For hands to do Rome fervice are but vain.

Luc. Speak, gentle fifter, who hath martyr'd thee? Mar. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts, That blab'd them with fuch pleafing eloquence, Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage, Where like a sweet melodious bird it fung Sweet various notes, inchanting every ear!

Luc. Oh, fay thou for her, who hath done this deed? Mar. O, thus I found her ftraying in the park, Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer,

That hath receiv'd fome unrecuring wound.

8

Tit. It was my deer; and he that wounded her, Hath hurt me more, than had he kill'd me dead; For now I ftand, as one upon a rock,

Environ'd with a wilderness of sea,

Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave;
Expecting ever when fome envious furge
Will in his brinish bowels fwallow him.
This way to death my wretched fons are gone,
Here stands my other fon, a banish'd man;
And here my brother, weeping at my woes.
But that, which gives my foul the greateft fpurn,
Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my foul.
Had I but feen thy picture in this plight,

It would have madded me. What fhall I do,
Now I behold thy lovely body fo?

Thou haft no hands to wipe away thy tears,
Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee;
Thy husband he is dead; and for his death
Thy brother's are condemn'd, and dead by this.
Look, Marcus! ah, fon Lucius, look on her :
When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears
Stood on her cheeks; as doth the honey dew
Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd.

8 It was my deer :] The play upon deer and dear has been used by Waller, who calls a lady's girdle,

The pale that held my lovely deer.

JOHNSON.
Mar.

Mar. Perchance, the weeps because they kill'd her husband.

Perchance, because she knows them innocent.

Tit. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful,
Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them.
No, no, they would not do fo foul a deed;
Witness the forrow, that their fifter makes,
Gentle Lavinia, let me kifs thy lips,

Or make fome figns how I may do thee ease.
Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius,
And thou, and I, fit round about fome fountain,
Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks,
How they are ftain'd like meadows yet not dry
With miry flime left on them by a flood?
And in the fountain fhall we gaze fo long,
Till the fresh tafte be taken from that clearness,
And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears?
Or fhall we cut away our hands like thine?"
Or fhall we bite our tongues and in dumb fhows
Pass the remainder of our hateful days?

What fhall we do? let us that have our tongues,
Plot fome device of further mifery,

To make us wondred at in time to come.

Luc. Sweet father, ceafe your tears; for, at your grief,

See, how my wretched fifter fobs and weeps.

Mar. Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine

eyes.

Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot,
Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine,

For thou, poor man, haft drown'd it with thine own.
Luc. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks.
Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark; I understand her figns;
Had the a tongue to fpeak, now she would fay
That to her brother which I faid to thee.
His napkin, with his true tears all be wet,

Can do no fervice on her forrowful cheeks.

Oh, what a sympathy of woe is this!
As far from help as limbo is from bliss.

Enter Aaron.

Aar. Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor
Sends thee this word; that if thou love thy fons,
Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyfelf, old Titus,
Or any one of you, chop off your hand,
And fend it to the king, he for the fame
Will fend thee hither both thy fons alive,
And that fhall be the ransom for their fault.
Tit. Oh, gracious emperor! oh, gentle Aaron!
Did ever raven fing fo like a lark,

That gives sweet tidings of the fun's uprife?
With all my heart, I'll fend the emperor my hand;
Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off?

Luc. Stay, father, for that noble hand of thine,
That hath thrown down so many enemies,
Shall not be fent; my hand will ferve the turn.
My youth can better spare my blood than you,
And therefore mine fhall fave my brothers' lives.
Mar. Which of your hands hath not defended
Rome,

And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-ax,

• Writing destruction on the enemies' cafque?

Oh,

9 Writing deftruction on the enemies' caftle ?] Thus all the editions. But Mr. Theobald, after ridiculing the fagacity of the former editors at the expence of a great deal of aukward mirth, corrects it to cafque; and this, he fays, he'll ftand by: And the Oxford editor, taking his fecurity, will ftand by it too. But what a flippery ground is critical confidence! Nothing could bid fairer for a right conjecture; yet 'tis all imaginary. A clofe helmet, which covered the whole head, was called a cafle, and, I fuppofe, for that very reafon. Don Quixote's barber, at leaft as good a critic as thefe editors, fays, (in Shelton's tranflation, 1612,) I know what is a helmet, and what a morrion, and what a clofe caftle, and other thing's touching warfare, lib. iv. cap. 18. And the original,

celada

Oh, none of both but are of high defert,
My hand hath been but idle, let it ferve
To ranfom my two nephews from their death;
Then have I kept it to a worthy end.

Aar. Nay, come, agree, whofe hand shall go along,
For fear they die before their pardon come.
Mar. My hand fhall go.

Luc. By heaven, it fhall not go.

Tit. Sirs, ftrive no more, fuch wither'd herbs as these

Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. Luc. Sweet father, if I fhall be thought thy fon, Let me redeem my brothers both from death.

Mar. And for our father's fake and mother's care, Now let me fhew a brother's love to thee.

Tit. Agree between you, I will spare my hand.
Luc. Then I'll go fetch an ax.

Mar. But I will ufe the ax.

[Exeunt Lucius and Marcus. Tit. Come hither, Aaron, I'll deceive them both, Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.

celeda de encaxe, has fomething of the fame fignification. Shakespeare uses the word again in Troilus and Cresfida;

-and Diomede

Stand faft, and wear a caftle on thy head.

WARE.

Dr. Warburton's proof (fays the author of the Revifal) rests wholly on two mistakes, one of a printer, the other of his own. In Shelton's Don Quixote the word clofe castle is an error of the press for a clofe cafque, which is the exact interpretation of the Spanish original, celada de encaxe. His other proof is taken from this paffage in Troilus and Creffida,

and Diomede

Stand faft, and wear a caftle on thy head.

wherein Troilus doth not advife Diomede to wear a helmet on his head, for that would be poor indeed, as he always wore one in battle; but to guard his head with the most impenetrable armour, to fhut it up even in a caftle, if it were poffible, or elfe his sword fhould reach it. STEEVENS.

Aar.

Aar. If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest,
And never, whilft I live, deceive men fo.
But I'll deceive you in another fort,

And that you'll fay, ere half an hour pass.

[Afide

[He cuts off Titus's hand.

Enter Lucius and Marcus again.

Tit. Now, ftay your ftrife; what shall be, is dif patch'd.

Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand.
Tell him, it was a hand that warded him
From thoufand dangers, bid him bury it;
More hath it merited; that let it have.
As for my fons, fay, I account of them,
As jewels purchas'd at an eafy price;
And yet dear too, because I bought mine own.
Aar. I go, Andronicus, and for thy hand,
Look by and by to have thy fons with thee.
Their heads, I mean. Oh, how this villainy [Afide
Doth fat me with the very thought of it!

Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace,
Aaron will have his foul black like his face.

[Exit:

Tit. O hear!-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, wilt thou kneel with me?
[To Lavinia.
Do then, dear heart, for heaven fhall hear our prayers,
Or with our fighs we'll breathe the welkin dim,
And ftain the fun with fogs, as fometime clouds,
When they do hug him in their melting bofoms.
Mar. Oh! brother, fpeak with poffibilities,
And do not break into thefe deep extremes..

Tit.

▾ And do not break into this two extremes.] We fhould read, inftead of this nonsense,

woe