Titus Andronicus Translation Act 3, Scene 1
Enter Judges, Senators and Tribunes, with MARTIUS and QUINTUS, bound, passing on to the place of execution; TITUS going before, pleading
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Hear me, grave fathers! noble tribunes, stay! For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept; For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed; For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd; And for these bitter tears, which now you see Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks; Be pitiful to my condemned sons, Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought. For two and twenty sons I never wept, Because they died in honour's lofty bed.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Listen to me, respected men! Noble tribunes, wait! Take pity on me—for my lost youth, which I spent in dangerous wars while you slept securely at home; for all the blood I’ve spilled for Rome; for all the cold nights when I stayed up guarding the camp; for the bitter tears that now run down my wrinkled cheeks—and have mercy on my sons, who are more innocent than you think. I never cried for my twenty-two sons who died before, because they died with honor.
Lieth down; the Judges, & c., pass by him, and Exeunt
TITUS ANDRONICUS
For these, these, tribunes, in the dust I write My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears: Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite; My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush. O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain, That shall distil from these two ancient urns, Than youthful April shall with all his showers: In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still; In winter with warm tears I'll melt the snow And keep eternal spring-time on thy face, So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
But for these sons, tribunes, I cry so that my tears write my sorrow in the dust, quenching the earth’s thirst. The sweet blood of my sons will make it blush with shame. Oh earth, if you refuse to drink the blood of my dear sons, I’ll give you more rain from my ancient eyes than you ever got in April. In the drought of summer I’ll rain on you still, and in winter I’ll melt the snow with my warm tears and make it eternally spring, if you refuse to drink my dear sons' blood.
Enter LUCIUS, with his sword drawn
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O reverend tribunes! O gentle, aged men! Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death; And let me say, that never wept before, My tears are now prevailing orators.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Oh, powerful tribunes! Oh, merciful old men! Release my sons, take back the sentence of death, and let me say—a man who never cried before—that my tears moved you.
LUCIUS
O noble father, you lament in vain:The tribunes hear you not; no man is by;And you recount your sorrows to a stone.
LUCIUS
Oh, noble father, there’s no point going on like this, for the tribunes can’t hear. No one is here, and you’re only talking to the stones.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead.Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you,—
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Ah, Lucius, let me plead for your brothers. Honorable tribunes, I beg you once again—
LUCIUS
My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak.
LUCIUS
My gracious lord, none of the tribunes can hear you.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Why, tis no matter, man; if they did hear, They would not mark me, or if they did mark, They would not pity me, yet plead I must; Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones; Who, though they cannot answer my distress, Yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes, For that they will not intercept my tale: When I do weep, they humbly at my feet Receive my tears and seem to weep with me; And, were they but attired in grave weeds, Rome could afford no tribune like to these. A stone is soft as wax,—tribunes more hard than stones; A stone is silent, and offendeth not, And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Why, it doesn't matter if they hear me, man, for they wouldn’t listen to me—or if they did listen, they wouldn’t have mercy. But I have to beg nonetheless. So I tell my sorrows to the stones, which—although they can’t answer me—in some ways are better than the tribunes. For they don’t interrupt my story; when I cry, they seem to cry with me, as my tears trickle down the stones. If they were dressed in mourning clothes, there would be no better tribunes in Rome. A stone is soft as wax, when tribunes are harder than stones. A stone is silent, and never offends, while tribunes doom men to death when they speak.
Rises
TITUS ANDRONICUS
But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn?
TITUS ANDRONICUS
But why are you standing with your weapon drawn?
LUCIUS
To rescue my two brothers from their death:For which attempt the judges have pronouncedMy everlasting doom of banishment.
LUCIUS
To rescue my two brothers from their death sentence—and for that, the judges have banished me from Rome for life.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
O happy man! they have befriended thee. Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers? Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey But me and mine: how happy art thou, then, From these devourers to be banished! But who comes with our brother Marcus here?
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Oh, happy man! They’ve done you a favor—foolish Lucius, don’t you see that Rome is just a wilderness of tigers? Tigers must kill, and there’s no better prey than me and my family. You’re fortunate, then, to be banished from this place. But who comes here with my brother Marcus?
Enter MARCUS and LAVINIA
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep;Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break:I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
Titus, prepare your eyes to weep; or, if you don't cry, for your noble heart to break. I bring all-consuming sorrow to you in your old age.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Will it consume me? let me see it, then.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Will sorrow consume me? Let me see it, then.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
This was thy daughter.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
This was your daughter.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Why, Marcus, so she is.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Why, Marcus, so she is.
LUCIUS
Ay me, this object kills me!
LUCIUS
Oh, this sight kills me!
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her. Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight? What fool hath added water to the sea, Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy? My grief was at the height before thou 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 them Is 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.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Faint-hearted boy, get up and look at her. Speak, Lavinia, and tell us what hand has made you handless? What fool has added water to the sea, or brought another torch to burning Troy? For my grief was already at its height before you came, and now like Nilus, overflows all bounds. Give me a sword and I’ll chop off my hands too, for they have fought for Rome in vain and kept me alive to suffer; I’ve held them up in prayer, and they’ve been no use at all. So now all I ask is that one will do me the favor of cutting off the other. It’s good that you have no hands, Lavinia, since hands are useless in doing any service for Rome.
LUCIUS
Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee?
LUCIUS
Tell us, sweet sister: who did this to you?
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
O, that delightful engine of her thoughts That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence, Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage, Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear!
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
Oh, her tongue—that spoke her thoughts so pleasingly—is torn from her mouth, where it sung like a sweet songbird in a pretty cage, enchanting everyone!
LUCIUS
O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed?
LUCIUS
Oh, then speak for her—who did this?
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
O, thus I found her, straying in the park,Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deerThat hath received some unrecuring wound.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
She was already like this when I found her. She was wandering in the park trying to hide herself, like a deer that’s received a death wound.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
It was my deer; and he that wounded her Hath hurt me more than had he killed me dead: For now I stand as one upon a rock Environed with a wilderness of sea, Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, Expecting ever when some envious surge Will 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 do Now 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 death Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this. Look, Marcus! ah, son Lucius, look on her! When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
It was my deer, and whoever wounded her has hurt me worse than if he’d killed me. It’s as if I’m standing on a rock surrounded by the sea, watching the tide surge and expecting that each wave will be the one that drowns me. My poor sons are sent to death; my other son is banished; my brother cries for our misfortune. But dear Lavinia—more precious than my soul—gives me the greatest suffering. If I had just seen a picture of you like this, I would have gone mad; what can I do now that I see it in real life? You have no hands to wipe away your tears or tongue to tell me who did this to you; your husband is dead, and your brothers are condemned to death for killing him. Look, Marcus! Oh, Lucius, look at her! When I mentioned her brothers, new tears appeared on her cheeks like honeydew on an almost-withered flower.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
Perchance she weeps because they kill'd her husband;Perchance because she knows them innocent.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
Perhaps she cries because they killed her husband, or perhaps because she knows they’re innocent.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful Because 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 cheeks How 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 long Till 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 shows Pass 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.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
If they did kill your husband, then you should be pleased that they’ve been brought to justice. But no, no, they wouldn’t do something so awful; look how sad their sister looks. Sweet Lavinia, let me kiss your lips. Or give some sign to tell me how I can help: should your uncle, your brother Lucius, and I sit around a fountain and weep, so that we see the reflection of our tear-streaked cheeks, like a meadow streaked with slime after a flood? And should we look into the fountain so long that its fresh water turns salty from our tears? Or should we cut off out own hands, like yours? Or should we stop speaking, and spend the rest of our hateful lives miming at each other? What should we do? Let those of us that still have our tongues plan how to be so miserable that future ages will marvel at us.
LUCIUS
Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief,See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps.
LUCIUS
Sweet father, stop crying; for, seeing you cry, look how my poor sister sobs and weeps.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
Calm yourself, dear niece. Good Titus, dry your 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.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Oh, Marcus, Marcus! Brother, I know that your handkerchief can’t dry my tears, since it’s already so wet with your own.
LUCIUS
Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks.
LUCIUS
Oh, my Lavinia, I’ll wipe your cheeks.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That 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!
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Look, Marcus, look! I understand her signs—if she could talk, she’d say to your brother what I just said to you: his handkerchief, also soaked in his tears, won’t help her sad cheeks. Oh, this is a fellowship of suffering, as far from help as Limbo is from heaven!
Enter AARON
AARON
Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends 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 same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; And that shall be the ransom for their fault.
AARON
Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor sends a message—if you love your sons, you, Marcus, Lucius, or any of your family should chop off your hand and send it to the king. With that ransom for their crime, he’ll send both your sons back to you alive.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off?
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Oh, generous emperor! Oh, sweet Aaron! Has a raven ever sounded so much like a lark that sings at sunrise? With all my heart, I’ll send the emperor my hand; good Aaron, will you help chop it off?
LUCIUS
Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives.
LUCIUS
Wait, father! Your noble hand—that has defeated so many enemies—shouldn’t be sent. My hand will serve the purpose. I’m young and can spare the loss of blood more easily, and so my hand should save my brothers’ lives.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
Which of your hands hasn’t defended Rome, wielding a bloody battle axe and wreaking destruction on the enemy’s castle? Oh, both are deserving. My hand has been merely idle; if it ransoms my two nephews from their death, then it’s done something useful.
AARON
Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along,For fear they die before their pardon come.
AARON
Come on, figure out whose hand should be sent, lest they die before their pardon comes.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
My hand shall go.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
My hand will go.
LUCIUS
By heaven, it shall not go!
LUCIUS
By God, it won't go!
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as theseAre meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Sirs, stop fighting; my hands are like withered herbs that need to be plucked out of the garden. So we’ll send one of mine.
LUCIUS
Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son,Let me redeem my brothers both from death.
LUCIUS
Dear father, if I’m ever worthy to be called your son, let me save my brothers from death.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
And, for our father's sake and mother's care,Now let me show a brother's love to thee.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
And, now for the sake of our parents, let me show you a brother’s love.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Agree between you; I will spare my hand.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
All right, I'll spare my hand; you two figure it out.
LUCIUS
Then I'll go fetch an axe.
LUCIUS
Then I'll go get an axe.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
But I will use the axe.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
But I'll be the one to use it.
Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both:Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Come quickly, Aaron; I'll deceive them both. Lend me your hand, and I'll give you mine.
AARON
[Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass.
AARON
[To himself] If this is called lying, then I’ll be honest, and never lie to men like this as long as I live. But I’ll trick you another way, as you’ll see less than half an hour from now.
Cuts off TITUS's hand
Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: Tell him it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it More hath it merited; that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchased at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Now stop fighting: what’s done is done. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand. Tell him it was a hand that defended him from a thousand dangers; ask him to bury it, since it deserved more than this. As for my sons, say I think of this as a good exchange, jewels for a cheap price—although precious, too, since I’ve bought back my own.
AARON
I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. [Aside] Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace. Aaron will have his soul black like his face.
AARON
I’ll go, Andronicus; and in exchange for your hand, you’ll soon have your sons with you.
[To himself] Their heads, I mean. Oh, the very thought of this villainy delights me even before I’ve done it! Let fools do good deeds, and fair men call for mercy. Aaron will have his soul as black as his face.
Exit
TITUS ANDRONICUS
O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! [To LAVINIA] What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him in their melting bosoms.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Oh, now I lift my one hand up to pray to heaven, and kneel on the ground with my feeble body: if any power pities the tears of the miserable, I call on that!
[To LAVINIA] What, will you kneel with me? Do then, dear heart, for heaven will hear our prayers: we’ll break the dim sky with our sighs and stain the sun with the fog of our tears, as when it’s overshadowed by rain clouds.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
O brother, speak with possibilities,And do not break into these deep extremes.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
Oh, brother, be rational and don’t break into these fits of extreme passion.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom?Then be my passions bottomless with them.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Isn’t my sorrow deep, since there’s no end to it? Then let my passions be bottomless as well.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
But yet let reason govern thy lament.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
But still, let reason govern your sorrow.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes: When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
If there were anything reasonable about these miseries, then I could bind my grief within reasonable limits. When heaven weeps, doesn’t the earth overflow with rain? If the winds blow hard, don’t the waves get higher, threatening the swollen face of the sky? And would you like me to tell you the reason for this storm? I am the sea; see how Lavinia’s sighs blow. She is the weeping sky, and I’m the earth. My sea must be moved with her sighs, and my earth must drown with her continual tears. I can’t hide her sorrow in my bowels, but must vomit it up like a drunken man. Then give me permission, for losers must give relief to their stomachs by talking bitterly.
Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand
MESSENGER
Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd; That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father's death.
MESSENGER
Worthy Andronicus, you’ve gotten a poor reward for the good hand you sent the emperor. Here are the heads of your two noble sons, and here’s your hand, sent back to you in contempt; your sorrow is a joke to them, and your sacrifice is mocked. It’s worse for me to think of what you’ve suffered than remembering the death of my own father.
Exit
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; But sorrow flouted at is double death.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
Now let hot Etna cool in Sicily, and let my heart burn like hell forever! These miseries are too much to bear. To cry with those who cry does some help, but to mock sorrow is like dying twice.
LUCIUS
Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe!
LUCIUS
Ah, how can I still be alive after this sight has made such a deep wound in me? Oh, life is no more than a living death, when the only thing that tells us we're still alive is that we breathe in and out.
LAVINIA kisses TITUS
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortlessAs frozen water to a starved snake.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
Oh, poor heart, that kiss can’t give any more comfort than frozen water to a starved snake.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
When will this fearful slumber have an end?
TITUS ANDRONICUS
When will we wake up from this horrible dream?
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes; Now is a time to storm; why art thou still?
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
Now I’ll speak plainly. Die, Andronicus, for you’re not asleep. Look at your two sons’ heads, your brave hand, your mangled daughter here, your other banished son struck pale with the sight, your brother—me—like a stone, cold and numb. Oh, now I won’t try to calm you down; tear off your silver hair, bite your one remaining hand with your teeth, and let this sad sight kill us here. Now is the time to despair; why are you so quiet?
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Ha, ha, ha!
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Ha, ha, ha!
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS
Why are you laughing? It doesn't fit the mood.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes And make them blind with tributary tears: Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be return'd again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other I will bear. Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms! Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: And, if you love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Why, I don’t have another tear to shed. Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, which would make my eyes weak by blinding them with tears—how will I find Revenge’s cave then? For these two heads seem to speak to me, threatening that I’ll never be happy again until I take revenge by returning all these offenses in kind, back down the throats of those who have wronged us. Come, let’s see what I have to do. You sad people, circle around me, so that I can turn to each of you and swear on my soul to take revenge on your behalf. The vow is made.
[To MARCUS] Come, brother, take a head, and in this hand I’ll carry the other.
[To LAVINIA] Lavinia, you’ll have a job too—these arms! Carry my hand between your teeth, sweet girl.
[To LUCIUS] As for you, boy, get out of my sight; you’re banished, and must not stay. Go to the Goths and raise an army there, and if you love me—as I think you do—let’s kiss and say goodbye, for we have much to do.
Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA
LUCIUS
Farewell Andronicus, my noble father, The wofull'st man that ever lived in Rome: Farewell, proud Rome; till Lucius come again, He leaves his pledges dearer than his life: Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister; O, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been! But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives But in oblivion and hateful griefs. If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs; And make proud Saturnine and his empress Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen. Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power, To be revenged on Rome and Saturnine.
LUCIUS
Goodbye, Andronicus, my noble father and the saddest man that ever lived in Rome. Goodbye, proud Rome. Until Lucius comes again, he leaves behind a promise to return, dearer than his life. Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister: oh, if only you were like you were before! But now neither Lucius nor Lavinia lives, except in grief and despair. As long as Lucius lives, he will fight for justice for you, and make proud Saturnine and his empress beg at the gates like Tarquin and his queen. Now I’ll go to the Goths, and raise an army to take revenge on Rome and Saturnine.
Exit
