| ACT II SCENE IV | 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. | 5 |
| 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. | 10 |
| [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 in eternal sleep! | 15 |
| Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands |
| Have 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 | 20 |
| As have 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. | 25 |
| 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, | 30 |
| Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face |
| Blushing to be encountered 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! | 35 |
| Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd, |
| Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. |
| Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue, |
| And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind: |
| But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee; | 40 |
| 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, | 45 |
| 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 | 50 |
| 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? | 55 |
| Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee |
| O, could our mourning ease thy misery! |
| [Exeunt] |