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: Rome is but a wilderness of tigers.
: In peace and honor live Lord Titus long. My noble lord and father, live in fame. Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears I render for my brethren's obsequies, and at thy feet I kneel with tears of joy shed on this earth for thy return to Rome. O bless me here with thy victorious hand. Titus
: Kind Rome, that hast thoust lovingly reserved the cordial of mine age to glad my heart! Lavinia, live, outlive thy father's days and fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise.
: Oh villains, Chiron and Demetrius. Here stands the spring whom you have stained with mud, this goodly summer with your winter mixed. You killed her husband, and for that vile fault two of her brothers were condemned to death, my hand cut off and made a merry jest, both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more dear than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity, inhuman traitors, you constrained and forced. What would you say if I should let you speak? Villains, for shame, you could not beg for grace. Hark, wretches, how I mean to martyr you. This one hand yet is left to cut your throats whilst that Lavinia, 'tween her stumps doth hold the basin that receives your guilty blood. You know, your mother means to feast with me and calls herself Revenge and thinks me mad. Hark, villains. I shall grind your bones to dust, and with your blood and it I shall make a paste, and of the paste a coffin I will rear and make two pastries of your shameful heads. And bid that strumpet, your unhallowed dam, like to the earth, swallow her own increase! This is the feast I have bid her to, and this the banquet she shall surfeit on... And now prepare your throats.
: What hast thou done, unnatural and unkind? Titus
: Killed her, for whom my tears had made me blind.
: Oh brother, speak with possibility and do not break into these deep extremes. Titus
: Are not my sorrows deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. Marcus Andronicus
: But yet let reason govern thy lament. Titus
: If there were reason for these miseries, then into limits could I bind my woes!
: He that wounded her hath hurt me more than had he killed me dead.
: O handle not the theme, to talk of hands, Lest we remember still, that we have none.
: [Titus is dressed as a cook
] Why art thou thus attired, Andronicus? Titus
: Because I would be sure to have all well, To entertain your highness and your Empress.