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Approved warriors, and my faithful friends, I have received letters from great Rome, Which signify what hate they bear their emperor And how desirous of our sight they are. Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness, Imperious and impatient of your wrongs, And wherein Rome hath done you any scath, Let him make treble satisfaction.
Brave warriors, and my loyal friends, I’ve received letters from great Rome, Which show how much they hate their emperor And how badly they want to see us. So, great lords, be as your titles say, Proud and angry about your wrongs, And if Rome has hurt you in any way, Make them pay back three times over.
Brave slip, sprung from the great Andronicus, Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort; Whose high exploits and honourable deeds Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt, Be bold in us: we’ll follow where thou lead’st, Like stinging bees in hottest summer’s day Led by their master to the flowered fields, And be avenged on cursed Tamora.
Noble Lucius, son of the great Andronicus, Whose name once filled us with fear, now gives us comfort; Whose heroic actions and honorable deeds Are repaid by ungrateful Rome with disrespect, Be bold in us: we’ll follow where you lead, Like angry bees on the hottest summer day, Led by their queen to the flower-filled fields, And take our revenge on cursed Tamora.
And as he saith, so say we all with him.
And as he says, so say we all with him.
I humbly thank him, and I thank you all. But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth?
I thank him, and I thank you all. But who comes here, led by a strong Goth?
Renowned Lucius, from our troops I stray’d To gaze upon a ruinous monastery; And, as I earnestly did fix mine eye Upon the wasted building, suddenly I heard a child cry underneath a wall. I made unto the noise; when soon I heard The crying babe controll’d with this discourse: ’Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dam! Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art, Had nature lent thee but thy mother’s look, Villain, thou mightst have been an emperor: But where the bull and cow are both milk-white, They never do beget a coal-black calf. Peace, villain, peace!’--even thus he rates the babe,-- ’For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth; Who, when he knows thou art the empress’ babe, Will hold thee dearly for thy mother’s sake.’ With this, my weapon drawn, I rush’d upon him, Surprised him suddenly, and brought him hither, To use as you think needful of the man.
Famous Lucius, I wandered away from our army To look at a ruined monastery; And while I was staring at the broken building, Suddenly I heard a baby crying beneath a wall. I went toward the sound, and soon I heard The baby being scolded with these words: "Be quiet, brown slave, you’re half me and half your mother! If your skin didn’t give away who your father is, And if you looked more like your mother, You might have been an emperor: But where the bull and cow are both milk-white, They never produce a coal-black calf. Be quiet, villain, be quiet!"-- and that’s how he yelled at the baby, -- "For I’ll take you to a trusted Goth; Who, when he knows you’re the empress’ baby, Will treat you well because of your mother." With that, I drew my weapon, rushed at him, Took him by surprise, and brought him here, For you to do what you think is best with him.
O worthy Goth, this is the incarnate devil That robb’d Andronicus of his good hand; This is the pearl that pleased your empress’ eye, And here’s the base fruit of his burning lust. Say, wall-eyed slave, whither wouldst thou convey This growing image of thy fiend-like face? Why dost not speak? what, deaf? not a word? A halter, soldiers! hang him on this tree. And by his side his fruit of bastardy.
O worthy Goth, this is the very devil Who robbed Andronicus of his good hand; This is the man who pleased your empress’ eye, And here’s the nasty result of his burning lust. Tell me, wall-eyed slave, where would you take This growing image of your devilish face? Why don’t you speak? What, are you deaf? Not a word? A rope, soldiers! Hang him on this tree. And hang his bastard child beside him.
Touch not the boy; he is of royal blood.
Don’t touch the child; he’s of royal blood.
Too like the sire for ever being good. First hang the child, that he may see it sprawl; A sight to vex the father’s soul withal. Get me a ladder.
He’s too much like his father to ever be good. First, hang the child, so he can watch it die; A sight to torment the father’s soul. Get me a ladder.
Lucius, save the child, And bear it from me to the empress. If thou do this, I’ll show thee wondrous things, That highly may advantage thee to hear: If thou wilt not, befall what may befall, I’ll speak no more but ’Vengeance rot you all!’
Lucius, save the child, And take him to the empress. If you do this, I’ll tell you amazing things, Things that will greatly benefit you to hear: If you don’t, then whatever happens, happens, But I’ll say no more except ‘Vengeance rot you all!’
Say on: an if it please me which thou speak’st Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourish’d.
Speak on: and if I like what you say, Your child will live, and I’ll make sure he’s taken care of.
An if it please thee! why, assure thee, Lucius, ’Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak; For I must talk of murders, rapes and massacres, Acts of black night, abominable deeds, Complots of mischief, treason, villanies Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform’d: And this shall all be buried by my death, Unless thou swear to me my child shall live.
If it pleases you! Well, trust me, Lucius, What I have to say will disturb you deeply; For I must speak of murders, rapes, and massacres, Acts of darkness, terrible deeds, Plots of treachery, villainy Hard to hear, but horribly done: And all this will be buried with my death, Unless you swear to me that my child will live.
Tell on thy mind; I say thy child shall live.
Speak your mind; I say your child will live.
Swear that he shall, and then I will begin.
Swear that he will, and then I’ll start.
Who should I swear by? thou believest no god: That granted, how canst thou believe an oath?
Who should I swear by? You don’t believe in any god: That aside, how can you believe in an oath?
What if I do not? as, indeed, I do not; Yet, for I know thou art religious And hast a thing within thee called conscience, With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies, Which I have seen thee careful to observe, Therefore I urge thy oath; for that I know An idiot holds his bauble for a god And keeps the oath which by that god he swears, To that I’ll urge him: therefore thou shalt vow By that same god, what god soe’er it be, That thou adorest and hast in reverence, To save my boy, to nourish and bring him up; Or else I will discover nought to thee.
What if I don’t? Actually, I don’t; But I know you’re religious And have something inside you called conscience, With all your Catholic rituals and ceremonies, Which I’ve seen you carefully follow, So I’ll push you to swear; because I know A fool will treat his trinket like a god And keep the oath he swears by it, And I’ll make you swear by that god, Whoever it may be, That you worship and hold dear, To save my child, to raise him and take care of him; Or I won’t tell you anything.
Even by my god I swear to thee I will.
I swear to you, by my god, I will.
First know thou, I begot him on the empress.
First, know this: I fathered him on the empress.
O most insatiate and luxurious woman!
Oh, most greedy and shameless woman!
Tut, Lucius, this was but a deed of charity To that which thou shalt hear of me anon. ’Twas her two sons that murder’d Bassianus; They cut thy sister’s tongue and ravish’d her And cut her hands and trimm’d her as thou saw’st.
Oh, come on, Lucius, this was just an act of kindness Compared to what you’ll hear from me soon. It was her two sons who killed Bassianus; They cut your sister’s tongue and raped her And cut off her hands and mutilated her as you saw.
O detestable villain! call’st thou that trimming?
Oh, disgusting villain! You call that mutilation?
Why, she was wash’d and cut and trimm’d, and ’twas Trim sport for them that had the doing of it.
Well, she was washed, cut, and trimmed, and it was Just fun for those who did it.
O barbarous, beastly villains, like thyself!
Oh, barbaric, cruel monsters, like yourself!
Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them: That codding spirit had they from their mother, As sure a card as ever won the set; That bloody mind, I think, they learn’d of me, As true a dog as ever fought at head. Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth. I train’d thy brethren to that guileful hole Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay: I wrote the letter that thy father found And hid the gold within the letter mention’d, Confederate with the queen and her two sons: And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue, Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it? I play’d the cheater for thy father’s hand, And, when I had it, drew myself apart And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter: I pry’d me through the crevice of a wall When, for his hand, he had his two sons’ heads; Beheld his tears, and laugh’d so heartily, That both mine eyes were rainy like to his : And when I told the empress of this sport, She swooned almost at my pleasing tale, And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses.
Yes, I taught them how to do it: That nasty spirit they got from their mother, A sure thing, like a card game won with ease; I think that bloody mind they learned from me, As true a villain as ever fought in battle. Well, let my actions prove what I’ve done. I led your brothers to the trap Where Bassianus’ dead body lay: I wrote the letter your father found And hid the gold inside the letter, Working with the queen and her two sons: And what haven’t I done that you should regret, Where I wasn’t involved in some evil act? I tricked your father into giving me his hand, And when I had it, I stepped aside And nearly broke my heart with laughter: I peeked through a crack in the wall When, for his hand, he had his two sons’ heads; I saw his tears, and laughed so much, That both my eyes were wet like his: And when I told the empress this story, She nearly fainted at my amusing tale, And for my news, kissed me twenty times.
What, canst thou say all this, and never blush?
What, can you say all this and not even blush?
Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is.
Yes, like a black dog, as the saying goes.
Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds?
Aren’t you sorry for these horrible deeds?
Ay, that I had not done a thousand more. Even now I curse the day--and yet, I think, Few come within the compass of my curse,-- Wherein I did not some notorious ill, As kill a man, or else devise his death, Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it, Accuse some innocent and forswear myself, Set deadly enmity between two friends, Make poor men’s cattle break their necks; Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night, And bid the owners quench them with their tears. Oft have I digg’d up dead men from their graves, And set them upright at their dear friends’ doors, Even when their sorrows almost were forgot; And on their skins, as on the bark of trees, Have with my knife carved in Roman letters, ’Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.’ Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things As willingly as one would kill a fly, And nothing grieves me heartily indeed But that I cannot do ten thousand more.
Yes, I wish I hadn’t done a thousand more. Even now I curse the day—and yet, I think, Few people could match the scope of my curse, Where I didn’t do some terrible wrong, Like killing a man, or planning his death, Raping a woman, or figuring out how to do it, Accusing someone innocent and lying about it, Creating deadly hatred between two friends, Making poor people’s animals break their necks; Setting fire to barns and haystacks at night, And telling the owners to put out the flames with their tears. I’ve often dug up dead bodies from graves, And propped them up at their grieving friends’ doors, Even when their grief was nearly forgotten; And on their skins, like tree bark, I carved with my knife in Roman letters, ‘Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.’ Well, I’ve done a thousand awful things As gladly as one would swat a fly, And nothing really bothers me Except that I can’t do ten thousand more.
Bring down the devil; for he must not die So sweet a death as hanging presently.
Bring the devil down; he doesn’t deserve to die In such a sweet way as being hanged right now.
If there be devils, would I were a devil, To live and burn in everlasting fire, So I might have your company in hell, But to torment you with my bitter tongue!
If there are devils, I wish I were one, To live and burn in eternal fire, So I could have your company in hell, But to torture you with my sharp tongue!
Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak no more.
Men, shut his mouth, and don’t let him speak again.
My lord, there is a messenger from Rome Desires to be admitted to your presence.
My lord, there’s a messenger from Rome Who wants to speak with you.
Let him come near.
Let him come closer.
Welcome, AEmilius what’s the news from Rome?
Welcome, AEmilius, what’s the news from Rome?
Lord Lucius, and you princes of the Goths, The Roman emperor greets you all by me; And, for he understands you are in arms, He craves a parley at your father’s house, Willing you to demand your hostages, And they shall be immediately deliver’d.
Lord Lucius, and you leaders of the Goths, The Roman emperor sends his greetings through me; And because he knows you’re armed, He asks for a meeting at your father’s house, He wants you to demand your hostages, And they will be delivered immediately.
What says our general?
What does our general say?
AEmilius, let the emperor give his pledges Unto my father and my uncle Marcus, And we will come. March away.
AEmilius, let the emperor give his guarantees To my father and my uncle Marcus, And we will come. Let’s march.