Reading Titus Andronicus — William Shakespeare

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Section 450

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Mar.

Now farwell flatterie, die Andronicus,

Thou dost not slumber, see thy two sons heads,

Thy warlike hands, thy mangled daughter here:

Thy other banisht sonnes with this deere sight

Strucke pale and bloodlesse, and thy brother I,

Euen like a stony Image, cold and numme.

Ah now no more will I controule my griefes,

Rent off thy siluer haire, thy other hand

Gnawing with thy teeth, and be this dismall sight

The closing vp of our most wretched eyes:

Now is a time to storme, why art thou still?

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