MARCUS ANDRONICUS Which of your hands hath not defended Rome,
And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe,
Writing destruction on the enemy's castle?
O, none of both but are of high desert:
My hand hath been but idle; let it serve
To ransom my two nephews from their death;
Then have I kept it to a worthy end.
AARON Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along,
For fear they die before their pardon come.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS My hand shall go.
LUCIUS By heaven, it shall not go!
TITUS ANDRONICUS Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these
Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.
LUCIUS Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son,
Let me redeem my brothers both from death.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS And, for our father's sake and mother's care,
Now let me show a brother's love to thee.
TITUS ANDRONICUS Agree between you; I will spare my hand.
LUCIUS Then I'll go fetch an axe.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS But I will use the axe.
[Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS]
TITUS ANDRONICUS Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both:
Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.
AARON [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest,
And never, whilst I live, deceive men so:
But I'll deceive you in another sort,
And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass.
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