The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated)

by William Shakespeare

  and here is my brother, weeping at my sorrow.

  But the thing which stabs me to the heart

  is dear Lavinia, dearer to me than myself.

  If I had just seen a picture of you in this state

  it would have driven me mad; what will happen

  now I see your living body like this?

  You have no hands to wipe away your tears,

  and no tongue to tell me who tortured you;

  your husband is dead, and your brothers are

  condemned to death for his death.

  Look, Marcus!Ah, Lucius, my son, look at her!

  When I spoke of her brothers fresh tears

  fell on her cheeks, like sweet dew falls

  on a picked lily which is almost dead.

  MARCUS.

  Perchance she weeps because they kill'd her husband;

  Perchance because she knows them innocent.

  Maybe she weeps because they killed her husband,

  or maybe because she knows they are innocent.

  TITUS.

  If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful,

  Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them.

  No, no, they would not do so foul a deed;

  Witness the sorrow that their sister makes.

  Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips,

  Or make some sign how I may do thee ease.

  Shall thy good uncle and thy brother Lucius

  And thou and I sit round about some fountain,

  Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks

  How they are stain'd, like meadows yet not dry

  With miry slime left on them by a flood?

  And in the fountain shall we gaze so long,

  Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness,

  And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears?

  Or shall we cut away our hands like thine?

  Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows

  Pass the remainder of our hateful days?

  What shall we do? Let us that have our tongues

  Plot some device of further misery

  To make us wonder'd at in time to come.

  If they did kill your husband, then be happy,

  because the law has punished them.

  No, no, they would not do such an awful thing;

  see how sad their sister is.

  Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss your lips,

  or give me some sign of how I can help you.

  Shall your good uncle and your brother Lucius

  and you and I sit round some fountain,

  all looking downwards to see how our cheeks

  are stained, like meadows that haven't dried

  after a flood, with the muddy slime still on them.

  And shall we gaze into that fountain for so long,

  until the fresh sweetness has gone from it

  and it's been turned into a salt pit by our bitter tears?

  Or shall we bite off our tongues, and spend the rest

  of our awful lives in dumb show?

  What shall we do?Let those of us who still have tongues

  plot some further deadly plan

  which will amaze the ones who come after us.

  LUCIUS.

  Sweet father, cease your tears; for at your grief

  See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps.

  Sweet father, stop crying; look how my wretched

  sister sobs and weeps at your grief.

  MARCUS.

  Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes.

  Be calm, dear niece.Good Titus, dry your eyes.

  TITUS.

  Ah, Marcus, Marcus! Brother, well I wot

  Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine,

  For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own.

  Ah, Marcus, Marcus!Brother, I well know

  that your handkerchief can't soak up any of my tears,

  because, poor man, it's sodden with your own.

  LUCIUS.

  Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks.

  Ah, my Lavinia, let me wipe your cheeks.

  TITUS.

  Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs.

  Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say

  That to her brother which I said to thee:

  His napkin, with his true tears all bewet,

  Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks.

  O, what a sympathy of woe is this

  As far from help as Limbo is from bliss!

  Enter AARON the Moor

  Look, Marcus, look!I can understand her signs.

  If she had a tongue to speak, she would say

  to her brother what I just said to you:

  his handkerchief, soaked withhis true tears,

  can't help to dry her sorrowful cheeks.

  What an outpouring of sorrow this is,

  as far from help as hell is from heaven!

  AARON.

  Titus Andronicus, my lord the Emperor

  Sends thee this word, that, if thou love thy sons,

  Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus,

  Or any one of you, chop off your hand

  And send it to the King: he for the same

  Will send thee hither both thy sons alive,

  And that shall be the ransom for their fault.

  Titus Andronicus, my lord the Emperor

  sends you this message, that if you love your sons

  let Marcus, or Lucius, or yourself, old Titus,

  any one of you, chop off your hand

  and send it to the King: in return

  he will send you both your sons alive,

  and that will pay for their crime.

  TITUS.

  O gracious Emperor! O gentle Aaron!

  Did ever raven sing so like a lark

  That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise?

  With all my heart I'll send the Emperor my hand.

  Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off?

  Oh gracious Emperor!Oh gentle Aaron!

  Did a raven ever sing so like a lark,

  giving sweet tidings of the sunrise?

  I'll very gladly send the Emperor my hand.

  Good Aaron, will you help me chop it off?

  LUCIUS.

  Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine,

  That hath thrown down so many enemies,

  Shall not be sent. My hand will serve the turn,

  My youth can better spare my blood than you,

  And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives.

  Wait, father!That noble hand of yours,

  which has defeated so many enemies,

  will not be sent.My hand will do the job,

  as I'm young and can stand the blood loss better than you,

  and so mine will save my brothers' lives.

  MARCUS.

  Which of your hands hath not defended Rome

  And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe,

  Writing destruction on the enemy's castle?

  O, none of both but are of high desert!

  My hand hath been but idle; let it serve

  To ransom my two nephews from their death;

  Then have I kept it to a worthy end.

  Which of your hands hasn't defended Rome

  and lifted up the bloody battleaxe,

  smashing down the enemy's castle?

  Both hands of both of you are highly worthy!

  My hand has done nothing; let it be used

  to save my two nephews from their death;

  then I will have saved it for a worthy cause.

  AARON.

  Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along,

  For fear they die before their pardon come.

  Come on now, agree whose hand will go along,

  in case they are executed before the pardon comes.

  MARCUS.

  My hand shall go.

  My hand shall go.

  LUCIUS.

  By
heaven, it shall not go!

  By heaven, it shall not!

  TITUS.

  Sirs, strive no more; such with'red herbs as these

  Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.

  Sirs, no more argument; withered flowers like these

  are ready to be plucked, so mine will go.

  LUCIUS.

  Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son,

  Let me redeem my brothers both from death.

  Sweet father, if I am worthy of being your son,

  let me save my brothers from death.

  MARCUS.

  And for our father's sake and mother's care,

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

  And to repay our father and mother who looked after you,

  let me show a brother's love to you.

  TITUS.

  Agree between you; I will spare my hand.

  You agree between you who shall give a hand, I'll keep mine.

  LUCIUS.

  Then I'll go fetch an axe.

  I'll go and get an axe

  MARCUS.

  But I will use the axe.

  Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS

  But I will use it.

  TITUS.

  Come hither, Aaron, I'll deceive them both;

  Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.

  Come here, Aaron, I'll deceive both of them;

  give me your hand, and I'll give you mine.

  AARON.

  [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest,

  And never whilst I live deceive men so;

  But I'll deceive you in another sort,

  And that you'll say ere half an hour pass.

  [He cuts off TITUS' hand]

  Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS

  If that's deceit, I'll be honest,

  and never in my life deceive men like this;

  but I'm deceiving you in a different way,

  as you'll know before half an hour has passed.

  TITUS.

  Now stay your strife. What shall be is dispatch'd.

  Good Aaron, give his Majesty 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 sons, say I account of them

  As jewels purchas'd at an easy price;

  And yet dear too, because I bought mine own.

  Now stop your arguments.The deed is done.

  Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand;

  tell him it was the hand which protected him

  from a thousand dangers; tell him to give it a burial.

  It deserved more - at least give it that.

  As for my sons, say that I think they are jewels

  that I have bought for a bargain price;

  and yet they were expensive too, for I have bought my own goods.

  AARON.

  I go, Andronicus; and for thy hand

  Look by and by to have thy sons with thee.

  [Aside] Their heads I mean. O, how this villainy

  Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it!

  Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace:

  Aaron will have his soul black like his face.

  Exit

  I'm going, Andronicus; and in exchange for your hand

  expect to have your sons with you shortly.

  [Aside] Their heads I mean.Oh, how this villainy

  delights me even to think of it!

  Let fools do good, and kind men call for kindness:

  Aaron enjoys having a soul as black as his face.

  TITUS.

  O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven,

  And bow this feeble ruin to the earth;

  If any power pities wretched tears,

  To that I call! [To LAVINIA] What, would'st thou kneel with

  me?

  Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers,

  Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim

  And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds

  When they do hug him in their melting bosoms.

  Oh, I lift this one hand up to heaven,

  and bow this feeble ruin down to earth.

  if there is any power which pities wretched tears,

  I call on it! What, do you want to kneel with me?

  Then do, sweetheart; for heaven will hear our prayers,

  or we'll make the skies do more with our sighs

  and cover the sun with fog, as sometimes clouds

  do when they cover him over.

  MARCUS.

  O brother, speak with possibility,

  And do not break into these deep extremes.

  Oh brother, speak realistically,

  and do not plumb such depths.

  TITUS. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom?

  Then be my passions bottomless with them.

  Isn't my sorrow deep, being bottomless?

  Then let my emotions be bottomless with them.

  MARCUS.

  But yet let reason govern thy lament.

  But let your sadness be reasonable.

  TITUS.

  If there were reason for these miseries,

  Then into limits could I bind my woes.

  When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow?

  If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,

  Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swol'n face?

  And wilt thou have a reason for this coil?

  I am the sea; hark how her sighs do blow.

  She is the weeping welkin, I the earth;

  Then must my sea be moved with her sighs;

  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 must I vomit them.

  Then give me leave; for losers will have leave

  To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues.

  Enter a MESSENGER, with two heads and a hand

  If there was a reason for these miseries,

  then I could keep my sorrows within limits.

  When heaven weeps, doesn't the Earth flood?

  If the winds roar, doesn't the sea rage,

  threatening the sky with his swollen waters?

  And do you ask for a reason for this turmoil?

  I am the sea; hear how her sighs below.

  She is the weeping sky, I am the Earth.

  So my sea must be moved with her sighs,

  my earth must be flooded over with her

  continual tears,

  because my depths cannot soak up her sorrows,

  but I must throw them up like a drunkard.

  So give me permission, for losers must be allowed

  to let their passions out with their bitter tongues.

  MESSENGER.

  Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid

  For that good hand thou sent'st the Emperor.

  Here are the heads of thy two noble sons;

  And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back-

  Thy grief their sports, thy resolution mock'd,

  That woe is me to think upon thy woes,

  More than remembrance of my father's death.

  Exit

  Good Andronicus, you have been poorly repaid

  for the good hand that you sent to the Emperor.

  Here are the heads of your two noble sons;

  and here's your hand, sent back to you in contempt–

  your sorrow is their game, your strength is mocked,

  so that I am sorrowful to think of your sorrow,

  it makes me sadder than thinking of the death of my father.

  MARCUS.

  Now let hot Aetna 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 some dea
l,

  But sorrow flouted at is double death.

  Now let hot Etna in Sicily cool down,

  and let my heart be an eternally burning hell!

  These miseries are too great to be endured.

  To weep with those who are weeping gives some relief,

  but sorrow mocked makes the death happen over again.

  LUCIUS.

  Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound,

  And yet detested life not shrink thereat!

  That ever death should let life bear his name,

  Where life hath no more interest but to breathe!

  [LAVINIA kisses TITUS]

  Alas, that this sight should be so painful,

  and yet not kill one!

  That one should have to endure a living death,

  when the only thing that shows we are alive is that we're still breathing.

  MARCUS.

  Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless

  As frozen water to a starved snake.

  Alas, poor sweetheart, that kiss has as little comfort

  as frozen water gives to a freezing snake.

  TITUS.

  When will this fearful slumber have an end?

  When will this terrible nightmare end?

  MARCUS.

  Now farewell, flatt'ry; die, Andronicus.

  Thou dost not slumber: see thy two sons' heads,

  Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here;

  Thy other banish'd son with this dear sight

  Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I,

  Even like a stony image, cold and numb.

  Ah! now no more will I control thy griefs.

  Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand

  Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight

  The closing up of our most wretched eyes.

  Now is a time to storm; why art thou still?

  Enough delusion; die, Andronicus.

  you are not sleeping: look at the heads of your two sons,