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