The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (1065 page)

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 deal,

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,

your warrior's hand, your mangled daughter there;

your other exiled son struck pale and terrified

with this awful sight, and me, your brother,

cold and numb like a statue.

I will no longer tell you to hold your grief in check:

tear out your silver hair, chew off your

other hand with your teeth, and let this terrible sight

close up our wretched eyes.

Now is the time to rage. Why are you calm?

TITUS.

Ha, ha, ha!

Hah, hah, hah!

MARCUS.

Why dost thou laugh? It fits not with this hour.

Why are you laughing? It doesn't suit this time.

TITUS.

Why, I have not another tear to shed;

Besides, this sorrow is an enemy,

And would usurp upon my wat'ry eyes

And make them blind with tributary tears.

Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave?

For these two heads do seem to speak to me,

And threat me I shall never come to bliss

Till all these mischiefs be return'd again

Even in their throats that have committed them.

Come, let me see what task I have to do.

You heavy people, circle me about,

That I may turn me to each one of you

And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs.

The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head,

And in this hand the other will I bear.

And, Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd in this;

Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth.

As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight;

Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay.

Hie to the Goths and raise an army there;

And if ye love me, as I think you do,

Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do.

 Exeunt all but Lucius

Why? I have no more tears to shed.

Besides, sorrow is an enemy

that wants to overthrow my watery eyes

and blind them with my tears.

Then how would I find my way to the home of revenge?

These two heads seem to speak to me

and tell me that I shall never find happiness

until these evil deeds are thrown back

in the faces of those who did them.

Come, let me see what has to be done.

You sad people, gather around me,

so that I can turn to each one of you

and swear to myself that I will revenge your wrongs.

We have made a vow. Come, brother, take a head,

and I will carry the other in this hand.

And, Lavinia, you shall have a job:

carry my hand, sweet girl, between your teeth.

As for you, boy, take yourself out of my sight:

you are an exile and you must not stay here;

go to the Goths and raise an army there,

and if you love me, as I think you do,

let's kiss and part, for we have much to do.
 

LUCIUS.

Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father,

The woefull'st man that ever liv'd in Rome.

Farewell, proud Rome; till Lucius come again,

He leaves his pledges dearer than his life.

Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister;

O, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been!

But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives

But in oblivion and hateful griefs.

If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs

And make proud Saturnine and his emperess

Beg at the gates like Tarquin and his queen.

Now will I to the Goths, and raise a pow'r

To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine.

 Exit

Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father,

the saddest man that ever lived in Rome.

Farewell, proud Rome; until Lucius comes again,

he leaves guarantees dearer than his life.

Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister;

oh, if only you were the same as you were before!

But now neither Lucius nor Lavinia lives

except in their oblivion and hateful griefs.

If I live I will revenge the wrongs which have been done to you

and makeproud Saturnine and his Empress

beg at the gates like Tarquin and his queen.

Now I will go to the Goths and raise an army,

to take revenge on Rome and Saturnine.

A banquet.

Enter TITUS, MARCUS, LAVINIA, and the boy YOUNG LUCIUS

TITUS.

So so, now sit; and look you eat no more

Than will preserve just so much strength in us

As will revenge these bitter woes of ours.

Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot;

Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands,

And cannot passionate our tenfold grief

With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine

Is left to tyrannize upon my breast;

Who, when my heart, all mad with misery,

Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,

Then thus I thump it down.

[To LAVINIA] Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs!

When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating,

Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still.

Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans;

Or get some little knife between thy teeth

And just against thy heart make thou a hole,

That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall

May run into that sink and, soaking in,

Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears.

So, now sit down; and make sure you eat just enough

to keep us just strong enough

to take revenge for our bitter sorrows.

Marcus, don't hug yourself in sorrow;

your niece and I, poor creatures, are missing our hands,

and cannot express our ten times worse sorrows

by folding our arms.This poor right hand of mine

is left to thump my breast;

when my heart is mad with misery

and thumps inside my body's prison

then I thump it down like this.

You sorrowful figure, that has to talk in sign language!

When your poor heart thumps with sorrow,

you can't strike it like this to calm it.

Wound it with your sighs, girl, kill it with your groans;

or take a little knife between your teeth

and make a hole next to your heart,

so that all the tears that fall from your poor eyes

run down to that hole and sinking in

drown your sorrowing heart with salty tears.

MARCUS.

Fie, brother, fie! Teach her not thus to lay

Such violent hands upon her tender life.

Stop it, brother!Don't encourage her to

do such violent deeds.

TITUS.

How now! Has sorrow made thee dote already?

Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I.

What violent hands can she lay on her life?

Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands?

To bid Aeneas tell the tale twice o'er

How Troy was burnt and he made miserable?

O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands,

Lest we remember still that we have none.