This sandy plot is plain. Guide if thou canst
This after me.
He writes his name with his staff, and guides it
with feet and mouth
I here have writ my name
Without the help of any hand at all.
Cursed be that heart that forced us to this shift!
Write thou, good niece, and here display at last
What God 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
her stumps, and writes
O, do ye read, my lord, what she hath writ?
⌈TITUS⌉ ‘Stuprum—Chiron—Demetrius.’
MARCUS
What, what!—The lustful sons of Tamora
Performers of this heinous bloody deed?
TITUS
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,
All kneel
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.
They rise
TITUS
’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 brass
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?
YOUNG LUCIUS
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.
YOUNG LUCIUS
And, uncle, so will I, an if I live.
TITUS
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?
YOUNG LUCIUS
Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire.
TITUS
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 all but Marcus
MARCUS
O heavens, can you hear a good man groan
And not relent, or not compassion him?
Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy,
That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart
Than foemen’s marks upon his battered shield,
But yet so just that he will not revenge.
Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus! Exit
4.2 Enter Aaron, Chiron, and Demetrius 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.
YOUNG LUCIUS
My lords, with all the humbleness I may
I greet your honours from Andronicus
(Aside) And pray the Roman gods confound you both.
DEMETRIUS
Gramercy, lovely Lucius. What’s the news?
YOUNG LUCIUS (aside)
That you are both deciphered, that’s the news,
For villains marked with rape. (Aloud) May it please
you,
My grandsire, well advised, 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;
His attendant gives the weapons
And so I do, and with his gifts present
Your lordships that, whenever you have need,
You may be armed and appointed well;
And so I leave you both (aside) like bloody villains.
Exit with attendant
DEMETRIUS
What’s here—a scroll, and written round about?
Let’s see.
‘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.
AARON
Ay, just, a verse in Horace; right, you have it.
(Aside) Now what a thing it is to be an ass!
Here’s no sound jest. The old man hath found their
guilt,
And sends them weapons wrapped about with lines
That wound beyond their feeling to the quick.
But were our witty Empress well afoot
She would applaud Andronicus’ conceit.
But let her rest in her unrest a while.
(To Chiron and Demetrius)
And now, young lords, was’t not a happy star