Page 2150 - Shakespeare - Vol. 1

CHIRON Exeunt.

Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands.

DEMET RIUS

She hath no tongue to call nor hands to wash;
And so let’s leave her to her silent walks.

CHIRON

And ’twere my cause, I should go hang myself.

DEMET RIUS

If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord. [10]

Enter Marcus from hunting.

MARCUS

Who is this? my niece, that flies away so, fast!
Cousin, a word, where is your husband?
If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me!
If I do wake, some planet strike me down,
That I may slumber an eternal sleep!
Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands
Hath lopped and hewed and made thy body bare
Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments,
Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in,
And might not gain so great a happiness [20]
As half thy love? Why dost not speak to me?
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,
Like to a bubbling fountain stirred with wind,
Doth rise and fall between thy rosèd lips,
Coming and going with thy honey breath.
But, sure, some Tereus hath deflowered thee,
And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue.
Ah, now thou turn’st away thy face for shame,
And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood,
As from a conduit with three issuing spouts, [30]
Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan’s face
Blushing to be encountered with a cloud.
Shall I speak for thee? shall I say ’tis so?
O, that I knew thy heart, and knew the beast,