The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (1063 page)

Oh noble father, you plead in vain;

the Tribunes can't hear you, there's no-one here,

and you are telling your sorrows to stone.

TITUS.

Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead!

Grave Tribunes, once more I entreat of you.

Ah, Lucius, let me beg for your brothers!

Great Tribunes, I beg you once again.

LUCIUS.

My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak.

My gracious lord, no tribune is listening.

TITUS.

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

They would not mark me; if they did mark,

They would not pity me; yet plead I must,

And bootless unto them.

Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones;

Who though they cannot answer my distress,

Yet in some sort they are better than the Tribunes,

For that they will not intercept my tale.

When I do weep, they humbly at my feet

Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me;

And were they but attired in grave weeds,

Rome could afford no tribunes like to these.

A stone is soft as wax: tribunes more hard than stones.

A stone is silent and offendeth not,

And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.

[Rises]

But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn?

It doesn't matter, man; if they heard me

they wouldn't pay attention; if they paid attention

they wouldn't pity me; but I must beg

even when it's useless.

So I will tell my sorrows to the stones;

though they can't respond to my distress

in some ways they are better than the Tribunes,

because they won't interrupt me.

When I weep they humbly, around my feet,

receive my tears, and seem to be weeping with me;

if they were just dressed in solemn robes

Rome could have no better tribunes than these.

Stones are soft as wax, compared to tribunes who are hard as stones.

Stones are silent and do no harm,

while tribunes use their tongues to condemn men to death.

But why are you standing with your sword out?

LUCIUS.

To rescue my two brothers from their death;

For which attempt the judges have pronounc'd

My everlasting doom of banishment.

To rescue my two brothers from their death;

the judges have announced that

I will be permanently exiled for this.

TITUS.

O happy man! they have befriended thee.

Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive

That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers?

Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey

But me and mine; how happy art thou then

From these devourers to be banished!

But who comes with our brother Marcus here?

Enter MARCUS with LAVINIA

You happy man!They've done you a favour.

Why, foolish Lucius, can't you see

that Rome is just a desert full of tigers?

Tigers must hunt, and Rome has no prey

except for me and my family; how lucky you are

to be sent away from these beasts!

But who is this who comes here with our brother Marcus?

MARCUS.

Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep,

Or if not so, thy noble heart to break.

I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.

Titus, get ready for your old eyes to weep,

or if not for your noble heart to break.

I'm bringing overwhelming sorrow to your old age.

TITUS.

Will it consume me? Let me see it then.

Will it overwhelm me?Then give it to me.

MARCUS.

This was thy daughter.

This was your daughter.

TITUS.

Why, Marcus, so she is.

Why, Marcus, she still is.

LUCIUS.

Ay me! this object kills me.

Alas!this is killing me.

TITUS.

Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her.

Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand

Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight?

What fool hath added water to the sea,

Or brought a fagot to bright-burning Troy?

My grief was at the height before thou cam'st,

And now like Nilus it disdaineth bounds.

Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too,

For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain;

And they have nurs'd this woe in feeding life;

In bootless prayer have they been held up,

And they have serv'd me to effectless use.

Now all the service I require of them

Is that the one will help to cut the other.

'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands;

For hands to do Rome service is but vain.

Fainthearted boy, get up and look at her.

Speak, Lavinia, what cursed hand

has made your father see you have no hands?

What fool has added a drop of water to the sea,

or tossed a twig on the fire of Troy?

My grief was at its height before you came,

and now, like the Nile, it floods everywhere.

Give me a sword, I'll chop my hands off too,

because they have fought for Rome without reward;

they have helped this sorrow by keeping me alive;

they have been held up in unanswered prayers,

and everything they have done has been useless.

Now all I ask them to do

is for one to help cut off the other.

It's good, Lavinia, that you have no hands,

for it's useless to have hands if they serve Rome.

LUCIUS.

Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee?

Speak, gentle sister, who has tortured you?

MARCUS.

O, that delightful engine of her thoughts

That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence

Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage,

Where like a sweet melodious bird it sung

Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear!

Oh, that delightful tool she used to express her thoughts,

that chattered them with such delightful eloquence,

has been torn out of that pretty hollow cage

where it sang like a sweet tuneful bird

with lovely varied notes, enchanting everyone who heard!

LUCIUS.

O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed?

You speak for her, who did this?

MARCUS.

O, thus I found her straying in the park,

Seeking to hide herself as doth the deer

That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound.

I found her wandering like this in the park,

trying to hide herself like a deer

that has been given an incurable wound.

TITUS.

It was my dear, and he that wounded her

Hath hurt me more than had he kill'd me dead;

For now I stand as one upon a rock,

Environ'd with a wilderness of sea,

Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave,

Expecting ever when some envious surge

Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.

This way to death my wretched sons are gone;

Here stands my other son, a banish'd man,

And here my brother, weeping at my woes.

But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn

Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul.

Had I but seen thy picture in this plight,

It would have madded me; what shall I do

Now I behold thy lively body so?

Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears,

Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee;

Thy husband he is dead, and for his death

Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this.

Look, Marcus! Ah, son Lucius, look on her!

When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears

Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey dew

Upon a gath'red lily almost withered.

She was my darling, and whoever harmed her

has hurt me more than if he had killed me;

Now I'm like a man standing on a rock,

surrounded by a wild sea,

watching the tide coming in wave after wave,

always expecting that some great surge

will swallow him up into its salty depths.

My wretched sons have gone that way to death;

here is my other son, an exile,

and here is my brother, weeping at my sorrow.

But the thing which stabs me to the heart

is dear Lavinia, dearer to me than myself.

If I had just seen a picture of you in this state

it would have driven me mad; what will happen

now I see your living body like this?

You have no hands to wipe away your tears,

and no tongue to tell me who tortured you;

your husband is dead, and your brothers are

condemned to death for his death.

Look, Marcus!Ah, Lucius, my son, look at her!

When I spoke of her brothers fresh tears

fell on her cheeks, like sweet dew falls

on a picked lily which is almost dead.

MARCUS.

Perchance she weeps because they kill'd her husband;

Perchance because she knows them innocent.

Maybe she weeps because they killed her husband,

or maybe because she knows they are innocent.

TITUS.

If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful,

Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them.

No, no, they would not do so foul a deed;

Witness the sorrow that their sister makes.

Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips,

Or make some sign how I may do thee ease.

Shall thy good uncle and thy brother Lucius

And thou and I sit round about some fountain,

Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks

How they are stain'd, like meadows yet not dry

With miry slime left on them by a flood?

And in the fountain shall we gaze so long,

Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness,

And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears?

Or shall we cut away our hands like thine?

Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows

Pass the remainder of our hateful days?

What shall we do? Let us that have our tongues

Plot some device of further misery

To make us wonder'd at in time to come.

If they did kill your husband, then be happy,

because the law has punished them.

No, no, they would not do such an awful thing;

see how sad their sister is.

Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss your lips,

or give me some sign of how I can help you.

Shall your good uncle and your brother Lucius

and you and I sit round some fountain,

all looking downwards to see how our cheeks

are stained, like meadows that haven't dried

after a flood, with the muddy slime still on them.

And shall we gaze into that fountain for so long,