Titus Andronicus

ta muallif kitobidan iqtiboslar  Titus Andronicus
William Shakespeare

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Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did Would I perform, if I might have my will;
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Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish him;
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Lucius, all hail, Rome's royal emperor!
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Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself, And she whom mighty kingdoms court'sy to, Like a forlorn and desperate castaway, Do shameful execution on herself.
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This scatter'd corn into one mutual sheaf, These broken limbs again into one body;
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they are both, baked in that pie;
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Because the girl should not survive her shame, And by her presence still renew his sorrows.
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Was it well done of rash Virginius To slay his daughter with his own right hand, Because she was enforced, stain'd, and deflower'd?
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For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome: Please you, therefore, draw nigh, and take your places.
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And with your blood and it I'll make a paste, And of the paste a coffin I will rear And make two pasties of your shameful head
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