ACT III
SCENE I. Rome. A street
Enter the Judges and Senators, with Titus’ two sons Quintus and Martius bound, passing on the stage to the place of execution, and Titus going before, pleading.
TITUS.
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.
For two and twenty sons I never wept,
Because they died in honour’s lofty bed.
[Andronicus lieth down, and the Judges pass by him.]
[Exeunt with the prisoners as Titus continues speaking.]
For 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.
O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain
That shall distil 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 spring-time on thy face,
So thou refuse to drink my dear sons’ blood.
Enter Lucius with his weapon drawn.
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.
LUCIUS.
O noble father, you lament in vain.
The tribunes hear you not, no man is by;
And you recount your sorrows to a stone.