The Works of William Shakespeare

Please you, therefore, draw nigh, and take your Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts, places.

Sat. Marcus, we will.

[Hautboys sound. The Company sit down at table. Enter TITUS dressed like a Cook, LAVINIA veiled, young LUCIUS, and others. TITUS places the dishes on the table.

Tit. Welcome, my gracious lord; welcome, dread queen;

Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius;
And welcome, all: although the cheer be poor,
'Twill fill your stomachs; please you eat of it. 29
Sat. Why art thou thus attired, Andronicus?
Tit. Because I would be sure to have all well,
To entertain your highness and your empress.
Tam. We are beholding to you, good Andro-

nicus.

Tit. An if your highness knew my heart, you

were.

My lord the emperor, resolve me this:
Was it well done of rash Virginius

To slay his daughter with his own right hand,
Because she was enforced, stain'd, and deflower'd?
Sat. It was, Andronicus.

Tit. Your reason, mighty lord?

Sat. Because the girl should not survive her shame,

And by her presence still renew his sorrows.

Tit. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual; A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant, For me, most wretched, to perform the like. Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee; [Kills Lavinia. And, with thy shame, thy father's sorrow die! Sat. What hast thou done, unnatural and unkind?

Tit. Kill'd her, for whom my tears have made me blind.

I am as woful as Virginius was,

And have a thousand times more cause than he To do this outrage: and it now is done.

Sat. What, was she ravish'd? tell who did the deed.

Tit. Will't please you eat? will't please your highness feed?

Tam. Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus?

Tit. Not I; 'twas Chiron and Demetrius: They ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue; And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong. Sat. Go fetch them hither to us presently. Tit. Why, there they are both, baked in that pie;

Whereof their mother daintily hath fed, Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred. 'Tis true, 'tis true; witness my knife's sharp point. [Kills Tamora. Sat. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed! [Kills Titus. Luc. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed? There's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed! [Kills Saturninus. A great tumult. Lucius, Marcus, and others go up into the balcony.

Marc. You sad-faced men, people and sons of Rome,

By uproar sever'd, like a flight of fowl

O, let me teach you how to knit again
This scatter'd corn into one mutual sheaf,
These broken limbs again into one body;"
Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself,
And she whom mighty kingdoms court'sy to,
Like a forlorn and desperate castaway,
Do shameful execution on herself.
But if my frosty signs and chaps of age,
Grave witnesses of true experience,
Cannot induce you to attend my words,
[To Lucius] Speak, Rome's dear friend, as erst
our ancestor,

When with his solemn tongue he did discourse
To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear
The story of that baleful burning night
When subtle Greeks surprised King Priam's Troy,
Tell us what Sinon hath bewitch'd our ears,
Or who hath brought the fatal engine in
That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound.
My heart is not compact of flint nor steel;
Nor can I utter all our bitter grief,

But floods of tears will drown my oratory,
And break my utterance, even in the time
When it should move you to attend me most,
Lending your kind commiseration.

Here is a captain, let him tell the tale;
Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him speak.
Luc. Then, noble auditory, be it known to you,
That cursed Chiron and Demetrius
Were they that murdered our emperor's brother;
And they it were that ravished our sister:
For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded;
Our father's tears despised, and basely cozen'd
Of that true hand that fought Rome's quarrel out,
And sent her enemies unto the grave.
Lastly, myself unkindly banished,
The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out,
To beg relief among Rome's enemies;
Who drown'd their enmity in my true tears,
And oped their arms to embrace me as a friend.
I am the turned forth, be it known to you,
That have preserved her welfare in my blood; 110
And from her bosom took the enemy's point,
Sheathing the steel in my adventurous body.
Alas, you know I am no vaunter, I;
My scars can witness, dumb although they are,
That my report is just and full of truth.
But, soft! methinks I do digress too much,
Citing my worthless praise: O, pardon me;
For when no friends are by, men praise themselves.
Marc. Now is my turn to speak. Behold this
child:

120

[Pointing to the Child in the arms of an Attendant. Of this was Tamora delivered; The issue of an irreligious Moor, Chief architect and plotter of these woes: The villain is alive in Titus' house,

And as he is, to witness this is true.
Now judge what cause had Titus to revenge
These wrongs, unspeakable, past patience,
Or more than any living man could bear.
Now you have heard the truth, what say you,
Romans?

Have we done aught amiss,-show us wherein,
And, from the place where you behold us now,
The poor remainder of Andronici
Will, hand in hand, all headlong cast us down,

131

150

LUCIUS, MARCUS, and the others descend. All. Lucius, all hail, Rome's gracious governor! Luc. Thanks, gentle Romans: may I govern so, To heal Rome's harms, and wipe away her woe! But, gentle people, give me aim awhile, For nature puts me to a heavy task: Stand all aloof: but, uncle, draw you near, To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk. O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips, [Kissing Titus. These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'd face, The last true duties of thy noble son!

Marc. Tear for tear, and loving kiss for kiss, Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips: O, were the sum of these that I should pay Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them! Luc. Come hither, boy; come, come, and learn of us 160 Tomelt in showers: thy grandsire loved thee well: Many a time he danced thee on his knee, Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow; Many a matter hath he told to thee, Meet and agreeing with thine infancy; In that respect, then, like a loving child, Shed yet some small drops from thy tender spring, Because kind nature doth require it so:

Friends should associate friends in grief and woe:
Bid him farewell; commit him to the grave; 170
Do him that kindness, and take leave of him.
Young Luc. O grandsire, grandsire! even with
all my heart

Would I were dead, so you did live again!
O Lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping;
My tears will choke me, if I ope my mouth.

Re-enter Attendants with AARON.

179

Em. You sad Andronici, have done with woes:
Give sentence on this execrable wretch,
That hath been breeder of these dire events.
Luc. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish
him;
There let him stand, and rave, and cry for food:
If any one relieves or pities him,
For the offence he dies. This is our doom:
Some stay to see him fasten'd in the earth.
Aar. O, why should wrath be mute, and fury
dumb?

I am no baby, I, that with base prayers
I should repent the evils I have done:
Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did
Would I perform, if I might have my will:
If one good deed in all my life I did,
I do repent it from my very soul.

190

Luc. Some loving friends convey the emperor hence,

And give him burial in his father's grave:
My father and Lavinia shall forthwith
Be closed in our household's monument.
As for that heinous tiger, Tamora,
No funeral rite, nor man in mourning weeds,
No mournful bell shall ring her burial;
But throw her forth to beasts and birds of prey:
Her life was beast-like, and devoid of pity;
And, being so, shall have like want of pity.
See justice done on Aaron, that damn'd Moor,
By whom our heavy haps had their beginning:
Then, afterwards, to order well the state,
That like events may ne'er it ruinate. [Exeunt.

200

SCENE I. Verona. A public place. Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet, armed with swords and bucklers. Sam. Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals.

Gre. No, for then we should be colliers.
Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.
Gre.
Ay, while you live, draw your neck out
o' the collar.

Sam. I strike quickly, being moved.
Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike.
Sam. A dog of the house of Montague

PETER, servant to Juliet's nurse. ABRAHAM, servant to Montague. An Apothecary.

Three Musicians.

Page to Paris; another Page; an Officer.

LADY MONTAGUE, wife to Montague.
LADY CAPULET, wife to Capulet.
JULIET, daughter to Capulet.
Nurse to Juliet.

Citizens of Verona; several Men and Women, relations to both houses; Maskers, Guards, Watchmen, and Attendants.

Chorus.

SCENE: Verona: Mantua.

Gre. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall.

Sam. True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall.

Gre. The quarrel is between our masters and us their men.

Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids, and cut off their heads.

Gre. The heads of the maids? Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt. Gre. They must take it in sense that feel it. Sam. Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.

Gre. 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool; here comes two of the house of the Montagues.

Sam. My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.

Gre. How! turn thy back and run?

Sam. Fear me not.

Gre. No, marry; I fear thee!

Enter ABRAHAM and BALTHASAR. Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir. Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? Sam. [Aside to Gre.] Is the law of our side, if I say ay?

Gre. No.

Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you,
sir, but I bite my thumb, sir.
Gre. Do you quarrel, sir?
Abr. Quarrel, sir! no, sir.

Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as
good a man as you.
Abr. No better.
Sam. Well, sir.

Gre. Say 'better' here comes one of my master's kinsmen.

Sam. Yes, better, sir.
Abr. You lie.

Sam. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. [They fight.

Enter BENVOLIO.

Ben. Part, fools!
Put up your swords; you know not what you do.
[Beats down their swords.
Enter TYBALT.

Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these
heartless hinds?

Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.

100

And made Verona's ancient citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
To wield old partisans, in hands as old,
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate:
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time, all the rest depart away:
You, Capulet, shall go along with me:
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasure in this case,
To old Free-town, our common judgement-place.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. 110
[Exeunt all but Montague, Lady Mon-
tague, and Benvolio.
Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new
abroach?

Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?
Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary,
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach:
I drew to part them: in the instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared,
Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head and cut the winds,
Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn: 119
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,

Ben. I do but keep the peace: put up thy Came more and more and fought on part and part, sword,

Or manage it to part these men with me.

Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace! I
hate the word,

As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:
Have at thee, coward!

[They fight.

Till the prince came, who parted either part.
La. Mon. O, where is Romeo? saw you him
to-day?

Right glad I am he was not at this fray.

130

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore
That westward rooteth from the city's side,
So early walking did I see your son:
Towards him I made, but he was ware of me
And stole into the covert of the wood:
I, measuring his affections by my own,
That most are busied when they're most alone,
Pursued my humour not pursuing his,
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been

seen,

140

With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the furthest east begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
Away from light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself,
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out
And makes himself an artificial night:
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
Mon. I neither know it nor can learn of him.
Ben. Have you importuned him by any means?
Mon. Both by myself and many other friends:
But he, his own affections' counsellor,
Is to himself-I will not say how true-
But to himself so secret and so close,
So far from sounding and discovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.

Could we but learn from whence his sorrows
160

grow,

We would as willingly give cure as know.

Enter ROMEO.

Ben. See, where he comes: so please you, step aside;

I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.
Mon. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay,
To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away.
[Exeunt Montague and Lady.

Ben. Good morrow, cousin.
Rom.

Is the day so young?
Ben. But new struck nine.
Rom.
Ay me! sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?
Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's
hours?

Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes them short.

Rom.

170

Out of her favour, where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!

Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,

Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?

Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. 180
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love.
Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
O any thing, of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!

Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!

health!

Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. Rom. Well, in that hit you miss : she'll not be hit

With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit;
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,
From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd.
She will not stay the siege of loving terms,
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:
O, she is rich in beauty, only poor,
That when she dies with beauty dies her store.
Ben. Then she hath sworn that she will still
live chaste?

220

To call hers exquisite, in question more:
These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows
Being black put us in mind they hide the fair;
He that is strucken blind cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost:
Show me a mistress that is passing fair,
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note
Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
[Exeunt.

240

Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?

Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?

Ben.
No, coz, I rather weep. 189
Rom. Good heart, at what?
Ben.
At thy good heart's oppression.
Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest
With more of thine: this love that thou hast
shown

Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.

200

Ben. Soft! I will go along; An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's some other where. Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is that you love. Rom. What, shall I groan and tell thee? Ben. Groan! why, no;

But sadly tell me who.

Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will: Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill! In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

210

Ben. I aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved.

Rom. A right good mark-man! And she's fair I love.

SCENE II. A street.

Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant. Cap. But Montague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace. Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both; And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long. But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?

Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before: My child is yet a stranger in the world; She hath not seen the change of fourteen years; Let two more summers wither in their pride, Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

ΙΟ

Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.

Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made.

The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she,
She is the hopeful lady of my earth:
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her consent is but a part;
An she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent and fair according voice.
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love; and you, among the store,
One more, most welcome, makes my number

more.

At my poor house look to behold this night

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