell me who

Rom. A sicke man in sadnesse makes his will: A word ill vrg'd to one that is so ill: In sadnesse Cozin, I do loue a woman

Ben. I aym'd so neare, when I suppos'd you lou'd

Rom. A right good marke man, and shee's faire I loue Ben. A right faire marke, faire Coze, is soonest hit

Rom. Well in that hit you misse, sheel not be hit With Cupids arrow, she hath Dians wit: And in strong proofe of chastity well arm'd: From loues weake childish Bow, she liues vncharm'd. Shee will not stay the siege of louing tearmes, Nor bid th' encounter of assailing eyes. Nor open her lap to Sainct-seducing Gold: O she is rich in beautie, onely poore, That when she dies, with beautie dies her store

Ben. Then she hath sworne, that she will still liue chast? Rom. She hath, and in that sparing make huge wast? For beauty steru'd with her seuerity, Cuts beauty off from all posteritie. She is too faire, too wise: wisely too faire, To merit blisse by making me dispaire: She hath forsworne to loue, and in that vow Do I liue dead, that liue to tell it now

Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to thinke of her

Rom. O teach me how I should forget to thinke

Ben. By giuing liberty vnto thine eyes, Examine other beauties, Ro. 'Tis the way to cal hers (exquisit) in question more, These happy maskes that kisse faire Ladies browes, Being blacke, puts vs in mind they hide the faire: He that is strooken blind, cannot forget The precious treasure of his eye-sight lost: Shew me a Mistresse that is passing faire, What doth her beauty serue but as a note, Where I may read who past that passing faire. Farewell thou can'st not teach me to forget, Ben. Ile pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.

Exeunt.

Enter Capulet, Countie Paris, and the Clowne.