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;
And swear with me,—as, with the woeful fere
And father of that chaste dishonour’d 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.
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 you 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 bad-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 TITUS, LAVINIA, and YOUNG LUCIUS.]
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 batter’d shield;
But yet so just that he will not revenge:—
Revenge, ye heavens, for old Andronicus!
[Exit.]
SCENE II
Rome. A Room in the Palace.
[Enter AARON, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, at one door; at another door, YOUNG LUCIUS and an Attendant, 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 decipher’d, that’s the news,
For villains mark’d with rape.—May it please you,
My grandsire, well advis’d, 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;
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.
[Exeunt YOUNG LUCIUS and Attendant.]
DEMETRIUS.
What’s here? A scroll; and written round about?
Let’s see:
[Reads.] ‘Integer vitae, scelerisque purus,
Non eget Mauri jaculis, 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 wrapp’d 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 awhile.—
And now, young lords, was’t not a happy star
Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so,
Captives, to be advanced to this height?
It did me good before the palace gate
To brave the tribune in his brother’s hearing.
DEMETRIUS.
But me more good to see so great a lord
Basely insinuate and send us gifts.
AARON.
Had he not reason, Lord