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

[Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS.]

TITUS.

Come hither, Aaron; I’ll deceive them both:

Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.

AARON.

[Aside.] If that be call’d deceit, I will be honest,

And never whilst I live deceive men so:—

But I’ll deceive you in another sort,

And that you’ll say ere half an hour pass.

[He cuts off TITUS’S hand.]

[Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS.]

TITUS.

Now stay your strife: what shall be is despatch’d.—

Good Aaron, give his majesty 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 have.

As for my sons, say I account of them

As jewels purchas’d at an easy price;

And yet dear too, because I bought mine own.

AARON.

I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand

Look by and by to have thy sons with thee:—

[Aside] Their heads I mean. O, how this villainy

Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it!

Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace:

Aaron will have his soul black like his face.

[Exit.]

TITUS.

O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven,

And bow this feeble ruin to the earth:

If any power pities wretched tears,

To that I call!—[To LAVINIA.] What, wilt thou kneel with me?

Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers;

Or with our sighs we’ll breathe the welkin dim,

And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds

When they do hug him in their melting bosoms.

MARCUS.

O brother, speak with possibilities,

And do not break into these deep extremes.

TITUS.

Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom?

Then be my passions bottomless with them.

MARCUS.

But yet let reason govern thy lament.

TITUS.

If there were reason for these miseries,

Then into limits could I bind my woes:

When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o’erflow?

If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,

Threatening the welkin with his big-swol’n face?

And wilt thou have a reason for this coil?

I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do flow!

She is the weeping welkin, I the earth:

Then must my sea be moved with her sighs;

Then must my earth with her continual tears

Become a deluge, overflow’d and drown’d;

For why my bowels cannot hide her woes,

But like a drunkard must I vomit them.

Then give me leave; for losers will have leave

To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues.

[Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand.]

MESSENGER.

Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid

For that good hand thou sent’st the emperor.

Here are the heads of thy two noble sons;

And here’s thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back,—

Thy grief their sports, thy resolution mock’d:

That woe is me to think upon thy woes,

More than remembrance of my father’s death.

[Exit.]

MARCUS.

Now let hot Aetna cool in Sicily,

And be my heart an ever-burning hell!

These miseries are more than may be borne.

To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal;

But sorrow flouted at is double death.

LUCIUS.

Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound,

And yet detested life not shrink thereat!

That ever death should let life bear his name,

Where life hath no more interest but to breathe!

[LAVINIA kisses him.]

MARCUS.

Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless

As frozen water to a starved snake.

TITUS.

When will this fearful slumber have an end?

MARCUS.

Now farewell, flattery; die, Andronicus;

Thou dost not slumber: see thy two sons’ heads,

Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here;

Thy other banish’d son with this dear sight

Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I,

Even like a stony image, cold and numb.

Ah! now no more will I control thy griefs:

Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand

Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight

The closing up of our most wretched eyes:

Now is a time to storm; why art thou still?

TITUS.

Ha, ha, ha!

MARCUS.

Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour.

TITUS.

Why, I have not another tear to shed:

Besides, this sorrow is an enemy,

And would usurp upon my watery eyes,

And make them blind with tributary tears:

Then which way shall I find revenge’s cave?

For these two heads do seem to speak to me,

And threat me I shall never come to bliss

Till all these mischiefs be return’d again

Even in their throats that have committed them.

Come, let me see what task I have to do.—

You heavy people circle me about,

That I may turn me to each one of you,

And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs.—

The vow is made.—Come, brother, take a head;

And in this hand the other will I bear.

And, Lavinia, thou shalt be employ’d in these things;

Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth.

As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight;

Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay:

Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there:

And if you love me, as I think you do,

Let’s kiss and part, for we have much to do.

[Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA.]

LUCIUS.

Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father,—

The woefull’st man that ever liv’d in Rome:

Farewell, proud Rome; till Lucius come again,

He leaves his pledges dearer than his life:

Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister;

O, would thou wert as thou ‘tofore hast been!

But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives

But in oblivion and hateful griefs.

If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs,

And make proud Saturnine and his empress

Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen.

Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power

To be reveng’d on Rome and Saturnine.

[Exit.]

German

Table of Contents

Rome. A Room in TITUS’S House. A banquet set out.

[Enter TITUS, MARCUS, LAVINIA, and YOUNG LUCIUS, a boy.]

TITUS.

So so, now sit: and look you eat no more

Than will preserve just so much strength in us

As will revenge these bitter woes of ours.

Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot:

Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands,

And cannot passionate our tenfold grief

With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine

Is left to tyrannize upon my breast;

And, when my heart, all mad with misery,

Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,

Then thus I thump it down.—

[To LAVINIA] Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs!

When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating,

Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still.

Wound it with sighing, girl; kill it with groans;

Or get some little knife between thy teeth,

And just against thy heart make thou a hole,

That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall

May run into that sink, and, soaking in,

Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears.

MARCUS.

Fie, brother, fie! teach her not thus to lay

Such violent hands upon her tender life.

TITUS.

How now! has sorrow made thee dote already?

Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I.

What violent hands can she lay on her life?

Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands;—

To bid Aeneas tell the tale twice o’er

How Troy was burnt and he made miserable?

O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands,