Sivut kuvina


Tit. Patient your 'self, Madam, and pardon me. are the Brechren, whom you Goths behold
Alive and dead, and for their Brethren slain,
Religiously they ask a Sacrifice ;
To this your Son is markt, and die he muft,
To appease their groaning Shadows that are gone.

Luc. Away with him, and make a Fire straight.
And with our Swords upon a Pile of Wood,
Let's hew his Limbs 'till they be clean consum'd.
[Exeunt Mutius, Marcus, Quintus and Lucius with Alarbus,

Tam. O cruel irreligious Piety!
Chi. Was ever Scythia half so barbarous?

Dem. Oppose me, Scythia, to ambitious Rome.
Alarbus go to rell, and we surijve,
To tremble under Titus's threatning Looks,
Then, Madam, stand resolv’d, but hope withal,
The self-fame Gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy,
With opportunity of sharp Revenge
Upon the Thracian Tyrant in his Tent,
May favour Tamora, the Queen of Gorbs,
(When Goths were Goths, and Tamora was Queen)
To quit her bloody Wrongs upon her Focs.

Enter Mutius, Marcus, Quintus and Lucius.
Luc. See, Lord and Father, how we have perform'd
Our Roman Rires, Alarbus's Limbs are lopt,
And Intra's feed the sacrificing Fire,
Whose Smoke, like Incense, doth perfume the Sky,
Remaineth nought but to inter our Brethren,
And with loud Larums welcome them to Rome.

Tit. Let it be fo, and let Andronicus
Make this his latest fare wel to their Souls.

Then found Trumpets, and lay the Coffins in the Tomb,
In Peace and Honour rest you here, my Sons,
Rome's readiest Champions, repose you here in rest,
Secure from worldly Chances and Mishaps :
Here lurks no Treason, here no Envy (wells,
Here grow no damned Grudges, here no Storms,
No Noise, but Silence and eternal Sleep :
In Peace and Honour rest you here, my Sons,


Enter Lavinia.
Lav. In Peace and Honour live Lord Titus long,
My Noble Lord and Father, live in Fame:
Lo at this Tomb my tributary Tears
I render, for my Brethrens Obsequies;
And at thy Feet I kneel, with Tears of Joy,
Shed on the Earth, for thy return to Rome.
O bless me here with thy vi&orious Hand,
Whose Fortune Rome's best Citizens applaud.

Tit. Kind Rome,
That hast thus lovingly reserv'd
The Cordial of mine Age, to glad mine Heart,
Lavinia, live, our live thy Father's Days ;
And Fame's eternal date for Virque's praise.

Mar. Long live Lord Titus, my beloved Brother,
Gracious Triumpher in the Eyes of Rome.

Tit. Thanks, gentle Tribune,
Noble Brother Marcus.

Mar. And welcome Nephews from successful Wars,
You that survive, and you that Neep in Fame:
Fair Lords, your Fortunes are alike in all,
That in your Country's Service drew your Swords.
But safer Triumph is this Funeral Pomp
That hath aspir'd to Solon's Happiness,
And triumphs over Chance in Honour's Bed.
Titus Andronicus, the People of Rome,
Whose Friend in Justice thou hast ever been,
Send thee by me their Tribune, and their trust,
This Palliament of white and spotless Hue,
And name thec in Election for the Empire,
With these our late deceased Emperor's Sons:
Be Candidatus then, and put it on,
And help to set a Head on headless Rome.

Tit. Å better Head her Glorious Body fits,
Than his that shakes for Age and Feeblenels:
What should I don this Robe, and trouble you?
Be chose with Proclamations to Day,
To Morrow yield up Rule, resign my Life,
And let abroach new Bufiness for you all.
Rome, I have been thy Soldier forty Years,
And led my Country's Strength successfully,


And buried one and twenty valiant Sons,
Knighted in Field, Nain manfully in Arms,
In Řight and Service of their Noble Country:
Give me a Staff of Honour for mine Age,
But not a Scepter to controul the World,
Upright he held it, Lords, that held it last.
Mar. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the Empery.
Sat. Proud and ambitious Tribune, canst thou tell?
Tit. Patience, Prince Saturninus,

Sat. Romans, do me right.
Patricians draw your Swords, and Meath them not
'Till Saturninus be Rome's Emperor :
Andronicus, would thou wert sipt to Hell,
Rather than rob me of the Peoples Hearts.

Luc. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good
That Noble-minded Titu's means to thee.

Tit. Content thee Prince, I will restore to thee,
The Peoples Hearts, and wean them from themselves,

Baf. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee,
But honour thee, and will do 'till I die:
My Fa&ion, if thou strengthen with thy Friends,
I will most thankful be; and thanks to Men
Of noble Minds is honourable Meed.

Tit. People of Rome, and noble Tribunes here,
I ask your Voices, and your Suffrages,
Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus?

Mar. To gratifie the good Andronicus,
And gratulate his fafe Return to Rome,
The People will accept whom he admits.

Tit. Tribunes, I thank you, and this suit I ntake,
That you create your Emperor's eldest son,
Lord Saturnine ; whose Virtues will, I hope,
Reflect on Rome, as Titan's Rays on Earth,
And ripen Justice in this Common-weal :
Then if you will Elect by my Advice,
Crown him, and say, Long live our Emperor.

Mar. With Voices and Applause of every sort,
Patricians and Plebeians, we create
Lord Saturninus, Rome's great Emperor;
And say, Long live our Emperor Saturnine.
[À long Flourish'till they come down.


Sar. Titus Andronicus, for thy Favours done,
To us in our Election this Day,
I give thee Thanks in part of thy Deserts,
And will with Deeds require thy gentleness:
And for an Onset, Titus, to advance
Thy Name, and honourable Family,
Lavinia will I make my Emperels,
Rome's Royal Mistress, Mistress of my Heart,
And in the sacred Pantheon her Espouse:
Tell me, Andronicus, doth this Motion please thee?

Tit. It doth, my worthy Lord; and in this Match,
I hold me highly honourd of your

And here in sight of Rome, to Saturninus,
King and Commander of our Common-weal,
The wide World's Emperor, do I Consecrate
My Sword, my Chariot and my Prisoners,
Presents well worthy Rome's Imperial Lord.
Receive them then, the Tribute that I owe,
Mine Honours Enligns humbled at thy Feet.

Sat. Thanks, noble Titus, Father of my Life,
How proud I am of thee, and of thy Gifts,
Rome shall record, and when I do forget
The lealt of these unspeakable Deserts,
Romans forget your Healty to me,

Tir. Now, Madam, are you Prisoner to an Emperor,
To him that for your Honour and your State
Will use you nobly, and your followers.

Sat. A goodly Lady, trust me, of the Huc,
That I would churc, were I to chuse a-new :
Clear up, fair Queen, that cloudy Countenance,

Tho'chance of War hath wrought this change of cheer,
Thou com'ft not to be made a scorn in Rome:
Princely shall be thy Usage every way.
Rest on my Word, and let not discontent
Daunt all your Hopes : Madam, he comforts you,
Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths.
Lavinia, you are not displeas'd with this?

Lav. Nor I, my Lord, fith true Nobility
Warrants these words in Princely Courtefie.

Sat. Thanks, fwect Lavinia. Romans, let us go.
Ranfomless here we set our Prisoners free,



Proclaim our Honours, Lords, with Trumpet and Drum. Bas. Lord Tirus, by your leave this Maid is mine.',

[Seizing Lavinia. Tit. How, Sir? Are you in earnest then, my Lord ?

Bas. Ay, noble Titus; and resolv'd withal, To do my self this Reason and this Right.

The Emperor Courts Tamora in dumb foen. Mar. Suum cuique, is our Roman Justice: This Prince in Justice deizeth but his own.

Luc. And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live.

Tit. Traitors, avant! where is the Emperor's Guard? Treason, my Lord; Lavinia is surpriz’d.

Sat. Surprizd ! by whom?

Baf. By him that justly, may
Bear his Betroch'd from all the World away.

[Exit Bassianus wish Lavini Mut. Brothers, help to convey her hence away. And with my Sword I'll keep the Door close.

Tit. Follow, my Lord, and I'll soon bring her back.
Mut. My Lord, you pass not here.
Tit. What Villain, Boy, barr'ft me my way is Rome?
Mut. Help, Lucius, help.

He kills him.
Luc. My Lord, you are unjust, ar.d more than fo,
In wrongfúl Quarrel you have flain your Son.

Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any Sons of mine.
My Sons would never so Dishonor me.
Traitor, restore Livinia to the Emperor.

Luc. Dead, if you will, but not to be his Wife,
That is another's lawful promis'd Love.

Emp. No, Titus, no, the Emperor needs her not,
Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy Stock ;
I'll trust by Leisure him that mocks me once,
Thee never, nor thy Traiterous haughty Sons,

Confederates all, thus to Dishonour me.
Was there none else in Rome to make a Stale of
But Saturnine ? Full well, Andronicus,"
Agree these Deeds, with that proud Brag of thine,
That said'ft, I beg'd the Empire at thy Hands.

Tit. O Monstrous ! what reproachful Words are these 3

Sat. But go thy ways, go give that changing Piece,
To him that flourish'd for her with his Sword;
A Valiant Son-in-Law thou shalt enjoy:


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