Titus Page #9

and blazoning our injustice

everywhere?

A goodly humor,

is it not, my lords?

For who would say in Rome

no justice were?

Lord of my life,

commander of my thoughts-

But if I live,

his feigned ecstasies

shall be no shelter...

to these outrages.

But he and his shall know...

that justice lives

in Saturninus' health,

whom, if she sleep,

he'll so awake...

as she in fury shall cut off...

the proud'st conspirator

that lives.

Shh.

Calm thee,

and bear the faults

of Titus' age,

the effects of sorrow

for his valiant sons,

whose loss

hath pierced him deep...

and scarred his heart.

O Titus, I have touched

thee to the quick.

Take arms, my lords.

Rome never had more cause.

The Goths have gathered head.

And with a power of high-resolved

men bent to the spoil,

they hither march amain

under conduct of Lucius,

son to old Andronicus.

Is warlike Lucius

leader of the Goths?

Ay, now begins our sorrows

to approach.

'Tis he the common

people love so much.

Myself have often

heard them say-

when I have walked

like a private man-

that Lucius' banishment

was wrongfully,

and that they have wished...

that Lucius were their emperor.

Why should you fear?

Is not your city strong?

Ay, but the citizens

favor Lucius...

and will revolt from me

to succor him.

King, be thy thoughts

imperious like thy name.

Is the sun dimmed,

that gnats do fly in it?

Then cheer thy spirit.

For know, thou emperor,

I will enchant

the old Andronicus...

with words more sweet

and yet more dangerous...

than bait to fish

or honey stalks to sheep.

But he will not entreat

his son for us.

If Tamora entreat him,

then he will.

Go thou before.

Be our ambassador.

Say that the emperor requests

a parley of warlike Lucius...

and appoint the meeting even at his

father's house-the old Andronicus.

Aemelius,

do this message honorably.

And if he stand on hostage

for his safety,

bid him demand...

what pledge

shall please him best.

Your bidding

shall I do effectually.

Now will I

to that old Andronicus...

and temper him

with all the art I have.

Then go successantly...

and plead to him.

Approved warriors,

and my faithful friends,

I have received letters

from great Rome...

which signify what hate

they bear their emperor...

and how desirous

of our sight they are.

Therefore, great lords,

be as your titles witness-

imperious and impatient

of your wrongs.

And wherein Rome

hath done you any scathe,

let him make

treble satisfaction.

Brave slip, sprung from

the great Andronicus-

whose name was once our terror,

now our comfort-

whose high exploits

and honorable deeds...

ingrateful Rome requites

with foul contempt,

be bold in us.

We'll follow

where thou leadest...

and be avenged

on cursed Tamora.

And as he saith,

so say we all with him!

O worthy Goths,

this is the incarnate devil...

that robbed Andronicus

of his good hand.

This is the pearl

that pleased your empress' eye.

And here's the base fruit

of his burning lust.

Say, walleyed slave,

whither wouldst thou convey this

growing image of thy fiendlike face?

Why dost not speak?

What?

Deaf?

Not a word?

A halter, soldiers!

Hang him on this tree.

And by his side,

his fruit of bastardy!

Touch not the boy!

He is of royal blood.

Too like the sire

for ever being good.

First hang the child,

that he may see it sprawl-

a sight to vex

the father's soul withal.

Get me a ladder!

Lucius... save the child.

If thou do this, I'll show thee

wondrous things...

that highly may

advantage thee to hear.

If thou wilt not,

befall what may befall.

I'll speak no more,

but vengeance rot you all!

Say on,

and if it please me which thou

speakst, thy child shall live,

and I will see it nourished.

And if it please thee!

Why, assure thee, Lucius,

'twill vex thy soul...

to hear what I shall speak,

for I must talk of murders,

rapes, and massacres,

acts of black night,

abominable deeds,

complots of mischief,

treason, villainies.

And this shall all

be buried in my death...

unless thou swear to me

my child shall live.

Tell on thy mind.

I say thy child shall live.

Swear that he shall. Then I will begin.

Who should I swear by?

Thou believest no god.

What if I do not?

As indeed I do not.

Yet-for I know

thou art religious...

and hast a thing within thee

called conscience-

therefore thou shalt vow

by that same god,

what god soe'er it be,

to save my boy-

to nourish and bring him up...

or else I will discover

naught to thee.

Even by my god,

I swear to thee I will.

First know thou,

I begot him on the empress.

Oh, most insatiate

and luxurious woman.

Tut, Lucius, this was

but a deed of charity...

to that which thou

shalt hear of me anon.

'Twas her two sons

that murdered Bassianus.

They...

cut thy sister's tongue

and ravished her,

and cut her hands

and trimmed her as thou sawest.

Detestable villain!

Callest thou that trimming?

Why, she was washed...

and cut... and trimmed,

and 'twas trim sport for them

that had the doing of it.

Oh, barbarous,

beastly villains,

like thyself!

Indeed, I was their tutor

to instruct them.

Ah, that codding spirit

had they from their mother.

That bloody mind, I think,

they learned of me.

Oh!

Let my deeds be witness

of my worth.

I trained thy brethren

to that guileful hole...

where the dead corpse

of Bassianus lay.

I wrote the letter

that thy father found...

and hid the bag of gold

beneath the tree.

I played the cheater

for thy father's hand,

and when I had it,

drew myself apart...

and almost broke my heart

with extreme laughter.

And when I told the empress

of this sport,

she swooned almost

at my pleasing tale,

and for my tidings

gave me 20 kisses.

What?

Canst thou say all this

and never blush?

Ay, like a black dog,

as the saying is.

Art thou not sorry

for these heinous deeds?

Ay.

That I had not done

a thousand more.

Even now, I curse the day-

and yet, I think, few come

within the compass of my curse-

wherein I did not

some notorious ill as kill a man...

or else devise his death;

Ravish a maid

or plot the way to do it;

Accuse some innocent

and forswear myself;

Make poor men's cattle

break their necks;

Set fire on barns

and haystacks in the night...

and bid the owners

quench them with their tears.

Oft have I digged up dead

men from their graves...

and set them upright

at their dear friends' doors,

even when their sorrows

almost was forgot.

And on their skins,

as on the barks of trees,

have with my knife

carved in Roman letters,

"Let not thy sorrow die,

though I am dead!"

Tut.

I have done

a thousand dreadful things...

as willingly

as one would kill a fly.

And nothing grieves me

heartily indeed...

but that I cannot do

10,000 more.

Bring down the devil-

for he must

not die so sweet a death...

as hanging presently.

If there be devils,

would I were a devil...

to live and burn

in everlasting fire...

that I might have

your company in hell...

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes