This one hand yet is left to cut your throats; You know, your mother means to feast with me, And make two pasties of your shameful heads; To make this banquet; which I wish may prove [Exeunt, bearing the dead Bodies. SCENE III. The same. A Pavilion, with Tables, &c. Enter LUCIUS, MARCUS, and GOTHS, with AARON, Prisoner. Luc. Uncle Marcus, since 'tis my father's mind, That I repair to Rome, I am content. 1 Goth. And ours with thine, befall what fortune will. Luc. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous Moor, This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil: E 2 And see the ambush of our friends be strong: Aar. Some devil whisper curses in mine ear, [Exeunt Goths, with Aaron. Flourish. The trumpets show the emperor is at hand. Enter SATURNINUS and TAMORA, with Tribunes, Senators, and others. Sat. What, hath the firmament more suns than one? Luc. What boots it thee, to call thyself a sun? Mar. Rome's emperor and nephew, break the parle ; These quarrels must be quietly debated. The feast is ready, which the careful Titus Hath ordain'd to an honourable end, For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome: Please you, therefore, draw nigh, and take your places Sat. Marcus, we will. [Hautboys sound. The Company sit down at Table. Enter TITUS, dressed like a Cook, LAVINIA, veiled, young LUCIUS, and others. TITUS places the Dishes on the Table. Tit. Welcome, my gracious lord: welcome, dread Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius; [queen; And welcome, all: although the cheer be poor, "Twill fill your stomachs; please you eat of it. Sat. Why art thou thus attir'd, Andronicus? Tit. Because I would be sure to have all well, To entertain your highness, and your empress. Tam. We are beholden to you, good Andronicus. Tit. An if your highness knew my heart, you were. My lord the emperor, resolve me this; Was it well done of rash Virginius, To slay his daughter with his own right hand, Tit. Your reason, mighty lord? Sat. Because the girl should not survive her shame, And by her presence still renew his sorrows. Tit. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual; A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant, For me, most wretched, to perform the like:Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee; [He kills Lavinia. And have a thousand times more cause than he [blind. Sat. What, was she ravish'd? tell, who did the deed. Tit. Will't please you eat; will't please your high ness feed? Tam. Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus? Tit. Not I; 'twas Chiron and Demetrius: They ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue, And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong. Sat. Go, fetch them hither to us presently. Tit. Why, there they are both, baked in that pye; Whereof their mother daintily hath fed, Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred. "Tis true, 'tis true; witness my knife's sharp point. 1 [Killing Tamora. Sat. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed. [Killing Titus. Luc. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed? There's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed. [Kills Saturninus. A great Tumult. The People in Confusion disperse. Marcus, Lucius, and their Partisans, ascend the Steps before Titus' House. Mar. You sad-fac'd men, people and sons of Rome,` By uproar sever'd, like a flight of fowl Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts, O, let me teach you how to knit again This scatter'd corn into one mutual sheaf, These broken limbs again into one body. Sen. Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself; But if my frosty signs and chaps of age, Cannot induce you to attend my words, Speak, Rome's dear friend; [To Lucius] as erst our ancestor, When with his solemn tongue he did discourse, The story of that baleful burning night, When subtle Greeks surpris'd king Priam's Troy; That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound.— But floods of tears will drown my oratory, Here is a captain, let him tell the tale; Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him speak. Were they that murdered our emperor's brother; The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out, Sheathing the steel in my advent'rous body. My scars can witness, dumb although they are, Of this was Tamora delivered; The issue of an irreligious Moor, Chief architect and plotter of these woes; Romans? Will, hand in hand, all headlong cast us down, Emil. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome, And bring our emperor gently in thy hand, Lucius our emperor; for, well I know, The common voice do cry, it shall be so. Rom. [Several speak] Lucius, all hail; Rome's royal emperor! LUCIUS, &c. descend. Mar. Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful house; [To an Attendant. And hither hale that misbelieving Moor. To be adjudg'd some direful slaughtering death, |