Rome, I have been thy foldier forty years, Mar. Titus, thou fhalt obtain and ask the Empery. Sat. Romans, do me Right. Patricians, draw your fwords, and sheath them not Andronicus, would thou wert shipt to hell, Luc. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the Good Tit. Content thee, Prince; I will reftore to thee The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves. Baf. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee, But honour thee, and will do 'till I die : My faction if thou ftrengthen with thy friends, Tit. People of Rome, and noble Tribunes here, Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus? And gratulate his fafe Return to Rome, Tit. Tribunes, I thank you, and this fuit I make, Crown him, and fay,--Long live our Emperor ! Lord Lord Saturninus, Rome's great Emperor ; And fay, Long live our Emperor Saturnine! [A long flourish, till they come down. Sat. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done I give thee thanks in part of thy deferts, Sat. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life! Tit. Now, Madam, are you prifoner to an Emperor; [To Tamora. That I would chufe, were I to chufe anew: Tho' chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer, Reft on my word, and let not discontent Daunt all your hopes: Madam, who comforts you, I 4 Lavinia, Lavinia, you are not difpleas'd with this? Sat. Thanks, fweet Lavinia; Romans, let us go. Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum. To do my felf this Reafon and this Right. [The Emperor courts Tamora in dumb sherw. Mar. Suum cuique is our Roman justice: This Prince in juftice feizeth but his own. Luc. And that he will, and fhall, if Lucius live. Tit. Traitors, avant! where is the Emperor's Guard ? Treafon, my lord; Lavinia is furpriz'd. Sat. Surpriz'd! by whom? Baf. By him, that juftly may Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. [Exit Baffianus with Lavinia.. Mut. Brothers, help to convey her hence away, And with my fword I'll keep this door fecure. Tit. Follow, my lord, and I'll foon bring her back. Mut. My lord, you pass not here. Tit. What! villain-boy, Barr'ft me my way in Rome? Mut. Help, Lucius, help! [He kills him: Luc. My lord, you are unjust, and more than so ; In wrongful quarrel you have flain your fon. Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any fons of mine: My fons would never so dishonour me. Luc. Dead, if you will, but not to be his wife, Sat. No, Titus, no, the Emperor needs her not; Was Was there none else in Rome to make a Stale of, Agree these deeds with that proud Brag of thine, Tit. O monitrous! what reproachful words are these ; Sat. But go thy ways: go give that changing piece, To him that flourish'd for her with his fword; A valiant fon-in-law thou shalt enjoy : To ruffle in the Commonwealth of Rome. Tit. These words are razors to my wounded heart. Sat. And therefore, lovely Tamora, Queen of Goths, That, like the ftately Phebe 'mong her Nymphs, Doft over-fhine the gallant'ft Dames of Rome If thou be pleas'd with this my fudden choice, Behold, I chufe thee, Tamora, for my bride, And will create thee Emperefs of Rome. ; Speak, Queen of Goths, doft thou applaud my choice? I will not re-falute the streets of Rome, Or climb my Palace, 'till from forth this place I lead efpous'd my bride along with me. Tam. And here in fight of heav'n to Rome I fwear, If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths, She will a handmaid be to his defires, A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. Sat. Afcend, fair Queen, Pantheon; lords, accompany Your noble Emperor, and his lovely bride, Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine; Tit. I am not bid to wait upon this bride. Enter Marcus Andronicus, Lucius, Quintus, and Mar. Oh, Titus, fee, oh, fee, what thou haft done! In a bad quarrel flain a virtuous fon. Tit. No, foolish Tribune, no: no son of mine, Luc. But let us give him burial, as becomes; Tit. Traitors, away! he rests not in this tomb; Here none but foldiers, and Rome's Servitors, Mar. My lord, this is impiety in you; [Titus's fons fpeak. Sons. And fhall, or him we will accompany. Tit. And fhall? what villain was it fpake that word? [Titus's fon fpeaks. Quin. He, that would vouch't in any place but here. Tit. What, would you bury him in my defpight? Mar. No, noble Titus; but intreat of thee To pardon Mutius, and to bury him. Tit. Marcus, ev'n thou haft ftruck upon my Creft, And with these boys mine Honour thou haft wounded. My foes I do repute you every one, So trouble me no more, but get you gone. Luc. He is not himself, let us withdraw. [The brother and the fons kneel. Luc. |