Which of your hands hath not defended Rome,
And rear'd aloft the bloody Battleaxe,
Writing destruction on the enemies Castle?
Oh none of both but are of high desert:
My hand hath bin but idle, let it serue
To ransome my two nephewes from their death,
Then haue I kept it to a worthy end
Moore. Nay come agree, whose hand shall goe along
For feare they die before their pardon come
Mar. My hand shall goe
Lu. By heauen it shall not goe
Ti. Sirs striue no more, such withered hearbs as these
Are meete for plucking vp, and therefore mine
Lu. Sweet Father, if I shall be thought thy sonne,
Let me redeeme my brothers both from death
Mar. And for our fathers sake, and mothers care,
Now let me shew a brothers loue to thee
Ti. Agree betweene you, I will spare my hand
Lu. Then Ile goe fetch an Axe
Mar. But I will vse the Axe.
Exeunt.
Ti. Come hither Aaron, Ile deceiue them both,
Lend me thy hand, and I will giue thee mine,
Moore. If that be cal'd deceit, I will be honest,
And neuer whil'st I liue deceiue men so:
But Ile deceiue you in another sort,
And that you'l say ere halfe an houre passe.
He cuts off Titus hand.
Enter Lucius and Marcus againe.
Ti. Now stay your strife, what shall be, is dispatcht:
Good Aron giue his Maiestie my hand,
Tell him, it was a hand that warded him
From thousand dangers: bid him bury it:
More hath it merited: That let it haue.
Pages:
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153