That I will here difmifs my loving Friends;
And to my Fortunes, and the Peoples Favour,
Commit my Cause in ballance to be weigh'd.

Sat. Friends that have been
Thus forward in my Right,

I thank you all, and here difmifs you all;
And to the Love and Favour of my Country,
Commit my Self, my Perfon, and the Caufe:
Rome, be as juft and gracious unto me,
As I am confident and kind to thee.

Open the Gates, and let me in.

Baf. Tribunes, and me, a poor Competitor.

[Ex. Soldiers.

[They go up into the Senate-Honfe

Enter a Captain.

Cap. Romans, make way: The good Andronicus,
Patron of Virtue, Rome's beft Champion,
Successful in the Battels that he fights,

With Honour and with Fortune is return'd,
From whence he circumfcribed with his Sword,
And brought to yoke the Enemies of Rome.

Sound Drums and Trumpets, and thenenter Mutius and Marcus: After them, two Men bearing a Coffin cover'd with black; then Quintus and Lucius. After them Titus Andronicus; and then Tamora, the Queen of Goths, Alarbus, Chiron and Demetrius, with Aaron the Moor, Prifoners, Soldiers, and other Attendants. They fet down the Coffin, and Titus fpeaks.

Tit. Hail, Rome,

Victorious in thy mourning Weeds!

Loe, as the Bark that hath difcharg'd her Freight,
Returns with precious lading to the Bay,

From whence at firft fhe weigh'd her Anchorage,
Cometh Andronicus with Laurel Boughs,
To re-falute his Country with his Tears;
Tears of true Joy, for his return to Rome.
Thou great defender of this Capitol,
Stand gracious to the Rites that we intend.
Romans, of five and twenty Valiant Sons,
Half of the number that King Priam had,

Hh 4

Behold

Behold the poor remains alive and dead !ou tranei at
These that Survive, let Rome reward with Love;
Thefe that I bring unto their latest Home,
With burial among their Ancestors.

Here Goths have given me leave to fheath my Sword:
Titus unkind, and carelefs of thine own,
Why fuffer'ft thou thy Sons unburied yet,
To hover on the dreadful Shoar of Styx?
Make way to lay them by their Brethren.

[They open the Tomb.

There greet in filence, as the dead are wont,
And fleep in Peace, flain in your Country's Wars:
O facred Receptacle of my Joys,

Sweet Cell of Virtue and Nobility,

How many Sons of mine haft thou in ftore,
That thou wilt never render to me more?

Luc. Give us the proudeft Prifoner of the Goths,
That we may hew his Limbs, and on a Pile,
Ad manes Fratrum, Sacrifice his Flefh,
Before this Earthly Prifon of their Bones,
That fo the Shadows be not unappeas'd,
Nor we difturb'd with Prodigies on Earth.
Tit. I give him you, the nobleft that furvives,
The Eldeft Son of this diftreffed Queen.

Tam. Stay, Roman Brethren, gracious Conqueror,
Victorious Titus, rue the Tears I thed,
A Mother's Tears in Paffion for her Son :
And if thy Sons were ever dear to thee,
Oh think my Sons to be as dear to me.
Sufficeth not, that we are brought to Rome,
To beautifie thy Triumphs, and return
Captive to thee, and to thy Roman Yoak;
But muft my Sons be flaughter'd in the Streets,
For Valiant doings in their Country's Caufe?
O! if to fight for King and Commonweal,
Were Piety in thine, it is in thefe :
Andronicus, ftain not thy Tomb with Blood.
Wilt thou draw near the nature of the Gods?
Draw near them then in being merciful;
Sweet Mercy is Nobility's true badge,
Thrice Noble Titus, fpare my f

Son.

Tit. Patient your felf, Madam, and pardon me, These are the Brethren, whom you Goths behold Alive and dead, and for their Brethren flain, 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 confum'd.
[Exeunt Mutius, Marcus, Quintus and Lucius with Alarbus,
Tam. O cruel irreligious Piety!

Chi. Was ever Scythia half fo barbarous?

Dem. Oppofe me, Scythia, to ambitious Rome.
Alarbus go to reft, and we furvive,

To tremble under Titus's threatning Looks,
Then, Madam, ftand refolv'd, but hope withal,
The felf-fame Gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy,
With opportunity of fharp Revenge
Upon the Thracian Tyrant in his Tent,
May favour Tamora, the Queen of Goths,
(When Goths were Goths, and Tamora was Queen)
To quit her bloody Wrongs upon her Foes.

Enter Mutius, Marcus, Quintus and Lucius.
Luc. See, Lord and Father, how we have perform'd
Our Roman Rites, Alarbus's Limbs are lopt,
And Intrals feed the facrificing Fire,

Whofe Smoke, like Incenfe, 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 farewel to their Souls.

[Then found Trumpets, and lay the Coffins in the Tomb,
In Peace and Honour reft you here, my Sons,
Rome's readieft Champions, repofe you here in reft,
Secure from worldly Chances and Mishaps:
Here lurks no Treason, here no Envy fwells,
Here grow no damned Grudges, here no Storms,
No Noife, but Silence and eternal Sleep:
In Peace and Honour reft you here, my Sons,

Enter

Behold the poor remains alive and dead! Y
Thefe that Survive, let Rome reward with Love;
Thefe that I bring unto their latest Home,
With burial among their Ancestors.

Here Goths have given me leave to fheath my Sword:
Titus unkind, and carelefs of thine own,
Why fuffer'ft thou thy Sons unburied yet,
To hover on the dreadful Shoar of Styx?
Make way to lay them by their Brethren.

1

[They open the Tomb.

There greet in filence, as the dead are wont,
And fleep in Peace, flain in your Country's Wars:
O facred Receptacle of my Joys,

Sweet Cell of Virtue and Nobility,

How many Sons of mine haft thou in ftore,
That thou wilt never render to me more?

Luc. Give us the proudeft Prifoner of the Goths,
That we may hew his Limbs, and on a Pile,
Ad manes Fratrum, Sacrifice his Flesh,
Before this Earthly Prifon of their Bones,
That fo the Shadows be not unappeas'd,
Nor-we difturb'd with Prodigies on Earth.
Tit. I give him you, the nobleft that furvives,
The Eldest Son of this diftreffed Queen.

Tam. Stay, Roman Brethren, gracious Conqueror,
Victorious Titus, rue the Tears I fhed,
A Mother's Tears in Paffion for her Son;
And if thy Sons were ever dear to thee,
Oh think my Sons to be as dear to me.
Sufficeth not, that we are brought to Rome,
To beautifie thy Triumphs, and return
Captive to thee, and to thy Roman Yoak;
But muft my Sons be flaughter'd in the Streets,
For Valiant doings in their Country's Cause?
O! if to fight for King and Common-weal,
Were Piety in thine, it is in thefe :
Andronicus, ftain not thy Tomb with Blood.
Wilt thou draw near the nature of the Gods?
Draw near them then in being merciful;
Sweet Mercy is Nobility's true badge,
Thrice Noble Titus, fpare my firft-born Son.

Tit. Patient your 'felf, Madam, and pardon me. Thie are the Brethren, whom you Goths behold Alive and dead, and for their Brethren flain, 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 ftraight.
And with our Swords upon a Pile of Wood,
Let's hew his Limbs 'till they be clean confum'd.
[Exeunt Mutius, Marcus, Quintus and Lucius with Alarbus,
Tam. O cruel irreligious Piety!

Chi. Was ever Scythia half fo barbarous?

Dem. Oppofe me, Scythia, to ambitious Rome.
Alarbus go to reft, and we fur.ive,

To tremble under Titus's threatning Looks,
Then, Madam, ftand refolv'd, but hope withal,
The felf-fame Gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy,
With opportunity of fharp Revenge
Upon the Thracian Tyrant in his Tent,
May favour Tamora, the Queen of Goths,
(When Goths were Goths, and Tamora was Queen)
To quit her bloody Wrongs upon her Foes.

Enter Mutius, Marcus, Quintus and Lucius.
Luc. See, Lord and Father, how we have perform'd
Our Roman Rites, Alarbus's Limbs are lopt,
And Intra's feed the facrificing Fire,

Whofe Smoke, like Incenfe, 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 lateft farewel to their Souls.

[Then found Trumpets, and lay the Coffins in the Tomb.
In Peace and Honour reft you here, my Sons,
Rome's readieft Champions, repofe you here in reft,
Secure from worldly Chances and Mishaps:
Here lurks no Treafon, here no Envy fwells,
Here grow no damned Grudges, here no Storms,
No Noife, but Silence and eternal Sleep:
In Peace and Honour reft you here, my Sons,

Enter

1