The Tragedy of Titus Andronicus. Уильям Шекспир

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          And cannot brook competitors in love?

          I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths

          By this device.

        CHIRON. Aaron, a thousand deaths

          Would I propose to achieve her whom I love.

        AARON. To achieve her- how?

        DEMETRIUS. Why mak'st thou it so strange?

          She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd;

          She is a woman, therefore may be won;

          She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov'd.

          What, man! more water glideth by the mill

          Than wots the miller of; and easy it is

          Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know.

          Though Bassianus be the Emperor's brother,

          Better than he have worn Vulcan's badge.

        AARON. [Aside] Ay, and as good as Saturninus may.

        DEMETRIUS. Then why should he despair that knows to court it

          With words, fair looks, and liberality?

          What, hast not thou full often struck a doe,

          And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose?

        AARON. Why, then, it seems some certain snatch or so

          Would serve your turns.

        CHIRON. Ay, so the turn were served.

        DEMETRIUS. Aaron, thou hast hit it.

        AARON. Would you had hit it too!

          Then should not we be tir'd with this ado.

          Why, hark ye, hark ye! and are you such fools

          To square for this? Would it offend you, then,

          That both should speed?

        CHIRON. Faith, not me.

        DEMETRIUS. Nor me, so I were one.

        AARON. For shame, be friends, and join for that you jar.

          'Tis policy and stratagem must do

          That you affect; and so must you resolve

          That what you cannot as you would achieve,

          You must perforce accomplish as you may.

          Take this of me: Lucrece was not more chaste

          Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love.

          A speedier course than ling'ring languishment

          Must we pursue, and I have found the path.

          My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand;

          There will the lovely Roman ladies troop;

          The forest walks are wide and spacious,

          And many unfrequented plots there are

          Fitted by kind for rape and villainy.

          Single you thither then this dainty doe,

          And strike her home by force if not by words.

          This way, or not at all, stand you in hope.

          Come, come, our Empress, with her sacred wit

          To villainy and vengeance consecrate,

          Will we acquaint with all what we intend;

          And she shall file our engines with advice

          That will not suffer you to square yourselves,