Or make some sign how I may do thee ease.
Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius,
And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, 124
Looking all downwards, to behold our cheeks
How they are stain'd, like meadows yet not dry,
With miry slime left on them by a flood?
And in the fountain shall we gaze so long 128
Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness,
And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears?
Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine?
Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows 132
Pass the remainder of our hateful days?
What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues,
Plot some device of further misery,
To make us wonder'd at in time to come. 136
Luc. Sweet father, cease your tears; for at your grief
See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps.
Mar. Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes.
Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcus, brother! well I wot 140
Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine,
For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own.
Luc. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks.
Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: 144
Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say
That to her brother which I said to thee:
His napkin, with his true tears all bewet,
Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. 148
O what a sympathy of woe is this!
As far from help as limbo is from bliss.
141 napkin: handkerchief
150 limbo: i.e. hell; cf. n.
