Titus Page #5

Straight will I bring you to

the loathsome pit...

where I espied the tiger

fast asleep.

My sight is very dull,

whate'er it bodes.

And mine, I promise you.

Were it not for shame,

well could I leave our sport

to sleep a while.

What, art thou fallen?

What subtle hole is this...

whose mouth is covered

with rude-growing briers,

upon whose leaves are drops

of new-shed blood?

Speak, brother.

Hast thou hurt thee with the fall?

O brother, with

the dismall'st object hurt...

that ever eye with sight

made heart lament.

Why dost not comfort me...

and help me out of this unhallowed

and bloodstained hole?

My heart suspects more

than mine eye can see.

To prove thou hast

a true-divining heart,

Aaron and thou look

down into this den...

and see a fearful sight

of blood and death.

Aaron is gone!

Lord Bassianus lies

embrewed here,

all on a heap...

like to a slaughtered lamb.

O brother, help me!

I have not strength

to pluck thee to the brink!

Along with me.

I'll see what hole is here,

and what he is

that now is leapt into it.

Say!

Who art thou

that lately didst descend...

into this gaping hollow

of the earth, hmm?

The unhappy

sons of old Andronicus...

brought hither

in a most unlucky hour...

to find-to find thy

brother Bassianus dead!

My brother dead?

I know thou dost but jest.

He and his lady

both are at the lodge.

'Tis not an hour

since I left him there.

Where is my lord the king?

Here, Tamora,

though grieved

with killing grief.

And where is

thy brother Bassianus?

Now to the bottom dost

thou search my wound.

Poor Bassianus here

lies murdered.

Oh, then all too late

I bring this fatal writ.

"And if we miss

to meet him handsomely-

sweet huntsman Bassianus

'tis we mean-

do thou so much

as dig the grave for him.

Thou know'st our meaning.

Look for thy reward-"

"Look for thy reward...

among the nettles

at the elder tree...

which overshades the mouth

of that same pit...

where we decreed

to bury Bassianus.

Do this and purchase us

thy lasting friends."

O Tamora!

Was ever heard the like?

This is the pit

and this the elder tree.

Look, sirs, if you can

find the huntsman out...

that should have murdered

Bassianus here.

My gracious lord,

here is the bag of gold.

- Two of thy whelps-

- Huh?

Fell curs of bloody kind,

have here bereft

my brother of his life!

Sirs, drag them from

the pit unto the prison.

There let them bide

until we have devised...

some never-heard-of

torturing pain for them.

High emperor,

upon my feeble knee

I beg this boon...

with tears not lightly shed that

this fell fault of my accursed sons-

accursed, if the fault

be proved in them-

If it be proved?

You see it is apparent!

Who found this letter?

Tamora, was it you?

Andronicus himself did take it up.

Huh?

I did, my lord.

Yet let me be their bail,

for by my father's reverend tomb I vow...

they shall be ready

at your highness' will...

to answer their suspicion

with their lives.

Thou shalt not bail them!

See thou follow me.

Some bring the murdered body,

some the murderers.

Let them not speak a word!

The guilt is plain!

For by my soul,

were there worse end

than death,

that end upon them

should be executed.

Andronicus,

I will entreat the king.

Fear not thy sons. They

shall do well enough.

Come, Lucius, come.

Stay not to talk with them.

So now go tell-

an if thy tongue can speak-

who 'twas that cut thy tongue

and ravished thee.

Write down thy mind,

bewray thy meaning so,

and if thy stumps

will let thee,

play the scribe.

See how with signs and tokens

she can scrowl.

Go home! Call for sweet water.

Sweet water!

Hither, sweet water!

Wash thy hands!

She hath no tongue to call,

nor hands to wash!

And so-And so let's leave her

to her silent walks.

And 'twere it my case,

I should go hang myself...

if thou hadst hands

to help thee knit the cord.

Who is this?

My niece?

If I do dream,

would all my wealth

would wake me.

If I do wake,

some planet strike me down...

that I may slumber

in eternal sleep.

Speak,

gentle niece.

What stern, ungentle hands...

have lopped and hewed and made thy

body bare of her two branches?

Those...

sweet ornaments...

whose circling shadows

kings have sought to sleep in.

Why dost not speak to me?

Come.

Let us go...

and make thy father blind,

for such a sight

will blind a father's eye.

An hour's storm

will drown the fragrant meads.

What will whole months of tears

thy father's eyes?

Do not draw back,

for we will mourn with thee.

Oh, could our mourning

ease thy misery.

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 watched,

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.

Oh!

Oh!

For two and 20 sons

I never wept...

because they died

in honor's lofty bed!

For these-these, tribunes,

in the dust I write...

my heart's deep languor

and my soul's sad tears!

Let my tears staunch

the earth's dry appetite!

My sons' sweet blood

will make it shame and blush!

Aaah!

O earth,

I shall befriend thee

more with rain...

that shall distill

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 springtime on thy face,

so thou refuse to drink

my dear sons' blood.

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!

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!

For thy brothers let me plead!

Grave tribunes,

once more I entreat of you.

My gracious lord,

no tribune hears you speak.

Why, 'tis no matter, man.

If they did hear,

they would not mark me,

or if they did mark,

they would not pity me.

Therefore I tell my sorrows

to the stones.

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.

But wherefore stand'st thou

with thy weapon drawn?

To rescue my two brothers

from their death.

For which attempt,

the judges have pronounced my

everlasting doom of banishment.

Oh, 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, prepare

thy aged eyes to weep,

or if not so,

thy noble heart to break.

I bring consuming

sorrow to thine age.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes