William Shakespeare - Sämtliche Werke von Shakespeare in einem Band - Zweisprachige Ausgabe (Deutsch-Englisch)

[Giving a letter.]

The complot of this timeless tragedy;

And wonder greatly that man’s face can fold

In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny.

SATURNINUS.

[Reads] ‘An if we miss to meet him handsomely,—

Sweet huntsman, Bassianus ‘tis we mean,—

Do thou so much as dig the grave for him:

Thou know’st our meaning. Look for thy reward

Among the nettles at the elder-tree

Which overshades the mouth of that same pit

Where we decreed to bury Bassianus.

Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.’

O Tamora! was ever heard the like?—

This is the pit and this the elder-tree:—

Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out

That should have murder’d Bassianus here.

AARON.

My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold.

[Showing it.]

SATURNINUS.

[To TITUS] Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody kind,

Have here bereft my brother of his life.—

Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison:

There let them bide until we have devis’d

Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them.

TAMORA.

What, are they in this pit? O wondrous thing!

How easily murder is discovered!

TITUS.

High emperor, upon my feeble knee

I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed,

That this fell fault of my accursed sons,—

Accursed if the fault be prov’d in them,—

SATURNINUS.

If it be prov’d! You see it is apparent.—

Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you?

TAMORA.

Andronicus himself did take it up.

TITUS.

I did, my lord: yet let me be their bail;

For, by my fathers’ reverend tomb, I vow

They shall be ready at your highness’ will

To answer their suspicion with their lives.

SATURNINUS.

Thou shalt not bail them: see thou follow me.—

Some bring the murder’d body, some the murderers:

Let them not speak a word,—the guilt is plain;

For, by my soul, were there worse end than death,

That end upon them should be executed.

TAMORA.

Andronicus, I will entreat the king:

Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough.

TITUS.

Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them.

[Exeunt severally. Attendants bearing the body.]

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Another part of the Forest.

[Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, with LAVINIA, ravished; her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out.]

DEMETRIUS.

So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak,

Who ‘twas that cut thy tongue and ravish’d thee.

CHIRON.

Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so,

An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe.

DEMETRIUS.

See how with signs and tokens she can scrowl.

CHIRON.

Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands.

DEMETRIUS.

She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash;

And so let’s leave her to her silent walks.

CHIRON.

An ‘twere my case, I should go hang myself.

DEMETRIUS.

If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord.

[Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON.]

[Enter MARCUS.]

MARCUS.

Who is this?—my niece,—that flies away so fast?

Cousin, a word; where is your husband?—

If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me!

If I do wake, some planet strike me down,

That I may slumber an eternal sleep!—

Speak, gentle niece,—what stern ungentle hands

Hath lopp’d, and hew’d, and made thy body bare

Of her two branches,—those sweet ornaments

Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in,

And might not gain so great a happiness

As half thy love? Why dost not speak to me?—

Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,

Like to a bubbling fountain stirr’d with wind,

Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips,

Coming and going with thy honey breath.

But sure some Tereus hath deflowered thee,

And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue.

Ah, now thou turn’st away thy face for shame:

And notwithstanding all this loss of blood,—

As from a conduit with three issuing spouts,—

Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan’s face

Blushing to be encounter’d with a cloud.

Shall I speak for thee? shall I say ‘tis so?

O, that I knew thy heart, and knew the beast,

That I might rail at him, to ease my mind!

Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp’d,

Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.

Fair Philomela, why she but lost her tongue,

And in a tedious sampler sew’d her mind;

But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee;

A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met,

And he hath cut those pretty fingers off

That could have better sew’d than Philomel.

O, had the monster seen those lily hands

Tremble, like aspen leaves, upon a lute,

And make the silken strings delight to kiss them,

He would not then have touch’d them for his life!

Or had he heard the heavenly harmony

Which that sweet tongue hath made,

He would have dropp’d his knife, and fell asleep,

As Cerberus at the Thracian poet’s feet.

Come, let us go, and make thy father blind;

For such a sight will blind a father’s eye:

One hour’s storm will drown the fragrant meads;

What will whole months of tears thy father’s eyes?

Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee:

O, could our mourning case thy misery!

[Exeunt.]

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Rome. A street.

[Enter Senators, Tribunes, and Officers of Justice, with MARTIUS and QUINTUS bound, passing on to the place of execution; 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 watch’d;

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.

[Throwing himself on the ground.]

For these, tribunes, in the dust I write

My heart’s deep languor and my soul’s sad tears:

Let my tears stanch the earth’s dry appetite;

My sons’ sweet blood will make it shame and blush.

[Exeunt Senators, Tribunes, &c., with the prisoners.]

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 springtime on thy face,

So thou refuse to drink my dear sons’ blood.

[Enter Lucius with his sword 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.

TITUS.

Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead.—

Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you.

LUCIUS.

My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak.

TITUS.

Why, ‘tis no matter, man: if they did hear,

They would not mark me; if they did mark,