The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare (book suggestions TXT) 📖

of policy.

Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours-A long-tongu’d babbling gossip? No, lords, no.

And now be it known to you my full intent: Not far, one Muliteus, my countryman-His wife but yesternight was brought to bed; His child is like to her, fair as you are.

Go pack with him, and give the mother gold, And tell them both the circumstance of all, And how by this their child shall be advanc’d, And be received for the Emperor’s heir And substituted in the place of mine, To calm this tempest whirling in the court; And let the Emperor dandle him for his own.

Hark ye, lords. You see I have given her physic, [Pointing to the NURSE]

And you must needs bestow her funeral; The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms.

This done, see that you take no longer days, But send the midwife presently to me.

The midwife and the nurse well made away, Then let the ladies tattle what they please.

CHIRON. Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air With secrets.

DEMETRIUS. For this care of Tamora,

Herself and hers are highly bound to thee.

 

Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, bearing off the dead NURSE

 

AARON. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies, There to dispose this treasure in mine arms, And secretly to greet the Empress’ friends.

Come on, you thick-lipp’d slave, I’ll bear you hence; For it is you that puts us to our shifts.

I’ll make you feed on berries and on roots, And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat, And cabin in a cave, and bring you up To be a warrior and command a camp.

Exit with the CHILD

 

SCENE III.

Rome. A public place

 

Enter TITUS, bearing arrows with letters on the ends of them; with him MARCUS, YOUNG LUCIUS, and other gentlemen, PUBLIUS, SEMPRONIUS, and CAIUS, with bows TITUS. Come, Marcus, come; kinsmen, this is the way.

Sir boy, let me see your archery;

Look ye draw home enough, and ‘tis there straight.

Terras Astrea reliquit,

Be you rememb’red, Marcus; she’s gone, she’s fled.

Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall Go sound the ocean and cast your nets; Happily you may catch her in the sea; Yet there’s as little justice as at land.

No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it; ‘Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade, And pierce the inmost centre of the earth; Then, when you come to Pluto’s region, I pray you deliver him this petition.

Tell him it is for justice and for aid, And that it comes from old Andronicus, Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome.

Ah, Rome! Well, well, I made thee miserable What time I threw the people’s suffrages On him that thus doth tyrannize o’er me.

Go get you gone; and pray be careful all, And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch’d.

This wicked Emperor may have shipp’d her hence; And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.

MARCUS. O Publius, is not this a heavy case, To see thy noble uncle thus distract?

PUBLIUS. Therefore, my lords, it highly us concerns By day and night t’ attend him carefully, And feed his humour kindly as we may

Till time beget some careful remedy.

MARCUS. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy.

Join with the Goths, and with revengeful war Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude, And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.

TITUS. Publius, how now? How now, my masters?

What, have you met with her?

PUBLIUS. No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word, If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall.

Marry, for Justice, she is so employ’d, He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else, So that perforce you must needs stay a time.

TITUS. He doth me wrong to feed me with delays.

I’ll dive into the burning lake below And pull her out of Acheron by the heels.

Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we, No big-bon’d men fram’d of the Cyclops’ size; But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back, Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can bear; And, sith there’s no justice in earth nor hell, We will solicit heaven, and move the gods To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs.

Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus.

[He gives them the arrows]

‘Ad Jovem’ that’s for you; here ‘Ad Apollinem.’

‘Ad Martem’ that’s for myself.

Here, boy, ‘To Pallas’; here ‘To Mercury.’

‘To Saturn,’ Caius-not to Saturnine: You were as good to shoot against the wind.

To it, boy. Marcus, loose when I bid.

Of my word, I have written to effect; There’s not a god left unsolicited.

MARCUS. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court; We will afflict the Emperor in his pride.

TITUS. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot] O, well said, Lucius!

Good boy, in Virgo’s lap! Give it Pallas.

MARCUS. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon; Your letter is with Jupiter by this.

TITUS. Ha! ha!

Publius, Publius, hast thou done?

See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus’ horns.

MARCUS. This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot, The Bull, being gall’d, gave Aries such a knock That down fell both the Ram’s horns in the court; And who should find them but the Empress’ villain?

She laugh’d, and told the Moor he should not choose But give them to his master for a present.

TITUS. Why, there it goes! God give his lordship joy!

 

Enter the CLOWN, with a basket and two pigeons in it News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come.

Sirrah, what tidings? Have you any letters?

Shall I have justice? What says Jupiter?

CLOWN. Ho, the gibbet-maker? He says that he hath taken them down again, for the man must not be hang’d till the next week.

TITUS. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee?

CLOWN. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank with him in all my life.

TITUS. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?

CLOWN. Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else.

TITUS. Why, didst thou not come from heaven?

CLOWN. From heaven! Alas, sir, I never came there. God forbid I should be so bold to press to heaven in my young days. Why, I am going with my pigeons to the Tribunal Plebs, to take up a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the Emperal’s men.

MARCUS. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to serve for your oration; and let him deliver the pigeons to the Emperor from you.

TITUS. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the Emperor with a grace?

CLOWN. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life.

TITUS. Sirrah, come hither. Make no more ado, But give your pigeons to the Emperor; By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.

Hold, hold! Meanwhile here’s money for thy charges.

Give me pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver up a supplication?

CLOWN. Ay, sir.

TITUS. Then here is a supplication for you. And when you come to him, at the first approach you must kneel; then kiss his foot; then deliver up your pigeons; and then look for your reward. I’ll be at hand, sir; see you do it bravely.

CLOWN. I warrant you, sir; let me alone.

TITUS. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come let me see it.

Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration; For thou hast made it like a humble suppliant.

And when thou hast given it to the Emperor, Knock at my door, and tell me what he says.

CLOWN. God be with you, sir; I will.

TITUS. Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follow me. Exeunt

SCENE IV.

Rome. Before the palace

 

Enter the EMPEROR, and the EMPRESS and her two sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON; LORDS and others. The EMPEROR brings the arrows in his hand that TITUS

shot at him

 

SATURNINUS. Why, lords, what wrongs are these! Was ever seen An emperor in Rome thus overborne,

Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent Of egal justice, us’d in such contempt?

My lords, you know, as know the mightful gods, However these disturbers of our peace Buzz in the people’s ears, there nought hath pass’d But even with law against the wilful sons Of old Andronicus. And what an if

His sorrows have so overwhelm’d his wits, Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks, His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness?

And now he writes to heaven for his redress.

See, here’s ‘To Jove’ and this ‘To Mercury’; This ‘To Apollo’; this ‘To the God of War’-

Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome!

What’s this but libelling against the Senate, And blazoning our unjustice every where?

A goodly humour, is it not, my lords?

As who would say in Rome no justice were.

But if I live, his feigned ecstasies

Shall be no shelter to these outrages; But he and his shall know that justice lives In Saturninus’ health; whom, if she sleep, He’ll so awake as he in fury shall

Cut off the proud’st conspirator that lives.

TAMORA. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine, Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts, Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus’ age, Th’ effects of sorrow for his valiant sons Whose loss hath pierc’d him deep and scarr’d his heart; And rather comfort his distressed plight Than prosecute the meanest or the best For these contempts. [Aside] Why, thus it shall become High-witted Tamora to gloze with all.

But, Titus, I have touch’d thee to the quick, Thy lifeblood out; if Aaron now be wise, Then is all safe, the anchor in the port.

 

Enter CLOWN

 

How now, good fellow! Wouldst thou speak with us?

CLOWN. Yes, forsooth, an your mistriship be Emperial.

TAMORA. Empress I am, but yonder sits the Emperor.

CLOWN. ‘Tis he.- God and Saint Stephen give you godden. I have brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here.

[SATURNINUS reads the letter]

SATURNINUS. Go take him away, and hang him presently.

CLOWN. How much money must I have?

TAMORA. Come, sirrah, you must be hang’d.

CLOWN. Hang’d! by’r lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair end. [Exit guarded]

SATURNINUS. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs!

Shall I endure this monstrous villainy?

I know from whence this same device proceeds.

May this be borne-as if his traitorous sons That died by law for murder of our brother Have by my means been butchered wrongfully?

Go drag the villain hither by the hair; Nor age nor honour shall shape privilege.

For this proud mock I’ll be thy slaughterman, Sly frantic wretch, that holp’st to make me great, In hope thyself should govern Rome and me.

 

Enter NUNTIUS AEMILIUS

 

What news with thee, Aemilius?

AEMILIUS. Arm, my lords! Rome never had more cause.

The Goths have gathered head; and with a power Of high resolved men, bent to the spoil, They hither march amain, under conduct Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus;

Who threats in course of this revenge to do As much as ever Coriolanus did.

SATURNINUS. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths?

These tidings nip me, and I hang the head As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms.

Ay, now begins our sorrows to approach.

‘Tis he the common people love so much; Myself hath often heard them say-When I have walked like a private man-That Lucius’ banishment was wrongfully, And they have wish’d that Lucius were their emperor.

TAMORA. Why should you fear? Is not your city strong?

SATURNINUS. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius, And will revolt from me to succour him.

TAMORA. King, be thy thoughts imperious like thy name!

Is the sun dimm’d, that gnats do