Aron. The Empresse, the Midwife, and your selfe,Two may keepe counsell, when the third's away:Goe to the Empresse, tell her this I said,
He kils her
Weeke, weeke, so cries a Pigge prepared to th' spit
Deme. What mean'st thou Aron?Wherefore did'st thou this?Aron. O Lord sir, 'tis a deed of pollicie?Shall she liue to betray this guilt of our's:A long tongu'd babling Gossip? No Lords no:And now be it knowne to you my full intent.Not farre, one Muliteus my Country-manHis wife but yesternight was brought to bed,His childe is like to her, faire as you are:Goe packe with them, and giue the mother gold,And tell them both the circumstance of all,And how by this their Childe shall be aduaunc'd,And be receiued for the Emperours heyre,And substituted in the place of mine,To calme this tempest whirling in the Court,And let the Emperour dandle him for his owne,Harke ye Lords, ye see I haue giuen her physicke,And you must needs bestow her funerall,The fields are neere, and you are gallant Groomes:This done, see that you take no longer daiesBut send the Midwife presently to me.The Midwife and the Nurse well made away,Then let the Ladies tattle what they please
Chi. Aaron I see thou wilt not trust the ayre with secrets
Deme. For this care of Tamora,Her selfe, and hers are highly bound to thee.
Exeunt
Aron. Now to the Gothes, as swift as Swallow flies,There to dispose this treasure in mine armes,And secretly to greete the Empresse friends:Come on you thick-lipt-slaue, Ile beare you hence,For it is you that puts vs to our shifts:Ile make you feed on berries, and on rootes,And feed on curds and whay, and sucke the Goate,And cabbin in a Caue, and bring you vpTo be a warriour, and command a Campe.
Exit
Enter Titus, old Marcus, young Lucius, and other gentlemen withbowes, andTitus beares the arrowes with Letters on the end of them.
Tit. Come Marcus, come, kinsmen this is the way.Sir Boy let me see your Archerie,Looke yee draw home enough, and 'tis there straight:Terras Astrea reliquit, be you remembred Marcus.She's gone, she's fled, sirs take you to your tooles,You Cosens shall goe sound the Ocean:And cast your nets, haply you may find her in the Sea,Yet ther's as little iustice as at Land:No Publius and Sempronius, you must doe it,'Tis you must dig with Mattocke, and with Spade,And pierce the inmost Center of the earth:Then when you come to Plutoes Region,I pray you deliuer him this petition,Tell him it is for iustice, and for aide,And that it comes from old Andronicus,Shaken with sorrowes in vngratefull Rome.Ah Rome! Well, well, I made thee miserable,What time I threw the peoples suffragesOn him that thus doth tyrannize ore me.Goe get you gone, and pray be carefull all,And leaue you not a man of warre vnsearcht,This wicked Emperour may haue shipt her hence,And kinsmen then we may goe pipe for iustice
Marc. O Publius is not this a heauie caseTo see thy Noble Vnckle thus distract?Publ. Therefore my Lords it highly vs concernes,By day and night t' attend him carefully:And feede his humour kindely as we may,Till time beget some carefull remedie
Marc. Kinsmen, his sorrowes are past remedie.Ioyne with the Gothes, and with reuengefull warre,Take wreake on Rome for this ingratitude,And vengeance on the Traytor Saturnine
Tit. Publius how now? how now my Maisters?What haue you met with her?Publ. No my good Lord, but Pluto sends you word,If you will haue reuenge from hell you shall,Marrie for iustice she is so imploy'd,He thinkes with Ioue in heauen, or some where else:So that perforce you must needs stay a time
Tit. He doth me wrong to feed me with delayes,Ile diue into the burning Lake below,And pull her out of Acaron by the heeles.Marcus we are but shrubs, no Cedars we,No big-bon'd-men, fram'd of the Cyclops size,But mettall Marcus steele to the very backe,Yet wrung with wrongs more then our backe can beare:And sith there's no iustice in earth nor hell,We will sollicite heauen, and moue the GodsTo send downe Iustice for to wreake our wrongs:Come to this geare, you are a good Archer Marcus.
He giues them the Arrowes.
Ad Iouem, that's for you: here ad Appollonem,Ad Martem, that's for my selfe,Heere Boy to Pallas, heere to Mercury,To Saturnine, to Caius, not to Saturnine,You were as good to shoote against the winde.Too it Boy, Marcus loose when I bid:Of my word, I haue written to effect,Ther's not a God left vnsollicited
Marc. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the Court,We will afflict the Emperour in his pride
Tit. Now Maisters draw, Oh well said Lucius:Good Boy in Virgoes lap, giue it Pallas
Marc. My Lord, I aime a Mile beyond the Moone,Your letter is with Iupiter by this
Tit. Ha, ha, Publius, Publius, what hast thou done?See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus hornes
Mar. This was the sport my Lord, when Publius shot,The Bull being gal'd, gaue Aries such a knocke,That downe fell both the Rams hornes in the Court,And who should finde them but the Empresse villaine:She laught, and told the Moore he should not chooseBut giue them to his Maister for a present
Tit. Why there it goes, God giue your Lordship ioy.Enter the Clowne with a basket and two Pigeons in it.
Titus. Newes, newes, from heauen, Marcus the poast is come. Sirrah, what tydings? haue you any letters? Shall I haue Iustice, what sayes Iupiter? Clowne. Ho the Iibbetmaker, he sayes that he hath taken them downe againe, for the man must not be hang'd till the next weeke
Tit. But what sayes Iupiter I aske thee?Clowne. Alas sir I know not Iupiter:I neuer dranke with him in all my life
Tit. Why villaine art not thou the Carrier?Clowne. I of my Pigions sir, nothing else
Tit. Why, did'st thou not come from heauen? Clowne. From heauen? Alas sir, I neuer came there, God forbid I should be so bold, to presse to heauen in my young dayes. Why I am going with my pigeons to the Tribunall Plebs, to take vp a matter of brawle, betwixt my Vncle, and one of the Emperialls men
Mar. Why sir, that is as fit as can be to serue for your Oration, and let him deliuer the Pigions to the Emperour from you
Tit. Tell mee, can you deliuer an Oration to the Emperourwith a Grace?Clowne. Nay truely sir, I could neuer say grace in allmy life
Tit. Sirrah come hither, make no more adoe, But giue your Pigeons to the Emperour, By me thou shalt haue Iustice at his hands. Hold, hold, meane while her's money for thy charges. Giue me pen and inke. Sirrah, can you with a Grace deliuer a Supplication? Clowne. I sir Titus. Then here is a Supplication for you, and when you come to him, at the first approach you must kneele, then kisse his foote, then deliuer vp your Pigeons, and then looke for your reward. Ile be at hand sir, see you do it brauely
Clowne. I warrant you sir, let me alone
Tit. Sirrha hast thou a knife? Come let me see it.Heere Marcus, fold it in the Oration,For thou hast made it like an humble Suppliant:And when thou hast giuen it the Emperour,Knocke at my dore, and tell me what he sayes
Clowne. God be with you sir, I will.Enter.
Tit. Come Marcus let vs goe, Publius follow me.
Exeunt.
Enter Emperour and Empresse, and her two sonnes, the Emperourbrings theArrowes in his hand that Titus shot at him.
Satur. Why Lords,What wrongs are these? was euer seeneAn Emperour in Rome thus ouerborne,Troubled, Confronted thus, and for the extentOf egall iustice, vs'd in such contempt?My Lords, you know the mightfull Gods,(How euer these disturbers of our peaceBuz in the peoples eares) there nought hath past,But euen with law against the willfull SonnesOf old Andronicus. And what and ifHis sorrowes haue so ouerwhelm'd his wits,Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreakes,His fits, his frenzie, and his bitternesse?And now he writes to heauen for his redresse.See, heeres to Ioue, and this to Mercury,This to Apollo, this to the God of warre:Sweet scrowles to flie about the streets of Rome:What's this but Libelling against the Senate,And blazoning our Iniustice euery where?A goodly humour, is it not my Lords?As who would say, in Rome no Iustice were.But if I liue, his fained extasiesShall be no shelter to these outrages:But he and his shall know, that Iustice liuesIn Saturninus health; whom if he sleepe,Hee'l so awake, as he in fury shallCut off the proud'st Conspirator that liues
Tamo. My gracious Lord, my louely Saturnine,Lord of my life, Commander of my thoughts,Calme thee, and beare the faults of Titus age,Th' effects of sorrow for his valiant Sonnes,Whose losse hath pier'st him deepe, and scar'd his heart;And rather comfort his distressed plight,Then prosecute the meanest or the bestFor these contempts. Why thus it shall becomeHigh witted Tamora to glose with all:
Aside.
But Titus, I haue touch'd thee to the quicke,Thy life blood out: If Aaron now be wise,Then is all safe, the Anchor's in the Port.Enter Clowne.
How now good fellow, would'st thou speake with vs?Clow. Yea forsooth, and your Mistership be Emperiall
Tam. Empresse I am, but yonder sits the Emperour
Clo. 'Tis he; God & Saint Stephen giue you good den;I haue brought you a Letter, & a couple of Pigions heere.
He reads the Letter.
Satu. Goe take him away, and hang him presently
Clowne. How much money must I haue?Tam. Come sirrah you must be hang'd
Clow. Hang'd? ber Lady, then I haue brought vp a neckto a faire end.Enter.
Satu. Despightfull and intollerable wrongs,Shall I endure this monstrous villany?I know from whence this same deuise proceedes:May this be borne? As if his traytrous Sonnes,That dy'd by law for murther of our Brother,Haue by my meanes beene butcher'd wrongfully?Goe dragge the villaine hither by the haire,Nor Age, nor Honour, shall shape priuiledge:For this proud mocke, Ile be thy slaughter man:Sly franticke wretch, that holp'st to make me great,In hope thy selfe should gouerne Rome and me.Enter Nuntius Emillius.
Satur. What newes with thee Emillius?Emil. Arme my Lords, Rome neuer had more cause,The Gothes haue gather'd head, and with a powerOf high resolued men, bent to the spoyleThey hither march amaine, vnder conductOf Lucius, Sonne to old Andronicus:Who threats in course of this reuenge to doAs much as euer Coriolanus did
King. Is warlike Lucius Generall of the Gothes?These tydings nip me, and I hang the headAs flowers with frost, or grasse beat downe with stormes:I, now begins our sorrowes to approach,'Tis he the common people loue so much,My selfe hath often heard them say,(When I haue walked like a priuate man)That Lucius banishment was wrongfully,And they haue wisht that Lucius were their Emperour
Tam. Why should you feare? Is not our City strong?King. I, but the Cittizens fauour Lucius,And will reuolt from me, to succour him
Tam. King, be thy thoughts Imperious like thy name.Is the Sunne dim'd, that Gnats do flie in it?The Eagle suffers little Birds to sing,And is not carefull what they meane thereby,Knowing that with the shadow of his wings,He can at pleasure stint their melodie.Euen so mayest thou, the giddy men of Rome,Then cheare thy spirit, for know thou Emperour,I will enchaunt the old Andronicus,With words more sweet, and yet more dangerousThen baites to fish, or hony stalkes to sheepe,When as the one is wounded with the baite,The other rotted with delicious foode
King. But he will not entreat his Sonne for vs
Tam. If Tamora entreat him, then he will,For I can smooth and fill his aged eare,With golden promises, that were his heartAlmost Impregnable, his old eares deafe,Yet should both eare and heart, obey my tongue.Goe thou before to our Embassadour,Say, that the Emperour requests a parlyOf warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting
King. Emillius do this message Honourably,And if he stand in Hostage for his safety,Bid him demaund what pledge will please him best
Emill. Your bidding shall I do effectually.Enter.
Tam. Now will I to that old Andronicus,And temper him with all the Art I haue,To plucke proud Lucius from the warlike Gothes.And now sweet Emperour be blithe againe,And bury all thy feare in my deuises
Satu. Then goe successantly and plead for him.Enter.
Actus Quintus.
Flourish. Enter Lucius with an Army of Gothes, with Drum andSouldiers.
Luci. Approued warriours, and my faithfull Friends,I haue receiued Letters from great Rome,Which signifies what hate they beare their Emperour,And how desirous of our sight they are.Therefore great Lords, be as your Titles witnesse,Imperious and impatient of your wrongs,And wherein Rome hath done you any scathe,Let him make treble satisfaction
Goth. Braue slip, sprung from the Great Andronicus,Whose name was once our terrour, now our comfort,Whose high exploits, and honourable Deeds,Ingratefull Rome requites with foule contempt:Behold in vs, weele follow where thou lead'st,Like stinging Bees in hottest Sommers day,Led by their Maister to the flowred fields,And be aueng'd on cursed Tamora:And as he saith, so say we all with him
Luci. I humbly thanke him, and I thanke you all.But who comes heere, led by a lusty Goth?Enter a Goth leading of Aaron with his child in his armes.
Goth. Renowned Lucius, from our troups I straid,To gaze vpon a ruinous Monasterie,And as I earnestly did fixe mine eyeVpon the wasted building, suddainelyI heard a childe cry vnderneath a wall:I made vnto the noyse, when soone I heard,The crying babe control'd with this discourse:Peace Tawny slaue, halfe me, and halfe thy Dam,Did not thy Hue bewray whose brat thou art?Had nature lent thee, but thy Mothers looke,Villaine thou might'st haue bene an Emperour.But where the Bull and Cow are both milk-white,They neuer do beget a cole-blacke-Calfe:Peace, villaine peace, euen thus he rates the babe,For I must beare thee to a trusty Goth,Who when he knowes thou art the Empresse babe,Will hold thee dearely for thy Mothers sake.With this, my weapon drawne I rusht vpon him,Surpriz'd him suddainely, and brought him hitherTo vse, as you thinke needefull of the man
Luci. Oh worthy Goth, this is the incarnate deuill,That rob'd Andronicus of his good hand:This is the Pearle that pleas'd your Empresse eye,And heere's the Base Fruit of his burning lust.Say wall-ey'd slaue, whether would'st thou conuayThis growing Image of thy fiend-like face?Why dost not speake? what deafe? Not a word?A halter Souldiers, hang him on this Tree,And by his side his Fruite of Bastardie
Aron. Touch not the Boy, he is of Royall blood
Luci. Too like the Syre for euer being good.First hang the Child that he may see it sprall,A sight to vexe the Fathers soule withall
Aron. Get me a Ladder Lucius, saue the Childe,And beare it from me to the Empresse:If thou do this, Ile shew thee wondrous things,That highly may aduantage thee to heare;If thou wilt not, befall what may befall,Ile speake no more: but vengeance rot you all
Luci. Say on, and if it please me which thou speak'st,Thy child shall liue, and I will see it Nourisht
Aron. And if it please thee? why assure thee Lucius,'Twill vexe thy soule to heare what I shall speake:For I must talke of Murthers, Rapes, and Massacres,Acts of Blacke-night, abhominable Deeds,Complots of Mischiefe, Treason, VillaniesRuthfull to heare, yet pittiously perform'd,And this shall all be buried by my death,Vnlesse thou sweare to me my Childe shall liue
Luci. Tell on thy minde,I say thy Childe shall liue
Aron. Sweare that he shall, and then I will begin
Luci. Who should I sweare by,Thou beleeuest no God,That graunted, how can'st thou beleeue an oath?Aron. 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,With twenty Popish trickes and Ceremonies,Which I haue seene thee carefull to obserue:Therefore I vrge thy oath, for that I knowAn Ideot holds his Bauble for a God,And keepes the oath which by that God he sweares,To that Ile vrge him: therefore thou shalt vowBy that same God, what God so ere it beThat thou adorest, and hast in reuerence,To saue my Boy, to nourish and bring him vp,Ore else I will discouer nought to thee
Luci. Euen by my God I sweare to thee I will
Aron. First know thou,I begot him on the Empresse
Luci. Oh most Insatiate luxurious woman!Aron. Tut Lucius, this was but a deed of Charitie,To that which thou shalt heare of me anon,'Twas her two Sonnes that murdered Bassianus,They cut thy Sisters tongue, and rauisht her,And cut her hands off, and trim'd her as thou saw'st
Lucius. Oh detestable villaine!Call'st thou that Trimming?Aron. Why she was washt, and cut, and trim'd,And 'twas trim sport for them that had the doing of it
Luci. Oh barbarous beastly villaines like thy selfe!Aron. Indeede, I was their Tutor to instruct themThat Codding spirit had they from their Mother,As sure a Card as euer wonne the Set:That bloody minde I thinke they learn'd of me,As true a Dog as euer fought at head.Well, let my Deeds be witnesse of my worth:I trayn'd thy Bretheren to that guilefull Hole,Where the dead Corps of Bassianus lay:I wrote the Letter, that thy Father found,And hid the Gold within the Letter mention'd.Confederate with the Queene, and her two Sonnes,And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue,Wherein I had no stroke of Mischeife in it.I play'd the Cheater for thy Fathers hand,And when I had it, drew my selfe apart,And almost broke my heart with extreame laughter.I pried me through the Creuice of a Wall,When for his hand, he had his two Sonnes heads,Beheld his teares, and laught so hartily,That both mine eyes were rainie like to his:And when I told the Empresse of this sport,She sounded almost at my pleasing tale,And for my tydings, gaue me twenty kisses
Goth. What canst thou say all this, and neuer blush?Aron. I, like a blacke Dogge, as the saying is
Luci. Art thou not sorry for these hainous deedes?Aron. I, that I had not done a thousand more:Euen now I curse the day, and yet I thinkeFew come within few compasse of my curse,Wherein I did not some Notorious ill,As kill a man, or else deuise his death,Rauish a Maid, or plot the way to do it,Accuse some Innocent, and forsweare my selfe,Set deadly Enmity betweene two Friends,Make poore mens Cattell breake their neckes,Set fire on Barnes and Haystackes in the night,And bid the Owners quench them with the teares:Oft haue I dig'd vp dead men from their graues,And set them vpright at their deere Friends doore,Euen when their sorrowes almost was forgot,And on their skinnes, as on the Barke of Trees,Haue with my knife carued in Romaine Letters,Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.Tut, I haue done a thousand dreadfull thingsAs willingly, as one would kill a Fly,And nothing greeues me hartily indeede,But that I cannot doe ten thousand more
Luci. Bring downe the diuell, for he must not dieSo sweet a death as hanging presently
Aron. If there be diuels, would I were a deuill,To liue and burne in euerlasting fire,So I might haue your company in hell,But to torment you with my bitter tongue
Luci. Sirs stop his mouth, & let him speake no more.Enter Emillius.
Goth. My Lord, there is a Messenger from RomeDesires to be admitted to your presence
Luc. Let him come neere.Welcome Emillius, what the newes from Rome?Emi. Lord Lucius, and you Princes of the Gothes,The Romaine Emperour greetes you all by me,And for he vnderstands you are in Armes,He craues a parly at your Fathers houseWilling you to demand your Hostages,And they shall be immediately deliuered
Goth. What saies our Generall?Luc. Emillius, let the Emperour giue his pledgesVnto my Father, and my Vncle Marcus,
Flourish.
And we will come: march away.
Exeunt.
Enter Tamora, and her two Sonnes disguised.
Tam. Thus in this strange and sad Habilliament,I will encounter with Andronicus,And say, I am Reuenge sent from below,To ioyne with him and right his hainous wrongs:Knocke at his study where they say he keepes,To ruminate strange plots of dire Reuenge,Tell him Reuenge is come to ioyne with him,And worke confusion on his Enemies.
They knocke and Titus opens his study dore.
Tit. Who doth mollest my Contemplation?Is it your tricke to make me ope the dore,That so my sad decrees may flie away,And all my studie be to no effect?You are deceiu'd, for what I meane to do,See heere in bloody lines I haue set downe:And what is written shall be executed
Tam. Titus, I am come to talke with thee,Tit. No not a word: how can I grace my talke,Wanting a hand to giue it action,Thou hast the ods of me, therefore no more
Tam. If thou did'st know me,Thou would'st talke with me
Tit. I am not mad, I know thee well enough,Witnesse this wretched stump,Witnesse these crimson lines,Witnesse these Trenches made by griefe and care,Witnesse the tyring day, and heauie night,Witnesse all sorrow, that I know thee wellFor our proud Empresse, Mighty Tamora:Is not thy comming for my other hand?Tamo. Know thou sad man, I am not Tamora,She is thy Enemie, and I thy Friend,I am Reuenge sent from th' infernall Kingdome,To ease the gnawing Vulture of the mind,By working wreakefull vengeance on my Foes:Come downe and welcome me to this worlds light,Conferre with me of Murder and of Death,Ther's not a hollow Caue or lurking place,No Vast obscurity, or Misty vale,Where bloody Murther or detested Rape,Can couch for feare, but I will finde them out,And in their eares tell them my dreadfull name,Reuenge, which makes the foule offenders quake
Tit. Art thou Reuenge? and art thou sent to me,To be a torment to mine Enemies?Tam. I am, therefore come downe and welcome me
Tit. Doe me some seruice ere I come to thee:Loe by thy side where Rape and Murder stands,Now giue some surance that thou art Reuenge,Stab them, or teare them on thy Chariot wheeles,And then Ile come and be thy Waggoner,And whirle along with thee about the Globes.Prouide thee two proper Palfries, as blacke as Iet,To hale thy vengefull Waggon swift away,And finde out Murder in their guilty cares.And when thy Car is loaden with their heads,I will dismount, and by the Waggon wheele,Trot like a Seruile footeman all day long,Euen from Eptons rising in the East,Vntill his very downefall in the Sea.And day by day Ile do this heauy taske,So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there
Tam. These are my Ministers, and come with me
Tit. Are them thy Ministers, what are they call'd?Tam. Rape and Murder, therefore called so,Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men
Tit. Good Lord how like the Empresse Sons they are,And you the Empresse: But we worldly men,Haue miserable mad mistaking eyes:Oh sweet Reuenge, now do I come to thee,And if one armes imbracement will content thee,I will imbrace thee in it by and by
Tam. This closing with him, fits his Lunacie,What ere I forge to feede his braine-sicke fits,Do you vphold, and maintaine in your speeches,For now he firmely takes me for Reuenge,And being Credulous in this mad thought,Ile make him send for Lucius his Sonne,And whil'st I at a Banquet hold him sure,Ile find some cunning practise out of handTo scatter and disperse the giddie Gothes,Or at the least make them his Enemies:See heere he comes, and I must play my theame
Tit. Long haue I bene forlorne, and all for thee,Welcome dread Fury to my woefull house,Rapine and Murther, you are welcome too,How like the Empresse and her Sonnes you are.Well are you fitted, had you but a Moore,Could not all hell afford you such a deuill?For well I wote the Empresse neuer wags;But in her company there is a Moore,And would you represent our Queene arightIt were conuenient you had such a deuill:But welcome as you are, what shall we doe?Tam. What would'st thou haue vs doe Andronicus?Dem. Shew me a Murtherer, Ile deale with him
Chi. Shew me a Villaine that hath done a Rape,And I am sent to be reueng'd on him
Tam. Shew me a thousand that haue done thee wrong,And Ile be reuenged on them all
Tit. Looke round about the wicked streets of Rome,And when thou find'st a man that's like thy selfe,Good Murder stab him, hee's a Murtherer.Goe thou with him, and when it is thy hapTo finde another that is like to thee,Good Rapine stab him, he is a Rauisher.Go thou with them, and in the Emperours Court,There is a Queene attended by a Moore,Well maist thou know her by thy owne proportion,For vp and downe she doth resemble thee.I pray thee doe on them some violent death,They haue bene violent to me and mine
Tam. Well hast thou lesson'd vs, this shall we do.But would it please thee good Andronicus,To send for Lucius thy thrice Valiant Sonne,Who leades towards Rome a Band of Warlike Gothes,And bid him come and Banquet at thy house.When he is heere, euen at thy Solemne Feast,I will bring in the Empresse and her Sonnes,The Emperour himselfe, and all thy Foes,And at thy mercy shall they stoop, and kneele,And on them shalt thou ease, thy angry heart:What saies Andronicus to this deuise?Enter Marcus.
Tit. Marcus my Brother, 'tis sad Titus calls,Go gentle Marcus to thy Nephew Lucius,Thou shalt enquire him out among the Gothes,Bid him repaire to me, and bring with himSome of the chiefest Princes of the Gothes,Bid him encampe his Souldiers where they are,Tell him the Emperour, and the Empresse too,Feasts at my house, and he shall Feast with them,This do thou for my loue, and so let him,As he regards his aged Fathers life
Mar. This will I do, and soone returne againe
Tam. Now will I hence about thy businesse,And take my Ministers along with me
Tit. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with me,Or els Ile call my Brother backe againe,And cleaue to no reuenge but Lucius
Tam. What say you Boyes, will you bide with him,Whiles I goe tell my Lord the Emperour,How I haue gouern'd our determined iest?Yeeld to his Humour, smooth and speake him faire,And tarry with him till I turne againe
Tit. I know them all, though they suppose me mad,And will ore-reach them in their owne deuises,A payre of cursed hell-hounds and their Dam
Dem. Madam depart at pleasure, leaue vs heere
Tam. Farewell Andronicus, reuenge now goesTo lay a complot to betray thy Foes
Tit. I know thou doo'st, and sweet reuenge farewell
Chi. Tell vs old man, how shall we be imploy'd?Tit. Tut, I haue worke enough for you to doe,Publius come hither, Caius, and Valentine
Pub. What is your will?Tit. Know you these two?Pub. The Empresse SonnesI take them, Chiron, Demetrius
Titus. Fie Publius, fie, thou art too much deceau'd,The one is Murder, Rape is the others name,And therefore bind them gentle Publius,Caius, and Valentine, lay hands on them,Oft haue you heard me wish for such an houre,And now I find it, therefore binde them sure,Chi. Villaines forbeare, we are the Empresse Sonnes
Pub. And therefore do we, what we are commanded.Stop close their mouthes, let them not speake a word,Is he sure bound, looke that you binde them fast.
Exeunt.
Enter Titus Andronicus with a knife, and Lauinia with a Bason.
Tit. Come, come Lauinia, looke, thy Foes are bound,Sirs stop their mouthes, let them not speake to me,But let them heare what fearefull words I vtter.Oh Villaines, Chiron, and Demetrius,Here stands the spring whom you haue stain'd with mud,This goodly Sommer with your Winter mixt,You kil'd her husband, and for that vil'd fault,Two of her Brothers were condemn'd to death,My hand cut off, and made a merry iest,Both her sweet Hands, her Tongue, and that more deereThen Hands or tongue, her spotlesse Chastity,Inhumaine Traytors, you constrain'd and for'st.What would you say, if I should let you speake?Villaines for shame you could not beg for grace.Harke Wretches, how I meane to martyr you,This one Hand yet is left, to cut your throats,Whil'st that Lauinia tweene her stumps doth hold:The Bason that receiues your guilty blood.You know your Mother meanes to feast with me,And calls herselfe Reuenge, and thinkes me mad.Harke Villaines, I will grin'd your bones to dust,And with your blood and it, Ile make a Paste,And of the Paste a Coffen I will reare,And make two Pasties of your shamefull Heads,And bid that strumpet your vnhallowed Dam,Like to the earth swallow her increase.This is the Feast, that I haue bid her to,And this the Banquet she shall surfet on,For worse then Philomel you vsd my Daughter,And worse then Progne, I will be reueng'd,And now prepare your throats: Lauinia come.Receiue the blood, and when that they are dead,Let me goe grin'd their Bones to powder small,And with this hatefull Liquor temper it,And in that Paste let their vil'd Heads be bakte,Come, come, be euery one officious,To make this Banket, which I wish might proue,More sterne and bloody then the Centaures Feast.He cuts their throats.
So now bring them in, for Ile play the Cooke,And see them ready, gainst their Mother comes.
Exeunt.
Enter Lucius, Marcus, and the Gothes.
Luc. Vnckle Marcus, since 'tis my Fathers mindeThat I repair to Rome, I am content
Goth. And ours with thine befall, what Fortune will
Luc. Good Vnckle take you in this barbarous Moore,This Rauenous Tiger, this accursed deuill,Let him receiue no sustenance, fetter him,Till he be brought vnto the Emperours face,For testimony of her foule proceedings.And see the Ambush of our Friends be strong,If ere the Emperour meanes no good to vs
Aron. Some deuill whisper curses in my eare,And prompt me that my tongue may vtter forth,The Venemous Mallice of my swelling heart
Luc. Away Inhumaine Dogge, Vnhallowed Slaue,Sirs, helpe our Vnckle, to conuey him in,
Flourish.
The Trumpets shew the Emperour is at hand.
Sound Trumpets. Enter Emperour and Empresse, with Tribunes and others.
Sat. What, hath the Firemament more Suns then one?Luc. What bootes it thee to call thy selfe a Sunne?Mar. Romes Emperour & Nephewe breake the parleThese quarrels must be quietly debated,The Feast is ready which the carefull Titus,Hath ordained to an Honourable end,For Peace, for Loue, for League, and good to Rome:Please you therfore draw nie and take your places
Satur. Marcus we will.
Hoboyes.
A Table brought in. Enter Titus like a Cooke, placing the meat ontheTable, and Lauinia with a vale ouer her face.
Titus. Welcome my gracious Lord,Welcome Dread Queene,Welcome ye Warlike Gothes, welcome Lucius,And welcome all: although the cheere be poore,'Twill fill your stomacks, please you eat of it
Sat. Why art thou thus attir'd Andronicus?Tit. Because I would be sure to haue all well,To entertaine your Highnesse, and your Empresse
Tam. We are beholding to you good Andronicus?Tit. And if your Highnesse knew my heart, you were:My Lord the Emperour resolue me this,Was it well done of rash Virginius,To slay his daughter with his owne right hand.Because she was enfor'st, stain'd, and deflowr'd?Satur. It was Andronicus
Tit. Your reason, Mighty Lord?Sat. Because the Girle, should not suruiue her shame,And by her presence still renew his sorrowes
Tit. A reason mighty, strong, and effectuall,A patterne, president, and liuely warrant,For me (most wretched) to performe the like:Die, die, Lauinia, and thy shame with thee,And with thy shame, thy Fathers sorrow die.
He kils her.
Sat. What hast done, vnnaturall and vnkinde?Tit. Kil'd her for whom my teares haue made me blind.I am as wofull as Virginius was,And haue a thousand times more cause then he
Sat. What was she rauisht? tell who did the deed,Tit. Wilt please you eat,Wilt please your Highnesse feed?Tam. Why hast thou slaine thine onely Daughter?Titus. Not I, 'twas Chiron and Demetrius,They rauisht her, and cut away her tongue,And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong
Satu. Go fetch them hither to vs presently
Tit. Why there they are both, baked in that Pie,Whereof their Mother daintily hath fed,Eating the flesh that she herselfe hath bred.'Tis true, 'tis true, witnesse my kniues sharpe point.
He stabs the Empresse.
Satu. Die franticke wretch, for this accursed deed
Luc. Can the Sonnes eye, behold his Father bleed?There's meede for meede, death for a deadly deed
Mar. You sad fac'd men, people and Sonnes of Rome,By vprores seuer'd like a flight of Fowle,Scattred by windes and high tempestuous gusts:Oh let me teach you how, to knit againeThis scattred Corne, into one mutuall sheafe,These broken limbs againe into one body
Goth. Let Rome herselfe be bane vnto herselfe,And shee whom mightie kingdomes cursie too,Like a forlorne and desperate castaway,Doe shamefull execution on her selfe.But if my frostie signes and chaps of age,Graue witnesses of true experience,Cannot induce you to attend my words,Speake Romes deere friend, as er'st our Auncestor,When with his solemne tongue he did discourseTo loue-sicke Didoes sad attending eare,The story of that balefull burning night,When subtil Greekes surpriz'd King Priams Troy:Tell vs what Sinon hath bewicht our eares,Or who hath brought the fatall engine in,That giues our Troy, our Rome the ciuill wound.My heart is not compact of flint nor steele,Nor can I vtter all our bitter griefe,But floods of teares will drowne my Oratorie,And breake my very vttrance, euen in the timeWhen it should moue you to attend me most,Lending your kind hand Commiseration.Heere is a Captaine, let him tell the tale,Your hearts will throb and weepe to heare him speake
Luc. This Noble Auditory, be it knowne to you,That cursed Chiron and DemetriusWere they that murdred our Emperours Brother,And they it were that rauished our Sister,For their fell faults our Brothers were beheaded,Our Fathers teares despis'd, and basely cousen'd,Of that true hand that fought Romes quarrell out,And sent her enemies vnto the graue.Lastly, my selfe vnkindly banished,The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out,To beg reliefe among Romes Enemies,Who drown'd their enmity in my true teares,And op'd their armes to imbrace me as a Friend:And I am turned forth, be it knowne to you,That haue preseru'd her welfare in my blood,And from her bosome tooke the Enemies point,Sheathing the steele in my aduentrous body.Alas you know, I am no Vaunter I,My scars can witnesse, dumbe although they are,That my report is iust and full of truth:But soft, me thinkes I do digresse too much,Cyting my worthlesse praise: Oh pardon me,For when no Friends are by, men praise themselues,Marc. Now is my turne to speake: Behold this Child,Of this was Tamora deliuered,The issue of an Irreligious Moore,Chiefe Architect and plotter of these woes,The Villaine is aliue in Titus house,And as he is, to witnesse this is true.Now iudge what course had Titus to reuengeThese wrongs, vnspeakeable past patience,Or more then any liuing man could beare.Now you haue heard the truth, what say you Romaines?Haue we done ought amisse? shew vs wherein,And from the place where you behold vs now,The poore remainder of Andronici,Will hand in hand all headlong cast vs downe,And on the ragged stones beat forth our braines,And make a mutuall closure of our house:Speake Romaines speake, and if you say we shall,Loe hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall
Emilli. Come come, thou reuerent man of Rome,And bring our Emperour gently in thy hand,Lucius our Emperour: for well I know,The common voyce do cry it shall be so
Mar. Lucius, all haile Romes Royall Emperour,Goe, goe into old Titus sorrowfull house,And hither hale that misbelieuing Moore,To be adiudg'd some direfull slaughtering death,As punishment for his most wicked life.Lucius all haile to Romes gracious Gouernour
Luc. Thankes gentle Romanes, may I gouerne so,To heale Romes harmes, and wipe away her woe.But gentle people, giue me ayme a-while,For Nature puts me to a heauy taske:Stand all aloofe, but Vnckle draw you neere,To shed obsequious teares vpon this Trunke:Oh take this warme kisse on thy pale cold lips,These sorrowfull drops vpon thy bloud-slaine face,The last true Duties of thy Noble Sonne
Mar. Teare for teare, and louing kisse for kisse,Thy Brother Marcus tenders on thy Lips:O were the summe of these that I should payCountlesse, and infinit, yet would I pay them
Luc. Come hither Boy, come, come, and learne of vsTo melt in showres: thy Grandsire lou'd thee well:Many a time he danc'd thee on his knee:Sung thee asleepe, his Louing Brest, thy Pillow:Many a matter hath he told to thee,Meete, and agreeing with thine Infancie:In that respect then, like a louing Childe,Shed yet some small drops from thy tender Spring,Because kinde Nature doth require it so:Friends, should associate Friends, in Greefe and Wo.Bid him farwell, commit him to the Graue,Do him that kindnesse, and take leaue of him
Boy. O Grandsire, Grandsire: euen with all my heartWould I were Dead, so you did Liue againe.O Lord, I cannot speake to him for weeping,My teares will choake me, if I ope my mouth
Romans. You sad Andronici, haue done with woes,Giue sentence on this execrable Wretch,That hath beene breeder of these dire euents
Luc. Set him brest deepe in earth, and famish him:There let him stand, and raue, and cry for foode:If any one releeues, or pitties him,For the offence, he dyes. This is our doome:Some stay, to see him fast'ned in the earth
Aron. O why should wrath be mute, & Fury dumbe?I am no Baby I, that with base PrayersI should repent the Euils I haue done.Ten thousand worse, then euer yet I did,Would I performe if I might haue my will:If one good Deed in all my life I did,I do repent it from my very Soule
Lucius. Some louing Friends conuey the Emp[erour]. hence,And giue him buriall in his Fathers graue.My Father, and Lauinia, shall forthwithBe closed in our Housholds Monument:As for that heynous Tyger Tamora,No Funerall Rite, nor man in mournfull Weeds:No mournfull Bell shall ring her Buriall:But throw her foorth to Beasts and Birds of prey:Her life was Beast-like, and deuoid of pitty,And being so, shall haue like want of pitty.See Iustice done on Aaron that damn'd Moore,From whom, our heauy happes had their beginning:Then afterwards, to Order well the State,That like Euents, may ne're it Ruinate.
Exeunt. omnes.
FINIS. The Lamentable Tragedy of Titus Andronicus.
The Tragedie of Romeo and Juliet
Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.
Enter Sampson and Gregory, with Swords and Bucklers, of theHouse ofCapulet.
Sampson. Gregory: A my word wee'l not carry coales
Greg. No, for then we should be Colliars
Samp. I mean, if we be in choller, wee'l draw
Greg. I, While you liue, draw your necke out o'th Collar
Samp. I strike quickly, being mou'd
Greg. But thou art not quickly mou'd to strike
Samp. A dog of the house of Mountague, moues me
Greg. To moue, is to stir: and to be valiant, is to stand:Therefore, if thou art mou'd, thou runst away
Samp. A dogge of that house shall moue me to stand.I will take the wall of any Man or Maid of Mountagues
Greg. That shewes thee a weake slaue, for the weakestgoes to the wall
Samp. True, and therefore women being the weakerVessels, are euer thrust to the wall: therefore I will pushMountagues men from the wall, and thrust his Maides tothe wall
Greg. The Quarrell is betweene our Masters, and vs their men
Samp. 'Tis all one, I will shew my selfe a tyrant: whenI haue fought with the men, I will bee ciuill with theMaids, and cut off their heads
Greg. The heads of the Maids?Sam. I, the heads of the Maids, or their Maiden-heads,Take it in what sence thou wilt
Greg. They must take it sence, that feele it
Samp. Me they shall feele while I am able to stand:And 'tis knowne I am a pretty peece of flesh
Greg. 'Tis well thou art not Fish: If thou had'st, thou had'st beene poore Iohn. Draw thy Toole, here comes of the House of the Mountagues. Enter two other Seruingmen.
Sam. My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I wil back theeGre. How? Turne thy backe, and run
Sam. Feare me not
Gre. No marry: I feare thee
Sam. Let vs take the Law of our sides: let them begin
Gr. I wil frown as I passe by, & let the[m] take it as they listSam. Nay, as they dare. I wil bite my Thumb at them,which is a disgrace to them, if they beare it
Abra. Do you bite your Thumbe at vs sir?Samp. I do bite my Thumbe, sir
Abra. Do you bite your Thumb at vs, sir?Sam. Is the Law of our side, if I say I?Gre. No
Sam. No sir, I do not bite my Thumbe at you sir: butI bite my Thumbe sir
Greg. Do you quarrell sir?Abra. Quarrell sir? no sir
Sam. If you do sir, I am for you, I serue as good a man as youAbra. No better?Samp. Well sir.Enter Benuolio.
Gr. Say better: here comes one of my masters kinsmen
Samp. Yes, better
Abra. You Lye
Samp. Draw if you be men. Gregory, remember thy washing blow.
They Fight.
Ben. Part Fooles, put vp your Swords, you know notwhat you do.Enter Tibalt.
Tyb. What art thou drawne, among these heartlesseHindes? Turne thee Benuolio, looke vpon thy death
Ben. I do but keepe the peace, put vp thy Sword,Or manage it to part these men with me
Tyb. What draw, and talke of peace? I hate the wordAs I hate hell, all Mountagues, and thee:Haue at thee Coward.
Fight.
Enter three or foure Citizens with Clubs.
Offi. Clubs, Bils, and Partisons, strike, beat them downDowne with the Capulets, downe with the Mountagues.Enter old Capulet in his Gowne, and his wife.
Cap. What noise is this? Giue me my long Sword ho
Wife. A crutch, a crutch: why call you for a Sword?Cap. My Sword I say: Old Mountague is come,And flourishes his Blade in spight of me.Enter old Mountague, & his wife.
Moun. Thou villaine Capulet. Hold me not, let me go2.Wife. Thou shalt not stir a foote to seeke a Foe.Enter Prince Eskales, with his Traine.
Prince. Rebellious Subiects, Enemies to peace,Prophaners of this Neighbor-stained Steele,Will they not heare? What hoe, you Men, you Beasts,That quench the fire of your pernitious Rage,With purple Fountaines issuing from your Veines:On paine of Torture, from those bloody handsThrow your mistemper'd Weapons to the ground,And heare the Sentence of your mooued Prince.Three ciuill Broyles, bred of an Ayery word,By thee old Capulet and Mountague,Haue thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,And made Verona's ancient CitizensCast by their Graue beseeming Ornaments,To wield old Partizans, in hands as old,Cankred with peace, to part your Cankred hate,If euer you disturbe our streets againe,Your liues shall pay the forfeit of the peace.For this time all the rest depart away:You Capulet shall goe along with me,And Mountague come you this afternoone,To know our Fathers pleasure in this case:To old Free-towne, our common iudgement place:Once more on paine of death, all men depart.
Exeunt.
Moun. Who set this auncient quarrell new abroach?Speake Nephew, were you by, when it began:Ben. Heere were the seruants of your aduersarie,And yours close fighting ere I did approach,I drew to part them, in the instant cameThe fiery Tibalt, with his sword prepar'd,Which as he breath'd defiance to my eares,He swong about his head, and cut the windes,Who nothing hurt withall, hist him in scorne.While we were enterchanging thrusts and blowes,Came more and more, and fought on part and part,Till the Prince came, who parted either part
Wife. O where is Romeo, saw you him to day?Right glad am I, he was not at this fray
Ben. Madam, an houre before the worshipt SunPeer'd forth the golden window of the East,A troubled mind draue me to walke abroad,Where vnderneath the groue of Sycamour,That West-ward rooteth from this City side:So earely walking did I see your Sonne:Towards him I made, but he was ware of me,And stole into the couert of the wood,I measuring his affections by my owne,Which then most sought, wher most might not be found:Being one too many by my weary selfe,Pursued my Honour, not pursuing hisAnd gladly shunn'd, who gladly fled from me
Mount. Many a morning hath he there beene seene,With teares augmenting the fresh mornings deaw,Adding to cloudes, more cloudes with his deepe sighes,But all so soone as the all-cheering Sunne,Should in the farthest East begin to drawThe shadie Curtaines from Auroras bed,Away from light steales home my heauy Sonne,And priuate in his Chamber pennes himselfe,Shuts vp his windowes, lockes faire day-light out,And makes himselfe an artificiall night:Blacke and portendous must this humour proue,Vnlesse good counsell may the cause remoue
Ben. My Noble Vncle doe you know the cause?Moun. I neither know it, nor can learne of him
Ben. Haue you importun'd him by any meanes?Moun. Both by my selfe and many other Friends,But he his owne affections counseller,Is to himselfe (I will not say how true)But to himselfe so secret and so close,So farre from sounding and discouery,As is the bud bit with an enuious worme,Ere he can spread his sweete leaues to the ayre,Or dedicate his beauty to the same.Could we but learne from whence his sorrowes grow,We would as willingly giue cure, as know.Enter Romeo.
Ben. See where he comes, so please you step aside,Ile know his greeuance, or be much denide
Moun. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay,To heare true shrift. Come Madam let's away.
Exeunt.
Ben. Good morrow Cousin
Rom. Is the day so young?Ben. But new strooke nine
Rom. Aye me, sad houres seeme long:Was that my Father that went hence so fast?Ben. It was: what sadnes lengthens Romeo's houres?Ro. Not hauing that, which hauing, makes them shortBen. In loue
Romeo. Out
Ben. Of loue
Rom. Out of her fauour where I am in loue
Ben. Alas that loue so gentle in his view,Should be so tyrannous and rough in proofe
Rom. Alas that loue, whose view is muffled still,Should without eyes, see path-wayes to his will:Where shall we dine? O me: what fray was heere?Yet tell me not, for I haue heard it all:Heere's much to do with hate, but more with loue:Why then, O brawling loue, O louing hate,O any thing, of nothing first created:O heauie lightnesse, serious vanity,Mishapen Chaos of welseeming formes,Feather of lead, bright smoake, cold fire, sicke health,Still waking sleepe, that is not what it is:This loue feele I, that feele no loue in this.Doest thou not laugh?Ben. No Coze, I rather weepe
Rom. Good heart, at what?Ben. At thy good hearts oppression
Rom. Why such is loues transgression.Griefes of mine owne lie heauie in my breast,Which thou wilt propagate to haue it preastWith more of thine, this loue that thou hast showne,Doth adde more griefe, to too much of mine owne.Loue, is a smoake made with the fume of sighes,Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in Louers eyes,Being vext, a Sea nourisht with louing teares,What is it else? a madnesse, most discreet,A choking gall, and a preseruing sweet:Farewell my Coze
Ben. Soft I will goe along.And if you leaue me so, you do me wrong
Rom. Tut I haue lost my selfe, I am not here,This is not Romeo, hee's some other where
Ben. Tell me in sadnesse, who is that you loue?Rom. What shall I grone and tell thee?Ben. Grone, why no: but sadly tell me who
Rom. A sicke man in sadnesse makes his will:A word ill vrg'd to one that is so ill:In sadnesse Cozin, I do loue a woman
Ben. I aym'd so neare, when I suppos'd you lou'd
Rom. A right good marke man, and shee's faire I loueBen. A right faire marke, faire Coze, is soonest hit
Rom. Well in that hit you misse, sheel not be hitWith Cupids arrow, she hath Dians wit:And in strong proofe of chastity well arm'd:From loues weake childish Bow, she liues vncharm'd.Shee will not stay the siege of louing tearmes,Nor bid th' encounter of assailing eyes.Nor open her lap to Sainct-seducing Gold:O she is rich in beautie, onely poore,That when she dies, with beautie dies her store
Ben. Then she hath sworne, that she will still liue chast?Rom. She hath, and in that sparing make huge wast?For beauty steru'd with her seuerity,Cuts beauty off from all posteritie.She is too faire, too wise: wisely too faire,To merit blisse by making me dispaire:She hath forsworne to loue, and in that vowDo I liue dead, that liue to tell it now
Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to thinke of her
Rom. O teach me how I should forget to thinke
Ben. By giuing liberty vnto thine eyes,Examine other beauties,Ro. 'Tis the way to cal hers (exquisit) in question more,These happy maskes that kisse faire Ladies browes,Being blacke, puts vs in mind they hide the faire:He that is strooken blind, cannot forgetThe precious treasure of his eye-sight lost:Shew me a Mistresse that is passing faire,What doth her beauty serue but as a note,Where I may read who past that passing faire.Farewell thou can'st not teach me to forget,Ben. Ile pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
Exeunt.
Enter Capulet, Countie Paris, and the Clowne.
Capu. Mountague is bound as well as I,In penalty alike, and 'tis not hard I thinke,For men so old as wee, to keepe the peace
Par. Of Honourable reckoning are you both,And pittie 'tis you liu'd at ods so long:But now my Lord, what say you to my sute?Capu. But saying ore what I haue said before,My Child is yet a stranger in the world,Shee hath not seene the change of fourteene yeares,Let two more Summers wither in their pride,Ere we may thinke her ripe to be a Bride
Pari. Younger then she, are happy mothers made
Capu. And too soone mar'd are those so early made:Earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she,Shee's the hopefull Lady of my earth:But wooe her gentle Paris, get her heart,My will to her consent, is but a part,And shee agree, within her scope of choise,Lyes my consent, and faire according voice:This night I hold an old accustom'd Feast,Whereto I haue inuited many a Guest,Such as I loue, and you among the store,One more, most welcome makes my number more:At my poore house, looke to behold this night,Earth-treading starres, that make darke heauen light,Such comfort as do lusty young men feele,When well apparrel'd Aprill on the heeleOf limping Winter treads, euen such delightAmong fresh Fennell buds shall you this nightInherit at my house: heare all, all see:And like her most, whose merit most shall be:Which one more veiw, of many, mine being one,May stand in number, though in reckning none.Come, goe with me: goe sirrah trudge about,Through faire Verona, find those persons out,Whose names are written there, and to them say,My house and welcome, on their pleasure stay.Enter.
Ser. Find them out whose names are written. Heere it is written, that the Shoo-maker should meddle with his Yard, and the Tayler with his Last, the Fisher with his Pensill, and the Painter with his Nets. But I am sent to find those persons whose names are writ, & can neuer find what names the writing person hath here writ (I must to the learned) in good time. Enter Benuolio, and Romeo.
Ben. Tut man, one fire burnes out anothers burning,One paine is lesned by anothers anguish:Turne giddie, and be holpe by backward turning:One desparate greefe, cures with anothers languish:Take thou some new infection to the eye,And the rank poyson of the old wil die
Rom. Your Plantan leafe is excellent for that
Ben. For what I pray thee?Rom. For your broken shin
Ben. Why Romeo art thou mad?Rom. Not mad, but bound more then a mad man is:Shut vp in prison, kept without my foode,Whipt and tormented: and Godden good fellow,Ser. Godgigoden, I pray sir can you read?Rom. I mine owne fortune in my miserie
Ser. Perhaps you haue learn'd it without booke:But I pray can you read any thing you see?Rom. I, if I know the Letters and the Language
Ser. Ye say honestly, rest you merry
Rom. Stay fellow, I can read.
He reades the Letter.
Seigneur Martino, and his wife and daughter: County Anselme and his beautious sisters: the Lady widdow of Vtruuio, Seigneur Placentio, and his louely Neeces: Mercutio and his brother Valentine: mine vncle Capulet his wife and daughters: my faire Neece Rosaline, Liuia, Seigneur Valentio, & his Cosen Tybalt: Lucio and the liuely Helena. A faire assembly, whither should they come? Ser. Vp
Rom. Whither? to supper?Ser. To our house
Rom. Whose house?Ser. My Maisters
Rom. Indeed I should haue askt you that before
Ser. Now Ile tell you without asking. My maister isthe great rich Capulet, and if you be not of the house ofMountagues I pray come and crush a cup of wine. Restyou merry.Enter.
Ben. At this same auncient Feast of CapuletsSups the faire Rosaline, whom thou so loues:With all the admired Beauties of Verona,Go thither and with vnattainted eye,Compare her face with some that I shall show,And I will make thee thinke thy Swan a Crow
Rom. When the deuout religion of mine eyeMaintaines such falshood, then turne teares to fire:And these who often drown'd could neuer die,Transparent Heretiques be burnt for liers.One fairer then my loue: the all-seeing SunNere saw her match, since first the world begun
Ben. Tut, you saw her faire, none else being by,Herselfe poys'd with herselfe in either eye:But in that Christall scales, let there be waid,Your Ladies loue against some other MaidThat I will show you, shining at this Feast,And she shew scant shell, well, that now shewes best
Rom. Ile goe along, no such sight to be showne,But to reioyce in splendor of mine owne.Enter Capulets Wife and Nurse.
Wife. Nurse wher's my daughter? call her forth to me
Nurse. Now by my Maidenhead, at twelue yeare oldI bad her come, what Lamb: what Ladi-bird, God forbid,Where's this Girle? what Iuliet?Enter Iuliet
Iuliet. How now, who calls?Nur. Your Mother
Iuliet. Madam I am heere, what is your will? Wife. This is the matter: Nurse giue me leaue awhile, we must talke in secret. Nurse come backe againe, I haue remembred me, thou'se heare our counsell. Thou knowest my daughter's of a prety age
Nurse. Faith I can tell her age vnto an houre
Wife. Shee's not fourteene
Nurse. Ile lay fourteene of my teeth,And yet to my teene be it spoken,I haue but foure, shee's not fourteene.How long is it now to Lammas tide?Wife. A fortnight and odde dayes
Nurse. Euen or odde, of all daies in the yeare come Lammas Eue at night shall she be fourteene. Susan & she, God rest all Christian soules, were of an age. Well Susan is with God, she was too good for me. But as I said, on Lamas Eue at night shall she be fourteene, that shall she marie, I remember it well. 'Tis since the Earth-quake now eleuen yeares, and she was wean'd I neuer shall forget it, of all the daies of the yeare, vpon that day: for I had then laid Worme-wood to my Dug sitting in the Sunne vnder the Douehouse wall, my Lord and you were then at Mantua, nay I doe beare a braine. But as I said, when it did tast the Worme-wood on the nipple of my Dugge, and felt it bitter, pretty foole, to see it teachie, and fall out with the Dugge, Shake quoth the Doue-house, 'twas no neede I trow to bid mee trudge, and since that time it is a eleuen yeares, for then she could stand alone, nay bi'th' roode she could haue runne, & wadled all about: for euen the day before she broke her brow, & then my Husband God be with his soule, a was a merrie man, tooke vp the Child, yea quoth hee, doest thou fall vpon thy face? thou wilt fall backeward when thou hast more wit, wilt thou not Iule? And by my holy-dam, the pretty wretch lefte crying, & said I: to see now how a Iest shall come about. I warrant, & I shall liue a thousand yeares, I neuer should forget it: wilt thou not Iule quoth he? and pretty foole it stinted, and said I
Old La. Inough of this, I pray thee hold thy peace
Nurse. Yes Madam, yet I cannot chuse but laugh, to thinke it should leaue crying, & say I: and yet I warrant it had vpon it brow, a bumpe as big as a young Cockrels stone? A perilous knock, and it cryed bitterly. Yea quoth my husband, fall'st vpon thy face, thou wilt fall backward when thou commest to age: wilt thou not Iule? It stinted: and said I
Iule. And stint thou too, I pray thee Nurse, say I
Nur. Peace I haue done: God marke thee too his grace thou wast the prettiest Babe that ere I nurst, and I might liue to see thee married once, I haue my wish
Old La. Marry that marry is the very theameI came to talke of, tell me daughter Iuliet,How stands your disposition to be Married?Iuli. It is an houre that I dreame not of
Nur. An houre, were I not thine onely Nurse, I wouldsay thou had'st suckt wisedome from thy teat
Old La. Well thinke of marriage now, yonger then youHeere in Verona, Ladies of esteeme,Are made already Mothers. By my countI was your Mother, much vpon these yearesThat you are now a Maide, thus then in briefe:The valiant Paris seekes you for his loue
Nurse. A man young Lady, Lady, such a man as allthe world. Why hee's a man of waxe
Old La. Veronas Summer hath not such a flower
Nurse. Nay hee's a flower, infaith a very flower
Old La. What say you, can you loue the Gentleman?This night you shall behold him at our Feast,Read ore the volume of young Paris face,And find delight, writ there with Beauties pen:Examine euery seuerall liniament,And see how one another lends content:And what obscur'd in this faire volume lies,Find written in the Margent of his eyes.This precious Booke of Loue, this vnbound Louer,To Beautifie him, onely lacks a Couer.The fish liues in the Sea, and 'tis much prideFor faire without, the faire within to hide:That Booke in manies eyes doth share the glorie,That in Gold claspes, Lockes in the Golden storie:So shall you share all that he doth possesse,By hauing him, making your selfe no lesse