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

Here, boy, to Pallas:—here, tTo Mercury:—

To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine;

You were as good to shoot against the wind.—

To it, boy.—Marcus, loose when I bid.—

Of my word, I have written to effect;

There’s not a god left unsolicited.

MARCUS.

Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court:

We will afflict the emperor in his pride.

TITUS.

Now, masters, draw. [They shoot.] O, well said, Lucius!

Good boy, in Virgo’s lap; give it Pallas.

MARCUS.

My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon:

Your letter is with Jupiter by this.

TITUS.

Ha! ha!

Publius, Publius, hast thou done?

See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus’ horns.

MARCUS.

This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot,

The Bull, being gall’d, gave Aries such a knock

That down fell both the Ram’s horns in the court;

And who should find them but the empress’ villain?

She laugh’d, and told the Moor he should not choose

But give them to his master for a present.

TITUS.

Why, there it goes: God give his lordship joy!

[Enter a CLOWN, with a basket and two pigeons in it.]

News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come.

Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters?

Shall I have justice? what says Jupiter?

CLOWN.

Ho, the gibbet-maker? he says that he hath taken them down again, for the man must not be hanged till the next week.

TITUS.

But what says Jupiter, I ask thee?

CLOWN.

Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank with him in all my life.

TITUS.

Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?

CLOWN.

Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else.

TITUS.

Why, didst thou not come from heaven?

CLOWN.

From heaven! alas, sir, I never came there: God forbid I should be so bold to press to heaven in my young days. Why, I am going with my pigeons to the tribunal plebs, to take up a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the imperial’s men.

MARCUS.

Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to serve for your oration; and let him deliver the pigeons to the emperor from you.

TITUS.

Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the emperor with a grace?

CLOWN.

Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life.

TITUS.

Sirrah, come hither: make no more ado,

But give your pigeons to the emperor:

By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.

Hold, hold; meanwhile here’s money for thy charges.—

Give me pen and ink.—

Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver up a supplication?

CLOWN.

Ay, sir.

TITUS.

Then here is a supplication for you. And when you come to him, at the first approach you must kneel; then kiss his foot; then deliver up your pigeons; and then look for your reward. I’ll be at hand, sir; see you do it bravely.

CLOWN.

I warrant you, sir; let me alone.

TITUS.

Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come let me see it.

Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration;

For thou hast made it like a humble suppliant.:—

And when thou hast given it to the emperor,

Knock at my door, and tell me what he says.

CLOWN.

God be with you, sir; I will.

TITUS.

Come, Marcus, let us go.—Publius, follow me.

[Exeunt.]

German

Table of Contents

Rome. Before the Palace.

[Enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON; Lords, and others; SATURNINUS with the arrows in his hand that TITUS shot.]

SATURNINUS.

Why, lords, what wrongs are these! was ever seen

An emperor in Rome thus overborne,

Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent

Of legal justice, us’d in such contempt?

My lords, you know, as know the mightful gods,

However these disturbers of our peace

Buzz in the people’s ears, there naught hath pass’d

But even with law, against the wilful sons

Of old Andronicus. And what an if

His sorrows have so overwhelm’d his wits,

Shall we be thus afflicted in his freaks,

His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness?

And now he writes to heaven for his redress:

See, here’s to Jove, and this to Mercury;

This to Apollo; this to the God of War;—

Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome!

What’s this but libelling against the senate,

And blazoning our injustice everywhere?

A goodly humour, is it not, my lords?

As who would say, in Rome no justice were.

But if I live, his feigned ecstasies

Shall be no shelter to these outrages:

But he and his shall know that justice lives

In Saturninus’ health; whom, if she sleep,

He’ll so awake as he in fury shall

Cut off the proud’st conspirator that lives.

TAMORA.

My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine,

Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts,

Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus’ age,

The effects of sorrow for his valiant sons,

Whose loss hath pierc’d him deep, and scarr’d his heart;

And rather comfort his distressed plight

Than prosecute the meanest or the best

For these contempts.—[Aside] Why, thus it shall become

High-witted Tamora to gloze with all:

But, Titus, I have touch’d thee to the quick,

Thy life-blood on’t; if Aaron now be wise,

Then is all safe, the anchor in the port.—

[Enter CLOWN.]

How now, good fellow! wouldst thou speak with us?

CLOWN.

Yes, forsooth, an your mistership be imperial.

TAMORA.

Empress I am, but yonder sits the emperor.

CLOWN.

‘Tis he.—God and Saint Stephen give you good-den; I have brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here.

[SATURNINUS reads the letter.]

SATURNINUS.

Go take him away, and hang him presently.

CLOWN.

How much money must I have?

TAMORA.

Come, sirrah, you must be hang’d.

CLOWN.

Hang’d! by’r lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair end.

[Exit guarded.]

SATURNINUS.

Despiteful and intolerable wrongs!

Shall I endure this monstrous villainy?

I know from whence this same device proceeds:

May this be borne,—as if his traitorous sons,

That died by law for murder of our brother,

Have by my means been butchered wrongfully?—

Go, drag the villain hither by the hair;

Nor age nor honour shall shape privilege.—

For this proud mock I’ll be thy slaughter-man;

Sly frantic wretch, that holp’st to make me great,

In hope thyself should govern Rome and me.

[Enter AEMILIUS.]

What news with thee, Aemilius?

AEMILIUS.

Arm, my lord! Rome never had more cause!

The Goths have gather’d head; and with a power

Of high resolved men, bent to the spoil,

They hither march amain, under conduct

Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus;

Who threats, in course of this revenge, to do

As much as ever Coriolanus did.

SATURNINUS.

Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths?

These tidings nip me; and I hang the head

As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms:

Ay, now begins our sorrows to approach:

‘Tis he the common people love so much;

Myself hath often overheard them say,—

When I have walked like a private man,—

That Lucius’ banishment was wrongfully,

And they have wish’d that Lucius were their emperor.

TAMORA.

Why should you fear? is not your city strong?

SATURNINUS.

Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius,

And will revolt from me to succour him.

TAMORA.

King, be thy thoughts imperious like thy name.