Titus Andronicus: Act 4

Come and take choice of all my library,
And so beguile thy sorrow till the heavens
Reveal the damned contriver of this deed.

For love of her that’s gone,
Perhaps, she culled it from among the rest.

The lustful sons of Tamora
Performers of this heinous, bloody deed?

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.

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.

Come, go with me into mine armory.

But me more good to see so great a lord
Basely insinuate and send us gifts.

Well, more or less, or ne’er a whit at all,
Here Aaron is.

Now help, or woe betide thee evermore.

Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep!

Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad
Amongst the fair-faced breeders of our clime.

Now, by the burning tapers of the sky
That shone so brightly when this boy was got,
He dies upon my scimitar’s sharp point
That touches this my firstborn son and heir.

I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus
With all his threat’ning band of Typhon’s brood,
Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war
Shall seize this prey out of his father’s hands.

What, what, you sanguine, shallow-hearted boys,
You white-limed walls, you alehouse painted signs!

I blush to think upon this ignomy.

He is your brother, lords, sensibly fed
Of that self blood that first gave life to you,
And from that womb where you imprisoned were
He is enfranchisèd and come to light.

When we join in league,
I am a lamb; but if you brave the Moor,
The chafèd boar, the mountain lioness,
The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms.

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 advanced
And be receivèd 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 you, lords, you see I have given her physic

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.

This was the sport, my lord; when Publius shot,
The Bull, being galled, 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?

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

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.

Hold, hold; meanwhile here’s money for thy charges.—Give me pen and ink.—Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver up a supplication?

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

Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks,
His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness?

And now he writes to heaven for his redress!

What’s this but libeling against the Senate
And blazoning our unjustice everywhere?

But if I live, his feignèd ecstasies
Shall be no shelter to these outrages

The Goths have gathered head, and with a power
Of high-resolvèd 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.

Ay, but the citizens favor Lucius
And will revolt from me to succor him.

Even so mayst thou the giddy men of Rome.

If Tamora entreat him, then he will,
For I can smooth and fill his agèd ears
With golden promises, that were his heart
Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf,
Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue.

Say that the Emperor requests a parley
Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting
Even at his father’s house, the old Andronicus.

And now, sweet emperor, be blithe again,
And bury all thy fear in my devices.