MARCUS.
My hand shall go.
LUCIUS.
By heaven, it shall not go!
TITUS.
Sirs, strive no more. Such withered herbs as these
Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.
LUCIUS.
Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son,
Let me redeem my brothers both from death.
MARCUS.
And for our father’s sake and mother’s care,
Now let me show a brother’s love to thee.
TITUS.
Agree between you; I will spare my hand.
LUCIUS.
Then I’ll go fetch an axe.
MARCUS.
But I will use the axe.
[Exeunt Lucius and Marcus.]
TITUS.
Come hither, Aaron; I’ll deceive them both.
Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.