Page 2158 - Shakespeare - Vol. 1
P. 2158
That hath thrown down so many enemies,
Shall not be sent; my band will serve the turn
My youth can better spare my blood than you,
And therefore mine shall save my brothers’ lives.
MARCUS
Which of your hands hath not defended Rome,
And reared aloft the bloody battle-axe,
Writing destruction on the enemy’s castle?
O, none of both but are of high desert; [170]
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.
AARON
Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along,
For fear they die before their pardon come.
MARCUS
My hand shall go.
LUCIUS
By heaven, it shall not go.
T IT US
Sirs, strive no more; such withered herbs as these
Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.
LUCIUS
Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son,
Let me redeem my brothers both from death. [180]
MARCUS
And for our father’s sake, and mother’s care,
Now let me show a brother’s love to thee.
T IT US
Agree between you, I will spare my hand.
LUCIUS
