8

& Writing Destruction on the enemies' Caftle?
Oh, none of Both but are of high defert,
My hand hath been but idle, let it ferve
To ranfome my two nephews from their death;
Then have I kept it to a worthy end.

Aar. Nay, come, agree, whofe hand shall go along,'
For fear they die before their Pardon come.
Mar. My hand fhall go.

Luc. By heav'n, it fhall not go.

Tit. Sirs, ftrive no more, fuch wither'd herbs as thefe Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. Luc. Sweet father, if I fhall be thought thy fon, Let me redeem my brothers both from death.

Mar. And for our father's fake, and mother's care,

Now let me fhew a brother's love to thee.

Tit. Agree between you, I will fspare my hand.
Luc. Then I'll go fetch an ax.

Mar. But I will use the ax.

[Exeunt Lucius and Marcus.

Tit. Come hither, Aaron, I'll deceive them both, Lend me thy hand, and will give thee mine. Aar. If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilft I live, deceive men fo.

8 Writing Defraction on the enemies' Caftle? Thus all the editions. But Mr.Theobald, after ridiculing the fagacity of the former editors at the expence of a great deal of aukward mirth, corrects it to Cafque; and this, he fays, he'll stand by: And the Oxford Editor, taking his fecurity, will ftand by it too. But what a flippery ground is critical confidence! Nothing could bid fairer for a right conjecture; yet 'tis all imaginary. A. clofe helmet which covered the whole head, was called a Caftie, and, I fuppofe, for that

very reafon. Don Quixote's barber, at least as good a critick as thefe Editors, fays, (in Shelton's tranflation of 1612,) I know what is a helmet, and what a morrion, and what a clofe CASTLE, and other things touching warfare. lib. 4. cap. 18. And the original, celada de encaxe, has fomething of the fame fignification. Shakespear ufes the word again in Troilus and Creffida;

-and Diomede Stand faft, and wear a Caftle on thy head.

WARBURTON.

But

But I'll deceive you in another fort,

And that, you'll fay, ere half an hour pass.

[Afide.

[He cuts off Titus's hand.

Enter Lucius and Marcus again.

Tit. Now ftay your ftrife; what fhall be, is dif

patch'd.

Good Aaron give his Majefty 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 fons, fay, I account of them
As jewels purchas'd at an eafy price;
And yet dear too, because I bought mine own.
Aar. I go, Andronicus; and for thy hand
Look by and by to have thy fons with thee.
Their heads, I mean.-Oh, how this villainy
Doth fat me with the very thought of it!
Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace,
Aaron will have his foul black like his face.

[Afide.

[Exit.

Tit. Ó hear!—I lift this one hand up to heav'n, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth;

If any Power pities wretched tears,

To that I call. What, wilt thou kneel with me?

[To Lavinia. Do then, dear heart, for heav'n fhall hear our prayers, Or with our fighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And ftain the fun with fogs, as fometime clouds, When they do hug him in their melting bofoms. Mar. Oh! brother, fpeak with poffibilities, And do not break into thefe deep extremes.

Tit.

And do not break into thefe read, instead of this nonfenfe,
TWO extremes.] We fhould

VOL. VI.

Y

WOE-extremes.

i.c.

Tit. Is not my forrow deep, having no bottom?
Then be my paffions bottomlefs with them.
Mar. But yet let reafon govern thy Lament.
Tit. If there were reafon for these miseries,
Then into limits could I bind my woes.

When heav'n doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow?
If the winds rage, doth not the fea wax mad,
Threatning the welkin with his big fwol'n face?
And wilt thou have a reason for this coil?
I am the fea, hark, how her fighs do blow,
She is the weeping welkin, I the earth,
Then must my fea be moved with her fighs,
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, muft I vomit them.
Then give me leave, for lofers will have leave
To ease ther stomachs with their bitter tongues.

Enter a Meffenger, bringing in two beads and a band.
Mef. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repay'd
For that good hand thou fent'ft the Emperor;
Here are the heads of thy two noble fons,
And here's thy hand in fcorn to thee fent back.
Thy grief's their fport, thy refolution mockt;
That woe is me to think upon thy woes,

More than remembrance of my father's death. [Exit.
Mar. Now let hot Etna 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 fome deal,
But forrow flouted at is double death.

Luc. Ah, that this fight fhould make so deep a wound,

i.e. extremes caufed by exceffive forrow. But Mr. Theobald, on his own authority, aiters it to deep,

WARB.

without notice given.
It is deep in the old quarto of

1611.

And yet detefted life not fhrink thereat;
That ever death fhould let life bear his name,
Where life hath no more intereft than to breathe.
[Lavinia kiffes him.
Mar. Alas, poor heart, that kifs is comfortlefs,
As frozen water to a ftarved fnake.

Tit. When will this fearful flumber have an end?
Mar. Now, farewel, flattery! die, Andronicus;
Thou doft not flumber; fee, thy two fons' heads,
Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here;
Thy other banish'd fon with this dear fight
Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother I,
Even like a ftony image, cold and numb.
Ah! now no more will I controul thy griefs;
Rend off thy filver hair, thy other hand
Gnawing with thy teeth, and be this dismal fight
The clofing up of your moft wretched eyes!
Now is a time to ftorm, why art thou still?
Tit. Ha, ha, ha!

Mar. Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour.
Tit. Why, I have not another tear to fhed.
Befides, this forrow is an enemy,

And would ufurp upon my watry eyes,
And make them blind with tributary tears;
Then which way fhall I find Revenge's Cave?
For these two heads do seem to speak to me,
And threat me, I fhall never come to bliss,
'Till all these mischiefs be return'd again,
Even in their throats that have committed them.
Come, let me fee, what task I have to do
You heavy people, circle me about;
That I may turn me to each one of you,
And fwear unto my foul to right your wrongs.
The vow is made;-come, brother, take a head,
And in this hand the other will I bear;

Lavinia, thou fhalt be employed in these things;
Bear thou my hand, fweet wench, between thy teeth.
As for thee, boy, go get thee from my fight,

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 kils and part, for we have much to do.

SCENE V.

Manet Lucius.

[Exeunt.

Luc. Farewel, Andronicus, my noble father,
The woful'ft man that ever liv'd in Rome;
Farewel, proud Rome; 'till Lucius comes again,
He leaves his pledges dearer than his life;
Farewel, Lavinia, my noble fifter,

O, 'would thou wert as thou tofore haft 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 Saturninus and his Empress
Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his Queen.
Now will I to the Goths, and raise a Power,
To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine. [Exit Lucius,

SCENE