Titus Andronicus. Уильям Шекспир

        Dem. Chiron thy yeres wants wit, thy wit wants edge

      And manners to intru'd where I am grac'd,

      And may for ought thou know'st affected be

         Chi. Demetrius, thou doo'st ouer-weene in all,

      And so in this, to beare me downe with braues,

      'Tis not the difference of a yeere or two

      Makes me lesse gracious, or thee more fortunate:

      I am as able, and as fit, as thou,

      To serue, and to deserue my Mistris grace,

      And that my sword vpon thee shall approue,

      And plead my passions for Lauinia's loue

      Aron. Clubs, clubs, these louers will not keep the peace

         Dem. Why Boy, although our mother (vnaduised)

      Gaue you a daunsing Rapier by your side,

      Are you so desperate growne to threat your friends?

      Goe too: haue your Lath glued within your sheath,

      Till you know better how to handle it

         Chi. Meane while sir, with the little skill I haue,

      Full well shalt thou perceiue how much I dare

      Deme. I Boy, grow ye so braue?

        Aron. Why how now Lords?

      So nere the Emperours Pallace dare you draw,

      And maintaine such a quarrell openly?

      Full well I wote, the ground of all this grudge.

      I would not for a million of Gold,

      The cause were knowne to them it most concernes.

      Nor would your noble mother for much more

      Be so dishonored in the Court of Rome:

      For shame put vp

         Deme. Not I, till I haue sheath'd

      My rapier in his bosome, and withall

      Thrust these reprochfull speeches downe his throat,

      That he hath breath'd in my dishonour heere

         Chi. For that I am prepar'd, and full resolu'd,

      Foule spoken Coward,

      That thundrest with thy tongue,

      And with thy weapon nothing dar'st performe

         Aron. A way I say.

      Now by the Gods that warlike Gothes adore,

      This pretty brabble will vndoo vs all:

      Why Lords, and thinke you not how dangerous

      It is to set vpon a Princes right?

      What is Lauinia then become so loose,

      Or Bassianus so degenerate,

      That for her loue such quarrels may be broacht,

      Without controulement, Iustice, or reuenge?

      Young Lords beware, and should the Empresse know,

      This discord ground, the musicke would not please

         Chi. I care not I, knew she and all the world,

      I loue Lauinia more then all the world

         Demet. Youngling,

      Learne thou to make some meaner choise,

      Lauinia is thine elder brothers hope

         Aron. Why are ye mad? Or know ye not in Rome,

      How furious and impatient they be,

      And cannot brooke Competitors in loue?

      I tell you Lords, you doe but plot your deaths,

      By this deuise

         Chi. Aaron, a thousand deaths would I propose,

      To atchieue her whom I do loue

         Aron. To atcheiue her, how?

        Deme. Why, mak'st thou it so strange?

      Shee is a woman, therefore may be woo'd,

      Shee is a woman, therfore may be wonne,

      Shee is Lauinia therefore must be lou'd.

      What man, more water glideth by the Mill

      Then wots the Miller of, and easie it is

      Of a cut loafe to steale a shiue we know:

      Though Bassianus be the Emperours brother,

      Better then he haue worne Vulcans badge

      Aron. I, and as good as Saturninus may

         Deme. Then why should he dispaire that knowes to court it

      With words, faire lookes, and liberality:

      What hast not thou full often strucke a Doe,

      And borne her cleanly by the Keepers nose?

        Aron. Why then it seemes some certaine snatch or so

      Would serue your turnes

      Chi. I so the turne were serued

      Deme. Aaron thou hast hit it

         Aron. Would you had hit it too,

      Then should not we be tir'd with this adoo:

      Why harke yee, harke yee, and are you such fooles,

      To square for this? Would it offend you then?

        Chi. Faith not me

      Deme. Nor me, so I were one

         Aron. For shame be friends, & ioyne for that you iar:

      'Tis pollicie, and stratageme must doe

      That you affect, and so must you resolue,

      That what you cannot