第 9 节
作者:乐乐陶陶      更新:2021-02-19 20:38      字数:9321
  up to heaven; And bow this feeble ruin to the earth; If any power  pities
  wretched tears; To that   I call!   'To LAVINIA' What; would'st   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
  sometime       clouds    When     they   do   hug    him    in  their  melting     bosoms。
  MARCUS。 O brother; speak with possibility; And do not break into these
  deep extremes。 TITUS。 Is not my sorrow deep; having no bottom? Then be
  my passions bottomless with them。 MARCUS。 But yet let reason govern
  thy   lament。   TITUS。   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;   Threat'ning   the
  welkin with his big…swol'n face? And wilt 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;   overflow'd   and   drown'd;   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。
  Enter   a   MESSENGER;   with   two   heads   and   a   hand   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 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。 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
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  TITUS'   MARCUS。 Alas;   poor   heart;   that   kiss   is   comfortless As   frozen
  water to a starved snake。 TITUS。 When will this fearful slumber have an
  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? TITUS。
  Ha;   ha;   ha!   MARCUS。   Why   dost   thou   laugh?   It   fits   not   with   this   hour。
  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   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
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  SCENE II。 Rome。 TITUS' house
  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。 MARCUS。 Fie; brother; fie! Teach her not thus to lay Such
  violent hands upon her tender life。 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。 Fie; fie; how franticly I square my talk;
  As if we should forget we had no hands; If Marcus did not name the word
  of hands!  Come; let's   fall   to; and;  gentle girl; eat this:   Here is no   drink。
  Hark;   Marcus;   what she   says…   I   can   interpret   all her   martyr'd   signs;   She
  says she drinks no other drink but tears; Brew'd with her sorrow; mesh'd
  upon her cheeks。 Speechless complainer; I will learn thy thought; In thy
  dumb action will I be as perfect As begging hermits in their holy prayers。
  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。   BOY。   Good   grandsire;   leave   these
  bitter    deep   laments;    Make     my    aunt   merry    with   some     pleasing    tale。
  MARCUS。 Alas; the tender boy; in passion mov'd; Doth weep to see his
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  grandsire's heaviness。 TITUS。 Peace; tender sapling; thou art made of tears;
  And tears will quickly melt thy life away。 'MARCUS strikes the dish with
  a knife' What dost thou strike at; Marcus; with thy knife? MARCUS。 At
  that that I have kill'd; my lord… a fly。 TITUS。 Out on thee; murderer; thou
  kill'st   my   heart!   Mine   eyes   are   cloy'd   with   view   of   tyranny; A  deed   of
  death done on the innocent Becomes not Titus' brother。 Get thee gone; I
  see   thou   art   not   for   my   company。   MARCUS。 Alas;   my   lord;   I   have   but
  kill'd a fly。 TITUS。 'But!' How if that fly had a father and mother? How
  would he hang his 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   kill'd   him。   MARCUS。   Pardon   me;   sir;   it
  was a black ill…favour'd fly; Like to the Empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd
  him。 TITUS。   O;  O;  O! Then   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! Yet; I think; we