Titus Andronicus by William Shakespeare
Act 3 - Scene 2
A room in Titus’s house. A banquet set out.
Titus Andronicus : So, so; now sit: and look you eat no more
[p]Than will preserve just
so much strength in us
[p]As will revenge these bitter woes of
ours.
[p]Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot:
[p]Thy niece and I,
poor creatures, want our hands,
[p]And cannot passionate our tenfold
grief
[p]With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine
[p]Is left to
tyrannize upon my breast;
[p]Who, when my heart, all mad with
misery,
[p]Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,
[p]Then thus I
thump it down.
[p][To LAVINIA]
[p]Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk
in signs!
[p]When thy poor heart beats with outrageous
beating,
[p]Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still.
[p]Wound
it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans;
[p]Or get some little
knife between thy teeth,
[p]And just against thy heart make thou a
hole;
[p]That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall
[p]May run
into that sink, and soaking in
[p]Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt
tears.
Marcus Andronicus : Fie, brother, fie! teach her not thus to lay
[p]Such violent hands
upon her tender life.
Titus Andronicus : How now! has sorrow made thee dote already?
[p]Why, Marcus, no man
should be mad but I.
[p]What violent hands can she lay on her
life?
[p]Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands;
[p]To bid
AEneas tell the tale twice o'er,
[p]How Troy was burnt and he made
miserable?
[p]O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands,
[p]Lest we
remember still that we have none.
[p]Fie, fie, how franticly I square
my talk,
[p]As if we should forget we had no hands,
[p]If Marcus did
not name the word of hands!
[p]Come, let's fall to; and, gentle girl,
eat this:
[p]Here is no drink! Hark, Marcus, what she says;
[p]I can
interpret all her martyr'd signs;
[p]She says she drinks no other
drink but tears,
[p]Brew'd with her sorrow, mesh'd upon her
cheeks:
[p]Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought;
[p]In thy
dumb action will I be as perfect
[p]As begging hermits in their holy
prayers:
[p]Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven,
[p]Nor
wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign,
[p]But I of these will
wrest an alphabet
[p]And by still practise learn to know thy meaning.
Young Lucius : Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments:
[p]Make my aunt merry
with some pleasing tale.
Marcus Andronicus : Alas, the tender boy, in passion moved,
[p]Doth weep to see his
grandsire's heaviness.
Titus Andronicus : Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears,
[p]And tears will
quickly melt thy life away.
[p][MARCUS strikes the dish with a
knife]
[p]What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife?
Marcus Andronicus : At that that I have kill'd, my lord; a fly.
Titus Andronicus : Out on thee, murderer! thou kill'st my heart;
[p]Mine eyes are cloy'd
with view of tyranny:
[p]A deed of death done on the
innocent
[p]Becomes not Titus' brother: get thee gone:
[p]I see thou
art not for my company.
Marcus Andronicus : Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly.
Titus Andronicus : But how, if that fly had a father and mother?
[p]How would he hang his
slender gilded wings,
[p]And buzz lamenting doings in the air!
[p]Poor
harmless fly,
[p]That, with his pretty buzzing melody,
[p]Came here to
make us merry! and thou hast
[p]kill'd him.
Marcus Andronicus : Pardon me, sir; it was a black ill-favor'd fly,
[p]Like to the
empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him.
Titus Andronicus : O, O, O,
[p]Then pardon me for reprehending thee,
[p]For thou hast
done a charitable deed.
[p]Give me thy knife, I will insult on
him;
[p]Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor
[p]Come hither
purposely to poison me.--
[p]There's for thyself, and that's for
Tamora.
[p]Ah, sirrah!
[p]Yet, I think, we are not brought so
low,
[p]But that between us we can kill a fly
[p]That comes in
likeness of a coal-black Moor.
Marcus Andronicus : Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on him,
[p]He takes false shadows
for true substances.
Titus Andronicus : Come, take away. Lavinia, go with me:
[p]I'll to thy closet; and go
read with thee
[p]Sad stories chanced in the times of old.
[p]Come,
boy, and go with me: thy sight is young,
[p]And thou shalt read when
mine begin to dazzle.
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Next: Act 4 - Scene 1
