Why, I have not another tear to shed

Family dismemberment. For reals.

Titus Andronicus is everyone's favorite bloodbath, am I right? I mean, Macbeth's got a load of dead bodies and blood, Hamlet's got quite the body count, and all the histories have beheadings and what-not, but only Titus has the benefit of an eminently unforgettable Julie Taymor treatment (let's just pretend The Tempest never happened... I have no idea what went wrong there, but it was almost everything). I felt thoroughly debauched by my first viewing of Titus in college, and I only picked this speech because it contained references to everything I remember most about the movie: hands and heads and love and war.

The thing about Titus is that while he's another power-driven Roman army bloke like Coriolanus or Antony, he is more likable because he is even more flawed. He's an old, proud grouch, but not without reason; 21 of his 25 sons have died in war. He makes bad decisions in the name of family honor (namely, he goes along with the tyrannical moron Saturninus' election as next Emperor of Rome and husband to his daughter, Lavinia, even though Bassanius is the better candidate on both fronts). He kills his son Mutius when he objects to his ideas. He shows no mercy for Tamora (Queen of the Goths) and her sons, which leads the lascivious boys to later rape and disfigure Lavinia.

Despite all this, Titus still has our sympathy, because he suffers through his mistakes, shows his regrets, and loves his young son Lucius and unfortunate daughter very much. Yes, he pretty much loses it in the end--playing a homicidal Emeril Lagasse won't get him a show on Food Network--but his twisted means of culinary revenge is one worthy of Hannibal Lecter. 

Titus Andronicus, Act III, Sc. I
Titus: Why, I have not another tear to shed: 
Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, 
And would usurp upon my watery eyes 
And make them blind with tributary tears: 
Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? 
For these two heads do seem to speak to me, 
And threat me I shall never come to bliss 
Till all these mischiefs be return'd again 
Even in their throats that have committed them. 
Come, let me see what task I have to do. 
You heavy people, circle me about, 
That I may turn me to each one of you, 
And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. 
The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; 
And in this hand the other I will bear. 
Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd:
Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. 
As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; 
Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay:  
Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: 
And, if you love me, as I think you do, 
Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do.

Even as one heat another heat expels

The original threesome (well, foursome)  rom-com

Given the absurdly male hormone-induced plot of his play, The Two Gentlemen of Verona is an aptly sarcastic title indeed. It's nought more than a pair of besties who turn into assholes the moment a hot chick arrives on the scene. Valentine is the dude who makes fun of his friend Proteus for falling in love with Julia, and then both of their eyes bug out when Silvia walks by and they proceed to fight for her affections, but that's even putting it too poetically. Proteus would have raped Silvia in the woods if Valentine hadn't been there to intervene.

They're better than Tamora's twins (from Titus Andronicus), I suppose. But not by much. Still, Shakespeare articulates the under-nourished scruples inside a young man's codpiece fairly well, don't you think?


The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act II, Sc. IV
Proteus: Even as one heat another heat expels,
Or as one nail by strength drives out another,
So the remembrance of my former love
Is by a newer object quite forgotten.
Is it mine, or Valentine's praise,
Her true perfection, or my false transgression,
That makes me reasonless to reason thus?
She is fair; and so is Julia that I love--
That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd;
Which, like a waxen image, 'gainst a fire,
Bears no impression of the thing it was.
Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold,
And that I love him not as I was wont.
O, but I love his lady too too much,
And that's the reason I love him so little.
How shall I dote on her with more advice,
That thus without advice begin to love her!
'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,
And that hath dazzled my reason's light;
But when I look on her perfections,
There is no reason but I shall be blind.
If I can cheque my erring love, I will;
If not, to compass her I'll use my skill.