All language subtitles for Titua(1969)

Okay, on your toes, men.

Hi-ho, silver!

Hey, we got to save Olive Oyl!

Whoo-whoo! Whoo! Waah! Waah!

Hail, Rome!

Victorious...
in thy mourning weeds!

Lo, as the bark that hath
discharged her freight...

returns with precious
lading to the bay...

from whence at first
she weighed her Anchorage,

cometh Andronicus,
bound with laurel boughs,

to re-salute his country
with his tears.

Stand gracious to the rites
that we intend!

Romans,
of five and 20 valiant sons,

behold the poor remains,
alive and dead.

These that survive,
let Rome reward with love.

These that I bring
unto their latest home...

with burial amongst
their ancestors.

Here Goths have given me leave
to sheathe my sword.

Titus, unkind and careless
of thine own,

why suffer'st thou thy sons,
unburied yet,

to hover on the dreadful
shore of Styx?

Make way to lay them
by their brethren!

O sacred receptacle of my joys,

sweet cell of virtue
and nobility,

how many sons of mine
hast thou in store...

that thou wilt never
render to me more?

And there greet in silence,
as the dead are wont,

and sleep in peace,

slain in your country's wars.

Give us the proudest
prisoner of the Goths...

that we may hew his limbs,
and on a pile-

Ad manes fiatrum.

Sacrifice his flesh.

That so the shadows
be not unappeased,

nor we disturbed
with prodigies on earth.

I give him you,
the noblest that survives:

the eldest son
of this distressed queen.

No! Stay, Roman brethren!

Gracious conqueror,

victorious Titus,
rue the tears I shed-

the mother's tears
in passion for her son.

No!

If thy sons were
ever dear to thee,

oh, think my son to be
as dear to me.

Sufficeth not that
we are brought to Rome...

to beautify your triumphs
and return,

captive to thee
and thy Roman yoke?

But must my sons
be slaughtered in the streets...

for valiant doings
in their country's cause?

Oh, if to fight for king and
commonweal were piety in thine,

it is in these.

Andronicus,

stain not thy tomb with blood.

Wilt thou draw near
the nature of the gods?

Draw near them then
in being merciful.

Sweet mercy
is nobility's true badge.

Thrice noble Titus-

Spare my first-born son.

Patient yourself, madam,
and pardon me.

These are their brethren,
whom your Goths beheld...

alive and dead,

and for their brethren slain,

religiously they ask a sacrifice.

To this your son is marked-

Oh!

And die he must to appease
their groaning shadows that are gone.

Away with him and
make a fire straight.

And with our swords,
upon a pile of wood...

let's hew his limbs
till they be clean consumed.

O cruel, irreligious piety!

Was ever Scythia
half so barbarous?

Oppose not Scythia
to ambitious Rome.

Alarbus goes to rest,

and we survive to tremble
under Titus' threatening looks.

Stand resolved,

but hope withal the gods
may favor Tamora,

the Queen of Goths,

to quit these bloody wrongs
upon her foes.

See, lord and father, how we
have performed our Roman rites.

Alarbus' limbs are lopped,

and entrails feed
the sacrificing fire.

Remaineth not,
but to inter our brethren...

and with loud alarums
welcome them to Rome.

In peace and honor
rest you here, my sons,

secure from worldly
chances and mishaps.

Here lurks no treason.

Here no envy swells.

Here grow no damned drugs.

Here are no storms,

no noise,

but silence and eternal sleep.

In peace and honor
rest you here, my sons.

In peace and honor
live Lord Titus long.

My noble lord and father,
live in fame.

Lo, at this tomb
my tributary tears I render...

for my brethren's obsequies.

And at thy feet I kneel,
with tears of joy...

shed on the earth
for thy return to Rome.

Bless me here
with thy victorious hand.

Kind Rome, that hast
thus lovingly reserved...

the cordial of mine age
to glad my heart.

Lavinia, live.

Outlive thy father's days
and fame's eternal date,

for virtue's praise.

Noble patricians,
patrons of my right,

defend the justice
of my cause with arms!

And, countrymen,
my loving followers,

plead my successive title
with your swords!

Romans, friends, followers,
favorers of my right,

if ever Bassianus,
Caesar's son,

were gracious in the eyes
of royal Rome,

keep, then, this passage
to the capitol.

I am the first-born son!

That was the last that wear
the imperial diadem of Rome.

And suffer not dishonor
to approach the imperial seat:

to virtue, consecrate,

to justice, continence,
and nobility!

Then let my father's
honors live in me!

Nor wrong mine age
with this indignity!

But let desert
in pure election shine,

and, Romans, fight for
freedom in your choice.

Princes...

that strive by factions
and by friends ambitiously...

for rule and empery.

Know that the people of Rome
have by common voice...

in election for the Roman
empery chosen Andronicus.

A nobler man,

a braver warrior, lives not
this day within the city walls.

He by the senate is accited home
from weary wars...

against the barbarous Goths.

Let us entreat,
by honor of his name,

that you withdraw you,
dismiss your followers,

and, as suitors should,
plead your deserts in peace...

and humbleness.

Marcus Andronicus,

so I do rely on
thy uprightness and integrity,

and so I love and honor
thee and thine-

thy noble brother Titus
and his sons...

and her to whom my thoughts
are humbled all,

gracious Lavinia,
Rome's rich ornament-

that I will here dismiss
my loving friends.

And to my fortunes
and the people's favor,

commit my cause in balance
to be weighed.

Friends...

that have been thus
forward in my right,

I thank you all
and here dismiss you all.

And to the love and favor
of my country...

commit myself, my person,

and the cause!

Rome...

be as just
and gracious unto me...

as I am confident
and kind to thee.

Open the gates and let me in!

Long live Lord Titus,
my beloved brother.

Thanks, gentle tribune,

noble brother Marcus.

And welcome, nephews,
from successful wars,

you that survive
and those that sleep in fame.

Titus Andronicus,

the people of Rome
send thee by me,

their tribune and their trust,

this palliament of white
and spotless hue,

and name thee in election
for the empire...

with these our late-deceased
emperor's sons.

Be candidatus, then,

and put it on,

and help to set a head
on headless Rome.

A better head
her glorious body fits...

than this that shakes
for age and feebleness.

Rome, I have been
thy soldier 40 years...

and led my country's
strength successfully...

and buried one and 20
valiant sons.

Give me a staff of honor
for mine age,

but not a scepter
to control the world.

Upright he held it, lords,
that held it last.

Titus, thou shalt but ask
and have the empery.

Proud and ambitious tribune,
canst thou tell?

Patience, Prince Saturnine.
Romans!

Do me right!

Patricians, draw your swords
and sheathe them not...

till Saturninus
be Rome's emperor!

Andronicus, would thou
wert shipped to hell...

rather than rob me
of the people's hearts!

Proud Saturnine,
interrupter of the good,

that noble-minded Titus
means to thee.

Content thee, prince.

I will restore to thee
the people's hearts...

and wean them from themselves.

Andronicus,

I do not flatter thee
but honor thee,

and will do till I die.

My faction, if thou strengthen
with thy friends,

I will most thankful be.

People of Rome
and people's tribunes here,

I ask your voices
and your suffrages.

Will you bestow them
friendly on Andronicus?

To gratify the good Andronicus...

and gratulate
his safe return to Rome,

the people will accept
whom he admits.

Tribunes, I thank you,
and this suit I make...

that you create
your emperor's eldest son,

Lord Saturnine,
whose virtues will, I hope,

reflect on Rome
as Titan's rays on earth.

And if you will elect
by my advice,

crown him and say,

"Long live our emperor!"

Long live
our emperor Saturnine!

Patricians and plebeians,

we create Lord Saturninus
Rome's great emperor...

and say, "Long live
our Emperor Saturnine!"

Titus Andronicus,

for thy favors done to us
in our election this day,

I give thee thanks
in part of thy deserts...

and will with deeds
requite thy gentleness.

And, for an onset, Titus,

to advance thy name
and honorable family,

Lavinia will I make my empress,

Rome's royal mistress,

mistress of my heart-

And in the sacred pantheon
her espouse.

Tell me, Andronicus,
doth this motion please thee?

Hmm?

It doth, my worthy lord,

and in this match I hold me
highly honored of your grace.

And here, in sight of Rome,

to Saturnine, king and
commander of our commonweal,

the wide world's emperor,

do I consecrate my sword,
my chariot, and my prisoners:

presents well worthy
Rome's imperial lord.

Thanks, noble Titus,

father of my life.

How proud I am of thee
and of thy gifts...

Rome shall record.

And when I do forget the least
of these unspeakable deserts,

Romans,
forget thy fealty to me.

Now, madam, are you
prisoner to an emperor-

to him that, for your honor
and your state,

will use you nobly
and your followers.

Mmm.

A goodly lady.

Trust me, of the hue
that I would choose,

were I to choose anew.

Clear up, fair queen,
that cloudy countenance.

Though chance of war
hath wrought this change of cheer,

thou comest not to be made
a scorn in Rome.

Princely shall be thy usage...

every Way-

Rest on my word,

and let not discontent
daunt all your hopes.

Madam, he that comforts you...

can make you greater
than Queen of Goths.

Lavinia, you are not
displeased with this?

Not I, my Lord,

sith true nobility
warrants these words...

in princely courtesy.

Thanks, sweet Lavinia.

Romans, let us go!

Ransomless here
we set our prisoners free.

Proclaim our honors, lords,
with trump and drum.

Lord Titus, by your leave,
this maid is mine.

How, sir! Are you
in earnest, then, my lord?

Ay, noble Titus,
and resolved withal.

This prince in justice
seizeth but his own.

And that he will and shall,
if Lucius live.

Traitors, avaunt!

Where is the emperor's guard?

Treason, my lord,
Lavinia is surprised!

Surprised? By whom?

By him that justly may bear his
betrothed from all the world away.

Fear not, my lord,
I'll soon bring her back.

Brothers, help to convey
her hence away!

And with my sword
I'll keep this way safe.

My lord, you pass not here.

What, villain boy?

Barr'st me my way in Rome, huh?

Help! Lucius!

My lord! You are unjust!

And more than so,

in wrongful quarrel,
you have slain your son.

Nor thou nor he
are any sons of mine.

My sons would never
so dishonor me.

Traitor!

Restore Lavinia to the emperor.

Dead, if you will,
but not to be his wife...

that is another's lawful
promised love.

No, Titus, no!

The emperor needs her not!

Nor her, nor thee,
nor any of thy stock!

I will trust, by leisure,
him that mocks me once.

Thee never!

Nor thy traitorous,
haughty sons,

confederates all,
thus to dishonor me.

But go thy ways. Go!

A valiant son-in-law
shalt thou enjoy,

one fit to bandy
with thy lawless sons!

And therefore, lovely Tamora,

Queen of Goths,

if thou be pleased
with this my sudden choice,

behold.

I choose thee, Tamora,
for my bride...

and will create thee
empress of Rome.

Speak, Queen of Goths.
Dost thou applaud my choice?

If Saturnine advance
the Queen of Goths,

she will a handmaid be
to his desires,

a loving nurse,
a mother to his youth.

Ascend, fair queen,
to the pantheon.

Lords, accompany
your noble emperor...

and his lovely bride.

There shall we consummate
our spousal rites.

Titus, when wen
thou wont to walk alone,

dishonored thus
and challenged of wrongs?

O Titus, see.

Oh, see what thou hast done-

in a bad quarrel
slain a virtuous son.

No, foolish tribune, no.

No son of mine,
nor thou, nor these,

confederates in the deed that
hath dishonored all our family.

But let us give him
burial as becomes.

Give Mutius burial
with our brethren.

Traitors, away.
He rests not in this tomb.

Here none but soldiers and
Rome's servitors repose in fame-

none basely slain in brawls.

Bury him where you can.
He comes not here.

My lord,
this is impiety in you.

He must be buried
with his brethren.

And shall, or him
we will accompany!

And shall?

What villain was it
spake that word?

He that would vouch it
in any place but here.

What, would you bury him
in my despite?

No, noble Titus,

but entreat of thee to pardon
Mutius and to bury him.

Marcus, even thou has
struck upon my crest...

and, with these boys,

mine honor thou hast wounded.

My foes I do repute you
every one,

so trouble me no more,
but get you gone.

He is not with himself.
Let us withdraw.

Not I, till Mutius'
bones be buried.

Father, and in that name
doth nature speak,

dear father, soul
and substance of us all.

Renowned Titus,
more than half my soul.

Rise, Marcus, rise.

The dismall'st day is this
that e'er I saw,

to be dishonored
by my sons in Rome.

Well, bury him!

And bury me the next.

I'll have another.

Ah!

So, Bassianus,
you have played your prize.

God give you joy, sir,
of your gallant bride.

And you of yours, my lord.

I say no more nor wish no
less, and so I take my leave.

Traitor!

If Rome have law
or we have power,

thou and thy faction
shall repent this rape.

Rape call you it, my lord,

to seize my own, my true-betrothed
love, and now my wife?

But let the laws of Rome
determine all.

Meanwhile, I am possessed
of that is mine.

'Tis good, sir.
You are very short with us.

But if we live,
we'll be as sharp with you.

My lord, what I have done,
as best I may,

answer I must
and shall do with my life.

This noble gentleman-
Lord Titus here-

is in opinion
and in honor wronged.

That in the rescue of Lavinia,
with his own hand,

did slay his youngest son
in zeal to you.

Hmm.

Receive him then to favor,
Saturnine.

Prince Bassianus,
leave to plead my deeds.

'Tis thou and those
that have dishonored me.

Rome and the righteous heavens
be my judge...

how I have loved
and honored Saturnine.

I can do no more.
Patience, Bassianus.

My worthy lord, if ever
Tamora were gracious...

in those princely eyes
of thine,

then hear me speak indifferently for all.

And at my suit, sweet,
pardon what is past.

Oh, madam?
Be dishonored openly...

and basely put it up
without revenge?

Not so, my lord.

The gods of Rome forfend
I should be author to dishonor you.

But on mine honor
dare I undertake...

for good Lord Titus'
innocence in all,

whose fury, not dissembled,
speaks his griefs.

Then at my suit
look graciously on him.

Lose not so noble a friend
on vain suppose.

My lord, be ruled by me.

Be won at last.

Dissemble all your griefs
and discontents.

You are but newly planted
in your throne.

Lest then the people
and patricians, too,

upon a just survey,
take Titus' part...

and so supplant you
for ingratitude.

Yield at entreats,
and then let me alone.

I'll find a day
to massacre them all...

and raze their faction
and their family-

the cruel father
and his traitorous sons...

to whom I sued
for my dear son's life,

and make them know what 'tis
to let a queen kneel in the streets...

and beg for grace in vain.

Come, come, sweet emperor.

Come, Andronicus.

Take up this good old man,
and cheer the heart...

that dies in tempest
of thy angry frown.

Rise, Titus, rise.
My empress hath prevailed.

I thank your majesty
and her, my lord.

And let it be mine honor,
good my lord,

that I have reconciled
your friends and you.

For you, Prince Bassianus,

I have passed my word and
promise to the emperor...

that you will be
more mild and tractable.

And fear not, lords,
and you, Lavinia.

By my advice,
all humbled on your knees,

you shall ask pardon
of his majesty.

We do, and vow to heaven
and to your highness...

that what we did
was mildly as we might,

tendering our sister's honor
and our own.

That, on mine honor,
here I do attest.

Away, and talk not.
Trouble us no more.

Nay, nay, sweet emperor.
We must all be friends.

The tribune and his nephews
kneel for grace.

I will not be denied.

Sweetheart, look back.

Marcus, for thy sake
and thy brother's here,

and at my lovely Tamora's
entreats,

I do remit these young men's
heinous faults.

Stand up.

Lavinia, though you left me
like a churl,

I found a friend.

Come.

If the emperor's court
can feast two brides,

you are my guest, Lavinia,
and your friends.

This day shall be
a love-day, Tamora.

Tomorrow, an it please
your majesty,

to hunt the panther
and the hart with me.

Be it so, Titus,
and Gramercy too.

Now climbeth
Tamora Olympus' top,

safe out of fortune's shot
and sits aloft,

secure of thunder's crack
or lightning flash,

advanced above pale envy's
threatening reach.

As when the golden sun
salutes the morn...

and, having gilt the ocean
with his beams,

gallops the zodiac
in his glistering coach...

and overlooks
the highest peering hills.

So Tamora.

Upon her wit
doth earthly honor wait,

and virtue stoops
and trembles at her frown.

Then, Aaron,

arm thy heart
and fit thy thoughts...

to mount aloft
with thy imperial mistress...

and mount her pitch,
whom thou in triumph...

long hast a prisoner held
fettered in amorous chains.

Away with slavish weeds
and servile thoughts.

I will be bright
and shine in pearl and gold...

to wait upon
this new-made empress.

To wait, said I?

To wanton with this queen,
this goddess,

this Semiramis, this nymph,

this siren that will charm
Rome's Saturnine...

and see his shipwreck
and his commonweal's.

Holloa!

What storm is this?
Away!

Chiron, thy years wants wit.

Thy wit wants edge
and manners...

to intrude where I am graced,

and may, for aught
thou knowest, affected be.

Demetrius, thou dost
overween in all,

and so in this, to bear
me down with braves.

Aw!

'Tis not the difference
of a year or two...

makes me less gracious
or thee more fortunate.

I am as able and as fit
as thou to serve...

and to deserve
my mistress' grace.

That my sword upon thee
shall approve...

and plead my passions
for Lavinia's love.

Clubs, clubs! These lovers
will not keep the peace.

Why, boy, although our
mother, unadvised,

gave you a dancing rapier
by your side,

are you so desperate grown
to threat your friends?

Go to.

Have your lath glued
within your sheath...

till you know better
how to handle it.

Meanwhile, sir,

with what little skill I have,

full well thou shalt
perceive how much I dare.

Ay, boy.

Grow ye so brave?

How now, lords!

Here in the emperor's palace
dare you draw...

and maintain
such a quarrel openly?

Full well I wot the ground
of all this grudge.

I would not
for a million of gold...

the cause were known to them
it most concerns,

nor would your noble mother
for much more...

be so dishonored
in the court of Rome.

- For shame, put up.
- Not I!

Till I have sheathed
my rapier in his bosom...

and withal thrust these reproachful
speeches down his throat...

that he hath breathed
in my dishonor here.

For that I am
prepared and full resolved.

Foul-spoken coward,

that thunderest
with thy tongue...

and with thy weapon
nothing darest perform.

Away, I say! Now, by the gods
that warlike Goths adore,

this petty brabble
will undo us all.

Why, lords, think you not
how dangerous it is...

to step upon a prince's right?

What, is Lavinia
then become so loose...

or Bassianus so degenerate
that for her love...

such quarrels may be broached
without controlment,

justice, or revenge?

Young lords, beware!

And should the empress know this discord's
ground, the music would not please.

I care not, I, knew she
and all the world.

I love Lavinia more
than all the world!

Youngling, learn thou to make
some meaner choice.

Lavinia is thine
elder brother's hope.

Why, are ye mad?

Or know ye not in Rome
how furious and impatient they be...

and cannot brook
competitors in love?

I tell you, lords,

you do but plot your deaths
by this device.

Aaron,

a thousand deaths
would I propose...

to achieve her whom I love.

To achieve her! How?

Why makest thou it so strange?

She's a woman,
and therefore may be wooed.

She's a woman.
Ah!

Therefore may be won.

She is Lavinia,

and therefore must be loved.

Why, then, it seems,
some certain snatch or so...

would serve your turns.

Ay, so the turn were served.

Aaron, thou hast hit it.

Would you had hit it too.

Then should not we be tired
with this ado.

Are you such fools
to square for this?

Would it offend you then
that both should speed?

Faith, not me.

Nor me, so I were one.

For shame.
Be friends and join for that you jar.

'Tis policy and stratagem
must do that you affect.

And I have found the path.

My lords,

a solemn hunting is at hand.

There will the lovely
Roman ladies troop.

Ah, the forest walks
are wide and spacious,

and many unfrequented plots
there are...

fitted by kind
for rape and villainy.

Single you thither then
this dainty doe...

and strike her home by force,
if not by words.

This way, or not at all,
stand you in hope.

Come. Come. Our empress,
with her sacred wit,

will we acquaint with
all that we intend.

He that had wit
would think that I had none...

to bury so much gold
under a tree,

never after to inherit it.

Let him that thinks of me
so abjectly know...

that this gold must coin
a stratagem...

which, cunningly effected,

will beget a very excellent
piece of villainy.

And so repose, sweet gold,
for their unrest...

that have their alms
out of the empress' chest.

My lovely Aaron,

wherefore lookst thou sad...

when everything doth
make a gleeful boast?

The birds chant melody
on every bush.

The snake lies rolled...

in the cheerful sun.

The green leaves quiver
with the cooling wind.

Under their sweet shade,
Aaron, let us sit.

And after conflict, we may,

each wreathed
in the other's arms,

our pastimes done,

possess a golden slumber.

Whiles hounds and horns...

and sweet, melodious birds
be unto us...

as is a nurse's song
of lullaby...

to bring her babe asleep.

Madam, though Venus
govern your desires,

Saturn is dominator over mine.

What signifies
my deadly standing eye,

my silence,
and my cloudy melancholy?

No, madam, these are
no venereal signs.

Vengeance is in my heart,

death in my hand.

Blood and revenge are
hammering in my head.

Hark, Tamora,
the empress of my soul,

which never hopes
more heaven...

than rests in thee.

Hmm.

This is the day of
doom for Bassianus.

His Philomel must lose
her tongue today.

Thy sons make pillage
of her chastity...

and wash their hands
in Bassianus' blood.

Seest thou this letter?

Take it up, I pray thee, and give
the king this fatal-plotted scroll.

Question me no more.
We are espied.

Ah, my sweet Moor,
sweeter to me than life!

No more, great empress.
Bassianus comes.

Now, be cross with him,

and I'll go fetch thy sons
to back thy quarrels,

whatsoe'er they be.

Who have we here?

Rome's royal empress,

unfurnished of her
well-beseeming troop?

Or is it Dian,
habited like her,

who hath abandoned
her holy groves...

to see the general hunting
in this forest?

Saucy controller
of our private steps!

Had I the power
some say Dian had,

thy temples should be planted
presently with horns,

as was Actaeon's.

And the hounds should drive upon
thy new-transformed limbs,

unmannerly intruder
as thou art!

Under your patience,
gentle empress.

'Tis thought you have
a goodly gift in homing...

and to be doubted
that your Moor and you...

are singled forth
to try experiments.

Jove shield your husband
from his hounds today.

'Tis pity they should
take him for a stag.

Why are you
sequestered from all your train,

dismounted from your
snow-white, goodly steed,

and wandered hither
to an obscure plot...

accompanied but
with a barbarous Moor...

if foul desire
had not conducted you?

And, being
intercepted in your sport,

great reason that my noble lord
be rated for sauciness.

I pray you, let us hence,

and let her 'joy
her raven-colored love.

This valley fits the purpose
passing well.

The king my brother
shall have notice of this.

Good king, to be
so mightily abused.

Why have I patience
to endure all this?

Yah!

How now, dear sovereign
and our gracious mother!

Why doth your
highness look so pale and wan?

Have I not reason,
think you, to look pale?

These two have 'ticed me
hither to this place-

a barren, detested vale,
you see it is.

And when they showed me
this abhorred pit,

they told me here,
at dead time of the night,

a thousand fiends,
a thousand hissing snakes,

10,000 swelling toads-

would make such fearful
and confused cries...

as any mortal body hearing it...

should straight fall mad
or else die suddenly.

No sooner had they told
this hellish tale-

Then straight they told me
they would bind me here...

and leave me
to this miserable death.

And then...

they called me foul adulteress,

lascivious Goth,

and all the bitterest terms that
ever ear did hear to such effect.

And had you not
by wondrous fortune come,

this vengeance on me
had they executed.

Revenge it, as you love
your mother's life,

or be ye not henceforth
called my children!

This is a witness
that I am thy son.

And this for me,
struck home to show my strength.

Ay.

Come, Semiramis!

Nay, barbarous Tamora,

for no name fits thy nature
but thy own!

Give me the poniard. Your mother's
hand shall right your mother's wrong.

Stay, madam.

Here is more belongs to her.

First thrash the corn,
then after burn the straw.

This minion stood upon
her chastity,

upon her nuptial vow,
her loyalty,

and with that painted hope
she braves your mightiness.

And shall she carry this
unto her grave?

And if she do,

I would I were a eunuch.

Drag hence her husband
to some secret hole...

and make his dead trunk
pillow to our lust.

But when ye have
the honey ye desire,

let not this wasp
outlive us all to sting.

I warrant you, madam,
we will make that sure.

Come, mistress.

Now perforce we will enjoy...

that nice preserved
honesty of yours.

O Tamora, thou bearest
a woman's face-

I will not hear her speak.
Away with her.

Sweet lords, entreat her
hear me but a word.

Oh, listen, fair madam.

Let it be your glory
to see her tears,

but be your heart to them...

as unrelenting flint
to drops of rain.

When did the tiger's young ones
teach the dam?

Ahh.

Do not learn her wrath.

She taught it thee?

The milk thou suckst from
her did turn to marble.

Yet every mother
breeds not sons alike.

Do thou entreat her
show a woman's pity.

What, wouldst thou have me
prove myself a bastard?

Oh, be to me, though
thy hard heart say no,

nothing so kind,
but something pitiful!

I know not what it means.
Away with her.

Let me teach thee!

For my father's sake
that gave thee life...

when well he might
have slain thee!

Hadst thou in person
never offended me,

even for his sake
am I pitiless.

Remember, boys,
I poured forth tears in vain...

to save your brother
from the sacrifice,

but fierce Andronicus
would not relent.

Therefore away with her.
Use her as you will.

The worse to her,
the better loved of me.

Tamora, be called
a gentle queen,

and with thine own hands
kill me in this place!

And tumble me into
some loathsome pit...

where never man's eye
may behold my body.

Do this, and be
a charitable murderer.

So should I rob
my sweet sons of their fee?

No.

Let them satisfy
their lust on thee.

Away! For thou hast
stayed us here too long.

No grace? No womanhood?

Beastly creature!

Confusion fall!

Nay!
I'll stop your mouth!

Farewell, my sons.
See that you make her sure.

Ne'er let my heart know
merry cheer indeed...

till all the Andronici
be made away.

Now will I hence
to seek my lovely Moor...

and let my spleenful sons
this trull deflower.

Come on, my lords,
the better foot before.

Straight will I bring you to
the loathsome pit...

where I espied the tiger
fast asleep.

My sight is very dull,
whate'er it bodes.

And mine, I promise you.

Were it not for shame,

well could I leave our sport
to sleep a while.

What, art thou fallen?

What subtle hole is this...

whose mouth is covered
with rude-growing briers,

upon whose leaves are drops
of new-shed blood?

Speak, brother.
Hast thou hurt thee with the fall?

O brother, with
the dismall'st object hurt...

that ever eye with sight
made heart lament.

Why dost not comfort me...

and help me out of this unhallowed
and bloodstained hole?

My heart suspects more
than mine eye can see.

To prove thou hast
a true-divining heart,

Aaron and thou look
down into this den...

and see a fearful sight
of blood and death.

Aaron is gone!

Lord Bassianus lies
embrewed here,

all on a heap...

like to a slaughtered lamb.

O brother, help me!

I have not strength
to pluck thee to the brink!

Along with me.

I'll see what hole is here,

and what he is
that now is leapt into it.

Say!

Who art thou
that lately didst descend...

into this gaping hollow
of the earth, hmm?

The unhappy
sons of old Andronicus...

brought hither
in a most unlucky hour...

to find- to find thy
brother Bassianus dead!

My brother dead?

I know thou dost but jest.

He and his lady
both are at the lodge.

'Tis not an hour
since I left him there.

Where is my lord the king?

Here, Tamora,

though grieved
with killing grief.

And where is
thy brother Bassianus?

Now to the bottom dost
thou search my wound.

Poor Bassianus here
lies murdered.

Oh, then all too late
I bring this fatal writ.

"And if we miss
to meet him handsomely-

sweet huntsman Bassianus
'tis we mean-

do thou so much
as dig the grave for him.

Thou know'st our meaning.

Look for thy reward-"
"Look for thy reward...

among the nettles
at the elder tree...

which overshades the mouth
of that same pit...

where we decreed
to bury Bassianus.

Do this and purchase us
thy lasting friends."

O Tamora!
Was ever heard the like?

This is the pit
and this the elder tree.

Look, sirs, if you can
find the huntsman out...

that should have murdered
Bassianus here.

My gracious lord,

here is the bag of gold.

- Two of thy whelps-
- Huh?

Fell curs of bloody kind,

have here bereft
my brother of his life!

Sirs, drag them from
the pit unto the prison.

There let them bide
until we have devised...

some never-heard-of
torturing pain for them.

High emperor,

upon my feeble knee
I beg this boon...

with tears not lightly shed that
this fell fault of my accursed sons-

accursed, if the fault
be proved in them-

If it be proved?

You see it is apparent!

Who found this letter?
Tamora, was it you?

Andronicus himself did take it up.
Huh?

I did, my lord.

Yet let me be their bail,
for by my father's reverend tomb I vow...

they shall be ready
at your highness' will...

to answer their suspicion
with their lives.

Thou shalt not bail them!

See thou follow me.

Some bring the murdered body,
some the murderers.

Let them not speak a word!
The guilt is plain!

For by my soul,

were there worse end
than death,

that end upon them
should be executed.

Andronicus,
I will entreat the king.

Fear not thy sons. They
shall do well enough.

Come, Lucius, come.
Stay not to talk with them.

So now go tell-
an if thy tongue can speak-

who 'twas that cut thy tongue
and ravished thee.

Write down thy mind,

bewray thy meaning so,

and if thy stumps
will let thee,

play the scribe.

See how with signs and tokens
she can scrowl.

Go home!
Call for sweet water.

Sweet water!
Hither, sweet water!

Wash thy hands!

She hath no tongue to call,
nor hands to wash!

And so- And so let's leave her
to her silent walks.

And 'twere it my case,
I should go hang myself...

if thou hadst hands
to help thee knit the cord.

Who is this?

My niece?

If I do dream,

would all my wealth
would wake me.

If I do wake,

some planet strike me down...

that I may slumber
in eternal sleep.

Speak,

gentle niece.

What stern, ungentle hands...

have lopped and hewed and made thy
body bare of her two branches?

Those...

sweet ornaments...

whose circling shadows
kings have sought to sleep in.

Why dost not speak to me?

Come.

Let us go...

and make thy father blind,

for such a sight
will blind a father's eye.

An hour's storm
will drown the fragrant meads.

What will whole months of tears
thy father's eyes?

Do not draw back,

for we will mourn with thee.

Oh, could our mourning
ease thy misery.

Hear me, grave fathers.

Noble tribunes, stay.

For pity of mine age, whose youth
was spent in dangerous wars...

whilst you securely slept,

for all my blood
in Rome's great quarrel shed,

for all the frosty nights
that I have watched,

and for these bitter tears
which now you see...

filling the aged wrinkles
in my cheeks!

Be pitiful to
my condemned sons...

whose souls are not corrupted
as 'tis thought.

Oh!

Oh!

For two and 20 sons
I never wept...

because they died
in honor's lofty bed!

For these- these, tribunes,
in the dust I write...

my heart's deep languor
and my soul's sad tears!

Let my tears staunch
the earth's dry appetite!

My sons' sweet blood
will make it shame and blush!

Aaah!

O earth,

I shall befriend thee
more with rain...

that shall distill
from these two ancient urns...

than youthful April shall
with all his showers.

In summer's drought
I'll drop upon thee still.

In winter, with warm tears,

I'll melt the snow and keep
eternal springtime on thy face,

so thou refuse to drink
my dear sons' blood.

O reverend tribunes!

O gentle, aged men!

Unbind my sons!

Reverse the doom of death!

And let me say,
that never wept before,

my tears are now
prevailing orators!

O noble father,
you lament in vain.

The tribunes hear you not.
No man is by.

And you recount
your sorrows to a stone!

Lucius!

For thy brothers let me plead!

Grave tribunes,
once more I entreat of you.

My gracious lord,
no tribune hears you speak.

Why, 'tis no matter, man.

If they did hear,
they would not mark me,

or if they did mark,
they would not pity me.

Therefore I tell my sorrows
to the stones.

A stone is soft as wax,
tribunes more hard than stones.

A stone is silent
and offendeth not,

and tribunes
with their tongues...

doom men to death.

But wherefore stand'st thou
with thy weapon drawn?

To rescue my two brothers
from their death.

For which attempt,

the judges have pronounced my
everlasting doom of banishment.

Oh, happy man!
They have befriended thee.

Why, foolish Lucius,
dost thou not perceive...

that Rome is but
a wilderness of tigers?

Tigers must prey,

and Rome affords no prey
but me and mine.

How happy art thou, then,

from these devourers
to be banished.

But who comes with
our brother Marcus here?

Titus, prepare
thy aged eyes to weep,

or if not so,
thy noble heart to break.

I bring consuming
sorrow to thine age.

Will it consume me?

Let me see it then.

This... was thy daughter.

Why, Marcus, so she is.

This object kills me.

Fainthearted boy,

arise and look upon her!

Speak, Lavinia.

What accursed hand
hath made thee handless...

in thy father's sight?

What fool hath added
water to the sea...

or brought a torch
to bright-burning Troy?

My grief was at the height
before thou camest,

and now like Nilus,
it disdaineth bounds.

Give me a sword.
I'll chop off my hands, too,

for they have fought for Rome,
and all in vain.

In bootless prayer
have they been held up,

and they have served
me to effectless use!

Now all the service
I require of them...

is that the one
will help to cut the other.

Speak, gentle sister.
Who hath martyred thee?

Oh, that delightful engine
of her thoughts...

is torn from forth
that pretty, hollow cage.

Oh!

Say thou for her.
Who hath done this deed?

Oh, thus I found her
straying in the park,

seeking to hide herself
as doth the deer...

that hath received
some unrecuring wound.

It was my deer,

and he that wounded her hath hurt
me more than had he killed me dead.

For now I stand
as one upon a rock,

environed with
a wilderness of sea.

This way to death
my wretched sons have gone.

Here stands my other son,
a banished man,

and here my brother
weeping at my woes.

But that which gives my soul
the greatest spurn...

is dear Lavinia,

dearer than my soul.

Gentle daughter,

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 stained,
like meadows, by a flood?

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 wondered at
in time to come.

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.

O gracious emperor!
O gentle Aaron!

Did ever raven sing
so like a lark?

With all my heart, I'll
send his majesty my hand.

Good Aaron, wilt thou
help to chop it off?

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.

Which of your hands
hath not defended Rome...

and reared aloft
the bloody battle-ax?

My hand hath been but idle. Let it serve
to ransom my two nephews from their death.

Nay, come, agree to whose
hand shall go along,

for fear they die
before their pardon come.

My hand shall go!
By heaven, it shall not go!

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

Agree between you.
I will spare my hand.

Then I'll go fetch an ax.

But I will use the ax.

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

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

If that be called deceit,
I will be honest.

Hey! Hey!

Hey!

Oh, now stay your strife!

What shall be is dispatched.

Good Aaron,
give his majesty my hand.

Tell him it was a hand that
warded him from thousand dangers.

Bid him bury it!

As for my sons,
say I account of them...

as jewels purchased
at an easy price.

I go, Andronicus.

And for thy hand,
look by and by...

to have thy sons with thee.

Their heads, I mean.

Oh, 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.

Oh, 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.

What, wouldst 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 sometimes clouds...

when they do hug him
in their melting bosoms.

O brother,
speak with possibility,

and do not break into
these deep extremes.

Are not my sorrows deep,
having no bottom?

Then be my passions
bottomless with them.

But yet let reason
govern thy lament.

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,

threatening the welkin
with his big, swollen face?

Wouldst 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,
overflowed and drowned.

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.

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.

And be my heart
an ever-burning hell.

These miseries are more than may be borne.

That this sight should
make so deep a wound,

and yet detested life
not shrink thereat!

Alas, poor heart,

that kiss is comfortless as
frozen water to a starved snake.

When will this fearful
slumber have an end?

Die, Andronicus!

Thou dost not slumber.

See thy two sons' heads,

thy warlike hand,

thy mangled daughter here,

thy other banished 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?

Why dost thou laugh?

Why, I have not
another tear to shed.

Besides, this sorrow
is the enemy...

and would usurp
upon my watery 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 returned again...

even in their throats
that have committed them.

Now, 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.

In this hand,
the other will I bear.

And thou, Lavinia,
thou shalt be employed.

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 you love me,
as I think you do,

let's kiss and part,

for we have much to do.

Farewell, Andronicus,
my noble father.

The woefullest man
that ever lived in Rome.

Now will I to the Goths...

and raise a power
to be revenged on Rome...

and Saturnine.

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.

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.

Fie, brother, fie!

Hmm?

Teach her not thus to lay such
violent hands upon her tender life.

How now! Has sorrow
made thee dote already?

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

lest we remember still
that we have none.

Come, let's fall to.

And, gentle girl, eat this.

Here is no drink.

Hark, Marcus, what she says.

I can interpret
all her martyred signs.

She says she drinks
no other drink but tears.

Speechless complainer,
I will learn thy thought.

Thou shalt not sigh
nor hold thy stumps to heaven...

nor wink, nor nod,
nor kneel, nor make a sign,

but I of these
will wrest an alphabet...

and by still practice
learn to know thy meaning.

What dost thou strike at,
Lucius, with thy knife?

At that that I have
killed, my lord, a fly.

Out on thee, murderer!
Kill'st my heart!

A deed of death done on the innocent
becomes not Titus' grandson.

Get thee gone. I see thou
art not for my company.

Alas, my lord,
I have but killed a fly.

But?

How, if that fly had
a father and mother?

How would they hang
their slender, gilded wings...

and buzz lamenting
doings in the air.

Poor, harmless fly,

that with his pretty, buzzing melody
came here to make us merry.

And thou hast killed him.

Pardon me, sir.
Hmm?

It was a black,
ill-favored fly,

like to the empress' Moor.

Therefore I killed him.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh!

Pardon me
for reprehending thee,

for thou hast done
a charitable deed.

Give me thy knife.
I will insult on him,

flattering myself
as if it were the Moor...

come hither purposely
to poison me.

There's for thyself,
and that's for Tamora!

Ah, sirrah!

As yet, I think,
we are not brought so low...

but that between us
we can kill a fly...

that comes in likeness
of a coal-black Moor.

Hey, baby, want to go for a ride?

Yeah!

Help, grandsire! Help!

My Aunt Lavinia
follows me everywhere.

I know not why.

Good Uncle Marcus, see
how swift she comes.

Alas, sweet aunt,
I know not what you mean.

Stand by me, Lucius.
Do not fear thine aunt.

Now, Lavinia, what means this?

Soft! So swiftly
she turns the leaves.

Help her.

What would she find?

Lavinia, shall I read?

"This is the tragic tale
of Philomel...

and treats of Tereus'
treason and his rape."

See, Brother, see.

Note how she quotes the leaves.

Lavinia, wert thou
thus surprised, sweet girl,

ravished and wronged
as Philomela was?

Forced in the ruthless,
vast, and gloomy wood?

Ay, such a place there is
where we did hunt.

Oh, why should nature
build so foul a den...

unless the gods delight
in tragedies?

Give sign, sweet girl,

what Roman lord it was
durst do this deed.

My lord, look here.
Look here, Lavinia!

This sandy plot is plain.

Guide, if thou canst,
this after me...

when I have writ my name
without the help of any hand at all.

Write thou, good niece,
and here display at last...

what God will have discovered
for revenge.

Cursed be the heart
that forced us to this shift.

it's Chiron and Demetrius.

My lord, kneel down with me.

Kneel, Lavinia,
and kneel, sweet boy,

and swear with me
that we will prosecute,

by good advice,
mortal revenge...

upon these traitorous Goths...

and see their blood
or die with this reproach.

'Tis sure enough,
an you knew how.

But if you hunt
these bear-whelps,

then beware.

You're a young huntsman,
Marcus. Let alone.

Come, go with me into mine armory, Lucius.
I'll fit thee.

And withal my boy shall send
from me to the empress' sons...

presents that I intend
to send them both.

Come, thou'lt do my message,
wilt thou not?

Ay, with my dagger
in their bosoms, grandsire.

No, not so.
I'll teach thee another course.

Lavinia, come.

Marcus, look to my house.

O heavens, can you hear
a good man groan...

and not relent
or not compassion him?

Marcus, attend him
in his ecstasy...

that hath more scars
of sorrow in his heart...

than foemen's marks
upon his battered shield,

but yet so just
that he will not revenge.

Revenge, ye heavens,
for old Andronicus!

Demetrius!
Here's the son of Lucius!

He hath some message
to deliver us.

Ay, some mad message
from his mad grandfather.

Aaah!

- My lords-
- Whoo!

With all the humbleness I may,

I greet your honors
from Andronicus.

Gramercy, lovely Lucius.
What's the news?

My grandsire, well advised,
hath sent by me...

the goodliest weapons
of his armory...

to gratify your honorable youth-

the hope of Rome,
for so he bid me say,

and so I do.

And so I leave you both.

Like bloody villains.

Yaaah!

Oh, 'tis a verse in Horace.

I know it well.

"He who is pure of life
and free of sin...

needs no bow and arrow
of the Moor."

Ay, just.
A verse in Horace.

Right, you have it.

Now, what a thing
it is to be an ass.

Here's no sound jest.

The old man
hath found their guilt...

and sends them weapons
wrapped about with lines...

that wound beyond their feeling,
to the quick.

But were our witty empress
well afoot,

she would applaud
Andronicus' conceit,

but...

let her rest
in her unrest a while.

Come, let's go,

and pray to all the gods
to aid our mother...

in her labor pains.

Pray to the devils.

The gods have given us over.

Why do the emperor's trumpets
flourish thus?

Oh, belike for joy
the emperor hath a son.

Soft! Who comes here?

Good morrow, lords.
Oh, tell me,

did you see Aaron the Moor?

Well, more or less, or
ne'er a wit at all. Oh!

Here Aaron is,
and what with Aaron now?

O gentle Aaron,

we are all undone!

Now, help, or woe
betide thee evermore.

What a caterwauling
dost thou keep.

What dost thou wrap
and fumble in thine arms?

Oh, that which I would hide
from heaven's eye-

our empress' shame
and stately Rome's disgrace.

She is delivered, lords,
she is delivered.

To whom?

I mean, she is brought abed.

Well, God give her good rest.

- What hath he sent her?
- A devil.

Why, then,
she is the devil's dam,

a joyful issue.

A joyless, dismal, black,
and sorrowful issue.

Here is the babe,
as loathsome as a toad...

amongst the fairest
breeders of our clime.

The empress sends it thee,

thy stamp, thy seal,

and bids thee christen it
with thy dagger's point.

'Zounds, ye whore!

Is black so base a hue?

Sweet blowse, you are
a beauteous blossom, sure.

Villain,

what hast thou done?

That which thou canst not undo.

Thou hast
undone our mother.

Villain, I have done thy mother.

And therein, hellish dog,
thou hast undone her!

Accursed the offspring
of so foul a fiend.

It shall not live.

It shall not die!

Aaron, it must.
The mother wills it so.

What?

Must it, nurse?

Then let no man but I do
execution on my flesh and blood.

I'll broach the tadpole
on this rapier's point.

Nurse, give it me! My sword
shall soon dispatch it!

Sooner this sword
shall plow thy bowels up!

Stay, murderous villains!

Will you kill your brother?

Now, by the burning
tapers of the sky...

that shone so brightly
when this boy was got,

he dies upon
my scimitar's sharp point...

that touches this
my first-born son and heir.

What?

What, ye sanguine,
shallow-hearted boys?

Ye white-limed walls.

Ye alehouse painted signs.

Coal-black is better
than another hue...

in that it scorns
to bear another hue.

For all the water
of the ocean...

could never turn
a swan's black legs to white...

although she lave them
hourly in the flood.

Tell the empress from me...

that I am of age
to keep mine own.

Excuse it how she can.

Wilt thou betray
thy noble mistress thus?

My mistress is my mistress.

This...

myself-

the vigor and the picture
of my youth.

This before all the world
do I prefer.

This, 'spite all the world,
will I keep safe-

Oh!

Or some of you shall
smoke for it in Rome.

By this our mother
is forever shamed.

The emperor in his rage
will doom her death.

I blush to think
upon this ignomy.

Why, there's the privilege
your beauty bears.

Fie, treacherous hue,
that will betray with blushing...

the close enacts
and counsels of the heart.

Here's a young lad
framed of another leer.

Look!

Look how the black slave
smiles upon the father,

as who should say,

"Old lad, I am thine own."

Aaron,

what shall I say
unto the empress?

Advise thee, Aaron,
what is to be done,

so that we may all
subscribe to thy advice.

Save thou the child,
so we may all be safe.

Then sit we down,

and let us all consult.

Ah! My son and I will
have the wind of you.

Keep there!

Now, talk at pleasure
of your safety.

How many women saw
this child of his?

Ah, so, brave lords.

When we join in league,
I am a lamb.

But if you brave the Moor,

the chafed boar,
the mountain lioness,

the ocean swells not so
as Aaron storms.

But say again,
how many saw the child?

Cornelia the midwife
and myself...

and no one else
but the delivered empress.

The empress,

the midwife...

and yourself.

Two may keep counsel
when the third's away.

Go to the empress.
Mm-hmm.

Tell her this I said.

So cries a pig
prepared to the spit.

What meanest thou, Aaron?
Wherefore didst thou this?

Oh, lord, sir,

'tis a deed of policy.

What? Should she live
to betray this guilt of ours,

a long-tongued
babbling gossip?

No, lords. No.

Hark ye, lords.

You see I have given her physic.
You must needs bestow her funeral.

The fields are near.
You are gallant grooms.

This done, make sure
you take no longer days,

but send the midwife
presently to me.

The midwife and the nurse
well made away,

then let the ladies tattle
what they please.

Aaron, I see thou wilt not
trust the air with secrets.

For this care of Tamora,

herself and hers
are highly bound to thee.

Now to the Goths,
as swift as swallow flies,

there to dispose
this treasure in mine arms...

and secretly to greet
the empress' friends.

Come on,
you thick-lipped slave.

I'll bear you hence,

for it is you
who puts us to our shifts.

I'll make you feed
on berries and on roots...

and cabin in a cave...

and bring you up
to be a warrior...

and command a camp.

Hep!

Hep! Hep!

Come, Marcus, come.

Kinsmen, this is the way.

Sir boy, now let me see
your archery.

Look ye draw home enough,
and 'tis there straight.

Goddess of justice
has left the earth.

Be remembered, Marcus,

she's gone, she's fled.

Sirs, take you to your tools.

You, cousins, shall go sound
the ocean and cast your nets.

Happily you may catch her
in the sea.

Yet there's
as little justice as at land.

No. Publius and Sempronius,
you must do it.

'Tis you must dig
with mattock and with spade...

and pierce the inmost
center of the earth.

Then, when you come
to Pluto's region,

I pray you,
give him this petition.

Tell him it is for
justice and for aid,

and that it comes
from old Andronicus,

shaken with sorrows
in ungrateful Rome.

Ah, Rome.

Well, well.

I made thee miserable that time
I threw the people's suffrages...

on him that thus
doth tyrannize o'er me.

Go, get you gone,
and pray be careful all...

and leave you not
a man of war unsearched.

This wicked emperor may
have shipped her hence...

and, kinsmen, then we may
go pipe for justice.

O Publius,

is not this a heavy case, to see
thy noble uncle thus distract?

Therefore, my lord,

it highly us concerns
by day and night...

to attend him carefully...

and feed his humor
kindly as we may...

till time beget
some careful remedy.

Kinsmen, his sorrows
are past remedy.

Publius, how now?

How now, my masters?

You're a good archer, Marcus.
Come to this gear.

Ad Jovem.
That's for you.

Here. Ad Apollinem.

Here, boy, to Pallas.

Here, to Mercury.

To Saturn, Caius,
not to Saturnine.

You were as good to shoot
against the wind.

To it, boy.

Eh-

Marcus, loose when I bid.

Of my word,
I've written to effect.

There's not a god
left unsolicited.

My lord, I aim
a mile beyond the moon.

Your letter is with Jupiter
by this.

Marcus, we are but shrubs,

no cedars we,

no big-boned men framed
of the cyclops' size.

But metal, Marcus,
steel to the very back,

yet wrung with wrongs more
than our backs can bear.

And sith there's no justice
in earth nor hell,

we will solicit heaven...

and move the gods
to send down justice...

for to wreak our wrongs.

Come, masters, draw.

Kinsmen,

shoot all your shafts
into the court.

We will afflict
the emperor in his pride.

Good boy, in Virgo's lap.
Give it Pallas.

It's from Titus!
It's from Titus!

My lords,
what wrongs are these?

Was ever seen an emperor
in Rome thus overborne,

troubled, confronted thus,

and for the extent
of equal justice...

used in such contempt?

My lords, you know,
as do the mightful gods,

however these disturbers
of our peace buzz...

in the people's ears,

there naught has passed,
but even with law,

against the willful sons
of old Andronicus!

And what and if his sorrows
do overwhelm his wits?

Hmm?

Shall we be thus afflicted
by his wreaks, his fits,

his frenzies,
and his bitterness?

And now he writes to heaven
for his redress.

See? Here's to Jove,
this to Apollo,

this to Mercury,
this to the god of war-

Sweet scrolls to fly about
the streets of Rome!

What's this but libeling
against the senate...

and blazoning our injustice
everywhere?

A goodly humor,
is it not, my lords?

For who would say in Rome
no justice were?

Lord of my life,
commander of my thoughts-

But if I live,

his feigned ecstasies
shall be no shelter...

to these outrages.

But he and his shall know...

that justice lives
in Saturninus' health,

whom, if she sleep,
he'll so awake...

as she in fury shall cut off...

the proud'st conspirator
that lives.

Shh.

Calm thee,

and bear the faults
of Titus' age,

the effects of sorrow
for his valiant sons,

whose loss
hath pierced him deep...

and scarred his heart.

O Titus, I have touched
thee to the quick.

Take arms, my lords.

Rome never had more cause.

The Goths have gathered head.

And with a power of high-resolved
men bent to the spoil,

they hither march amain
under conduct of Lucius,

son to old Andronicus.

Is warlike Lucius
leader of the Goths?

Ay, now begins our sorrows
to approach.

'Tis he the common
people love so much.

Myself have often
heard them say-

when I have walked
like a private man-

that Lucius' banishment
was wrongfully,

and that they have wished...

that Lucius were their emperor.

Why should you fear?

Is not your city strong?

Ay, but the citizens
favor Lucius...

and will revolt from me
to succor him.

King, be thy thoughts
imperious like thy name.

Is the sun dimmed,
that gnats do fly in it?

Then cheer thy spirit.

For know, thou emperor,

I will enchant
the old Andronicus...

with words more sweet
and yet more dangerous...

than bait to fish
or honey stalks to sheep.

But he will not entreat
his son for us.

If Tamora entreat him,
then he will.

Go thou before.
Be our ambassador.

Say that the emperor requests
a parley of warlike Lucius...

and appoint the meeting even at his
father's house- the old Andronicus.

Aemelius,
do this message honorably.

And if he stand on hostage
for his safety,

bid him demand...

what pledge
shall please him best.

Your bidding
shall I do effectually.

Now will I
to that old Andronicus...

and temper him
with all the art I have.

Then go successantly...

and plead to him.

Approved warriors,

and my faithful friends,

I have received letters
from great Rome...

which signify what hate
they bear their emperor...

and how desirous
of our sight they are.

Therefore, great lords,

be as your titles witness-

imperious and impatient
of your wrongs.

And wherein Rome
hath done you any scathe,

let him make
treble satisfaction.

Brave slip, sprung from
the great Andronicus-

whose name was once our terror,
now our comfort-

whose high exploits
and honorable deeds...

ingrateful Rome requites
with foul contempt,

be bold in us.

We'll follow
where thou leadest...

and be avenged
on cursed Tamora.

And as he saith,
so say we all with him!

O worthy Goths,

this is the incarnate devil...

that robbed Andronicus
of his good hand.

This is the pearl
that pleased your empress' eye.

And here's the base fruit
of his burning lust.

Say, walleyed slave,

whither wouldst thou convey this
growing image of thy fiendlike face?

Why dost not speak?

What?

Deaf?

Not a word?

A halter, soldiers!

Hang him on this tree.

And by his side,

his fruit of bastardy!

Touch not the boy!

He is of royal blood.

Too like the sire
for ever being good.

First hang the child,

that he may see it sprawl-

a sight to vex
the father's soul withal.

Get me a ladder!

Lucius... save the child.

If thou do this, I'll show thee
wondrous things...

that highly may
advantage thee to hear.

If thou wilt not,
befall what may befall.

I'll speak no more,
but vengeance rot you all!

Say on,

and if it please me which thou
speakst, thy child shall live,

and I will see it nourished.

And if it please thee!

Why, assure thee, Lucius,
'twill vex thy soul...

to hear what I shall speak,

for I must talk of murders,
rapes, and massacres,

acts of black night,
abominable deeds,

complots of mischief,
treason, villainies.

And this shall all
be buried in my death...

unless thou swear to me
my child shall live.

Tell on thy mind.
I say thy child shall live.

Swear that he shall. Then I will begin.
Who should I swear by?

Thou believest no god.

What if I do not?

As indeed I do not.

Yet- for I know
thou art religious...

and hast a thing within thee
called conscience-

therefore thou shalt vow
by that same god,

what god soe'er it be,
to save my boy-

to nourish and bring him up...

or else I will discover
naught to thee.

Even by my god,
I swear to thee I will.

First know thou,

I begot him on the empress.

Oh, most insatiate
and luxurious woman.

Tut, Lucius, this was
but a deed of charity...

to that which thou
shalt hear of me anon.

'Twas her two sons
that murdered Bassianus.

They...

cut thy sister's tongue
and ravished her,

and cut her hands
and trimmed her as thou sawest.

Detestable villain!
Callest thou that trimming?

Why, she was washed...

and cut... and trimmed,

and 'twas trim sport for them
that had the doing of it.

Oh, barbarous,
beastly villains,

like thyself!

Indeed, I was their tutor
to instruct them.

Ah, that codding spirit
had they from their mother.

That bloody mind, I think,
they learned of me.

Oh!

Let my deeds be witness
of my worth.

I trained thy brethren
to that guileful hole...

where the dead corpse
of Bassianus lay.

I wrote the letter
that thy father found...

and hid the bag of gold
beneath the tree.

I played the cheater
for thy father's hand,

and when I had it,
drew myself apart...

and almost broke my heart
with extreme laughter.

And when I told the empress
of this sport,

she swooned almost
at my pleasing tale,

and for my tidings
gave me 20 kisses.

What?

Canst thou say all this
and never blush?

Ay, like a black dog,
as the saying is.

Art thou not sorry
for these heinous deeds?

Ay.

That I had not done
a thousand more.

Even now, I curse the day-

and yet, I think, few come
within the compass of my curse-

wherein I did not
some notorious ill as kill a man...

or else devise his death;

ravish a maid
or plot the way to do it;

accuse some innocent
and forswear myself;

make poor men's cattle
break their necks;

set fire on barns
and haystacks in the night...

and bid the owners
quench them with their tears.

Oft have I digged up dead
men from their graves...

and set them upright
at their dear friends' doors,

even when their sorrows
almost was forgot.

And on their skins,
as on the barks of trees,

have with my knife
carved in Roman letters,

"Let not thy sorrow die,
though I am dead!"

Tut.

I have done
a thousand dreadful things...

as willingly
as one would kill a fly.

And nothing grieves me
heartily indeed...

but that I cannot do
10,000 more.

Bring down the devil-

for he must
not die so sweet a death...

as hanging presently.

If there be devils,
would I were a devil...

to live and burn
in everlasting fire...

that I might have
your company in hell...

but to torment you
with my bitter tongue!

Sirs, stop his mouth!

Let him speak no more!

My lord, there's
a messenger from Rome.

Welcome, Aemelius.

What news from Rome?

Lord Lucius,
and you princes of the Goths,

the Roman emperor
greets you all by me and,

for he understands
you are in arms,

craves a parley
at your father's house.

Willing you to demand
your hostages,

and they shall be
immediately delivered.

What says our general?

Aemelius, let the emperor
give his pledges unto my father...

and my uncle Marcus,
and we will come.

Who doth molest
my contemplation?

Is it your trick
to make me ope the door...

that so my sad decrees
may fly away...

and all my study be
to no effect?

Huh?

You are deceived,
for what I mean to do,

see here in bloody lines
I have set down.

And what is written
shall be executed.

Titus,

I am come to talk with thee.

No. Not a word.

If thou didst know me,
thou wouldst talk with me.

I am not mad.
I know thee well enough...

for our proud empress
mighty Tamora.

Is not thy coming
for my other hand?

Know, thou sad man,
I am not Tamora.

She is thy enemy
and I thy friend.

I am Revenge, sent
from the infernal kingdom,

accompanied by Rape
and Murder here-

To ease the gnawing vulture
of thy mind...

by working wreakful
vengeance on thy foes.

Come down and welcome me
to this world's light.

Confer with me on murder
and on death.

Art thou Revenge,
and art thou sent to me...

to be a torment
to mine enemies?

I am.
Therefore come down...

and welcome me
and my ministers.

Good lord!

How like the empress' sons
they are,

and you the empress!

But we worldly men have
miserable, mad, mistaking eyes.

Oh, sweet Revenge,
now do I come to thee.

And if one arm's embracement
will content thee,

I will embrace thee in it
by and by!

This closing
with him fits his lunacy.

Whate'er I forge to feed
his brainsick fits,

do you uphold and maintain
in your speeches,

for now he firmly
takes me for Revenge.

And-- being credulous
in this mad thought-

I'll make him send
for his son Lucius.

Shh! Shh!

See?
Here he comes.

And I must ply my theme.

Long have I been forlorn,
and all for thee.

Welcome, dread fury,
to my woeful house.

Rapine and Murder,
you are welcome too.

How like the empress
and her sons you are.

Well are you fitted,
had you but a Moor.

Could not all hell
afford you such a devil?

What wouldst thou
have us do, Andronicus?

Show me a murderer,
and I'll deal with him.

Show me a villain
that hath done a rape,

and I am sent
to be revenged on him.

Look round about
the wicked streets of Rome.

When thou findst a man
that's like thyself,

good Murder, stab him.

He's a murderer.

Hmm?

Go thou with him, and when it is thy hap
to find another that is like to thee,

good Rapine, stab him!

He's a ravisher.

Go thou with them,
and in the emperor's court,

there is a queen
attended by a Moor.

Well mayst thou know her
by thy own proportion,

for up and down
she doth resemble thee.

I pray thee, do on them
some violent death.

They have been violent
to me and mine.

Well hast thou lessoned us.

This shall we do.

But... would it please thee,
good Andronicus,

to send for Lucius,
thy thrice valiant son,

and bid him come
and banquet at thy house?

I will bring in
the empress and her sons,

the emperor himself,
and all thy foes.

And at thy mercy-

Oh.

shall they stoop and kneel,

and on them shalt thou
ease thy angry heart.

What says Andronicus
to this device?

Marcus, my brother?

'Tis sad Titus calls.

Go, gentle Marcus,
to thy nephew Lucius.

Thou shalt inquire him
out among the Goths.

Bid him repair to me
and bring with him...

some of the chiefest
princes of the Goths.

Tell him the emperor and the
empress, too, feast at my house,

and he shall feast with them.

This do thou for my love,

and so let him, as he regards
his aged father's life.

This will I do
and soon return again.

Now will I hence
about thy business...

and take my ministers
along with me.

Nay, nay-

Let Rape and Murder
stay with me,

or else I'll call my brother
back again...

and cleave to no revenge
but Lucius.

What say you, boys?
Will you abide with him...

whiles I go tell
my lord the emperor...

how I have governed
our determined jest?

Madam, depart at pleasure.

Leave us here.

Farewell, Andronicus.

Revenge now goes
to lay a complot...

to betray thy foes.

I know thou dost,

and, sweet Revenge, farewell.

Tell us, old man,
how shall we be employed?

Tut. I have work
well enough for you.

Come hither,
Publius, Caius, Valentin!

What is your will?

Know you these two?

The empress' sons, I take them-
Chiron and Demetrius.

Fie, Publius, fie!
Thou art too much deceived.

The one is Murder.
Rape is the other's name.

And therefore bind them,
gentle Publius.

Caius and Valentin,
lay hands on them.

Villains, forbear!

We are thy empress' sons!

And therefore do
we what we are commanded.

Come. Come, Lavinia.

Look.

Thy foes are bound.

Now let them hear
what fearful words I utter.

O villains
Chiron and Demetrius.

Here stands the spring
whom you have stained with mud-

this goodly summer
with your winter mixed.

You killed her husband,
and for that vile fault...

two of her brothers
were condemned to death,

my hand cut off
and made a merry jest.

Both her sweet hands,
her tongue,

and that more dear
than hands or tongue-

her spotless chastity-

inhuman traitors,
you constrained and forced.

What would you say
if I should let you speak?

Villains, for shame,
you could not beg for grace.

Hark, wretches,
how I mean to martyr you.

This one hand yet is left
to cut your throats,

whilst that Lavinia between
her stumps doth hold...

the basin that receives
your guilty blood.

You know your mother means
to feast with me...

and calls herself Revenge
and thinks me mad.

Hark, villains.

I shall grind your bones to dust,

and with your blood and it
I'll make a paste.

And of the paste
a coffin I will rear...

and make two pastries
of your shameful heads,

and bid that strumpet
your unhallowed dam,

like to the earth,
swallow her own increase.

This is the feast
that I have bid her to...

and this the banquet
she shall surfeit on.

And now prepare your throats.

Lavinia, come.

Receive the blood.

Come. Come, be everyone officious
to make this banquet...

which I wish may prove...

more stern and bloody
than the centaur's feast.

So...

now cut them down,
for I shall play the cook...

and see them ready
'gainst their mother comes.

The feast is ready, which the careful
Titus hath ordained to an honorable end-

for peace, for love, for league,
and good to Rome.

Please you, therefore,
draw nigh...

and take your places.

Marcus, we will.

Welcome, my gracious lord.

Welcome, dread queen.
Welcome, ye warlike Goths.

Welcome, Lucius.

And welcome, all.

Although the cheer be poor,
'twill fill your stomachs.

Please you eat of it.

Why art thou thus attired,

Andronicus? Hmm?

Because I would be sure
to have all well...

to entertain your highness
and your empress.

We are beholden to you,
good Andronicus.

And if your highness
knew my heart, you were.

Will it please you eat?

Will it please
your highness feed?

My lord the emperor.

Hmm?
Resolve me this.

Was it well done
of rash Virginius...

to slay his daughter
with his own right hand...

because she was enforced,
stained, and deflowered?

It was, Andronicus.

Your reason, mighty lord?

Because the girl
should not survive her shame...

and by her presence
still renew his sorrows.

Ah.

A reason mighty,
strong, and effectual.

A pattern, precedent,
and lively warrant...

for me, most wretched,
to perform the like.

Die, die, Lavinia,

and thy shame with thee.

What hast thou done-

Unnatural and unkind?

Killed her for whom my tears
have made me blind.

I am as woeful
as Virginius was...

and have a thousand times
more cause than he...

to do this outrage,

and it now is done.

What, was she ravished?
Tell who did the deed.

Why hast thou slain
thine only daughter thus?

Not I.

'Twas Chiron and Demetrius.

They ravished her
and cut away her tongue.

And they, 'twas they...

that did her all this wrong.

Go fetch them to us
hither presently!

Why, there they are,
both baked in that pie...

whereof their mother
daintily hath fed-

Eating the flesh
that she herself hath bred!

'Tis true. 'Tis true!
Witness my knife's sharp point.

You sad-faced men,

people and sons of Rome
by uproar severed...

like a flight of fowl
scattered by winds...

and high tempestuous gusts,

oh, let me teach you
how to knit again...

this scattered corn
into one mutual sheaf,

these broken limbs
again into one body.

Come. Come,
you reverend men of Rome,

and take our emperor
gently by the hand-

Lucius our emperor,

for well I know the common voice
do cry it shall be so.

Now is my turn to speak.

Behold this child.

Of this was
Tamora delivered-

the issue
of an irreligious Moor,

chief architect
and plotter of our woes.

O thou sad Andronicus,

give sentence
on this execrable wretch.

Set him breast-deep in earth
and famish him.

There let him stand
and rave and cry for food.

If anyone relieves or pities him,

for the offense he dies.

This is our doom.

Oh, why should wrath be mute
and fury dumb?

I am no baby, I,

that with base prayers...

I should repent the evils
I have done.

If one good deed
in all my life I did...

I do repent it
from my very soul.

Go, some of you.

Bear Saturninus hence, and give
him burial in his father's grave.

My father and Lavinia...

shall forthwith be closed
in our household monument.

As for that ravenous
tiger Tamora,

no funeral rite,

no man in mourning weeds,

nor mournful bell
shall ring her burial,

but throw her forth
to beasts and birds of prey.

Her life was beast-like...

and devoid of pity.

And, being dead,

let birds on her take pity.