Page 2157 - Shakespeare - Vol. 1
P. 2157
MARCUS
Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes.
T IT US
Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot
Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, [140]
For thou, poor man, hast drowned it with thine own.
LUCIUS
Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks.
T IT US
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 alone.
AARON
Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor [150]
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.
T IT US
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. [160]
Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off?
LUCIUS
Stay, father, for that noble hand of thine,
