DEMETRIUS.
Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner choice.
Lavina is thine elder brother’s hope.
AARON.
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.
CHIRON.
Aaron, a thousand deaths
Would I propose to achieve her whom I love.
AARON.
To achieve her! How?
DEMETRIUS.
Why makes thou it so strange?
She is a woman, therefore may be wooed;
She is a woman, therefore may be won;
She is Lavinia, therefore must be loved.
What, man, more water glideth by the mill
Than wots the miller of; and easy it is
Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know.
Though Bassianus be the emperor’s brother,
Better than he have worn Vulcan’s badge.
AARON.
[Aside.] Ay, and as good as Saturninus may.
DEMETRIUS.
Then why should he despair that knows to court it
With words, fair looks, and liberality?
What, hast not thou full often struck a doe,
And borne her cleanly by the keeper’s nose?
AARON.
Why, then, it seems some certain snatch or so
Would serve your turns.
CHIRON.
Ay, so the turn were served.
DEMETRIUS.
Aaron, thou hast hit it.