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camest,And now like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds.Give me a sword, I’ll chop off my hands too;For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain;And they have nursed this woe, in feeding life;In bootless prayer have they been held up,And they have served me to effectless use:Now all the service I require of themIs that the one will help to cut the other.’Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands;For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain.
    Lucius
    Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr’d thee?
    Marcus Andronicus
    O, that delightful engine of her thoughtsThat blabb’d them with such pleasing eloquence,Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage,Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sungSweet varied notes, enchanting every ear!
    Lucius
    O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed?
    Marcus Andronicus
    O, thus I found her, straying in the park,Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deerThat hath received some unrecuring wound.
    Titus Andronicus
    It was my deer; and he that wounded herHath hurt me more than had he killed me dead:For now I stand as one upon a rockEnvironed with a wilderness of sea,Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave,Expecting ever when some envious surgeWill in his brinish bowels swallow him.This way to death my wretched sons are gone;Here stands my other son, a banished man,And here my brother, weeping at my woes.But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn,Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul.Had I but seen thy picture in this plight,It would have madded me: what shall I doNow I behold thy lively body so?Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears:Nor tongue, to tell me who hath martyr’d thee:Thy husband he is dead: and for his deathThy brothers are condemn’d, and dead by this.Look, Marcus! ah, son Lucius, look on her!When I did name her brothers, then fresh tearsStood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dewUpon a gather’d lily almost wither’d.
    Marcus Andronicus
    Perchance she weeps because they kill’d her husband;Perchance because she knows them innocent.
    Titus Andronicus
    If they did kill thy husband, then be joyfulBecause the law hath ta’en revenge on them.No, no, they would not do so foul a deed;Witness the sorrow that their sister makes.Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips.Or make some sign how I may do thee ease:Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius,And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain,Looking all downwards to behold our cheeksHow they are stain’d, as meadows, yet not dry,With miry slime left on them by a flood?And in the fountain shall we gaze so longTill the fresh taste be taken from that clearness,And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears?Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine?Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb showsPass the remainder of our hateful days?What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues,Plot some deuce of further misery,To make us wonder’d at in time to come.
    Lucius
    Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief,See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps.
    Marcus Andronicus
    Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes.
    Titus Andronicus
    Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wotThy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine,For thou, poor man, hast drown’d it with thine own.
    Lucius
    Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks.
    Titus Andronicus
    Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs:Had she a tongue to speak, now would she sayThat to her brother which I said to thee:His napkin, with his true tears all bewet,Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks.O, what a sympathy of woe is this,As far from help as Limbo is from bliss!
    Enter Aaron
    Aaron
    Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperorSends thee this word,— that, if thou love thy sons,Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus,Or any one of you, chop off your hand,And send it to the king: he for the sameWill send thee hither both thy sons alive;And that shall be the ransom for their fault.
    Titus Andronicus
    O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron!Did ever raven sing so like a lark,That gives