Which he did end all his; and took some pride
To do myself this wrong: till, at the last,
I seem'd his follower, not partner, and
He wag'd me with his countenance, as if
I had been mercenary.

First Con.

So he did, my lord: The army marvell'd at it; and, in the last, When he had carried Rome, and that we look'd For no less spoil than glory,

Auf.

There was it; For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him. At a few drops of women's rheum, which are As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour Of our great action: therefore shall he die, And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark!

Drums and trumpets sound, with great shouts of the People.

First Con. Your native town you enter'd like a post,

And had no welcomes home; but he returns, 50 Splitting the air with noise.

Second Con.
And patient fools,
Whose children he hath slain, their base throats
tear

With giving him glory.
Third Con.

Therefore, at your vantage,
Ere he express himself, or move the people
With what he would say, let him feel your sword,
Which we will second. When he lies along,
After your way his tale pronounc'd shall bury
His reasons with his body.
Auf.

Here come the lords.

Say no more:

Cor. Hail, lords! I am return'd your soldier: No more infected with my country's love Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting Under your great command. You are to know That prosperously I have attempted and With bloody passage led your wars even to The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought

home

Do more than counterpoise a full third part
The charges of the action. We have made peace,
With no less honour to the Antiates
Than shame to the Romans; and we here

deliver,

SCENE I.-Rome.

The Tomb of the Andronici appearing. The Tribunes and Senators aloft; and then enter SATURNINUS and his Followers at one door, and BASSIANUS and his Followers at the other, with

drum and colours.

Sat. Noble patricians, patrons of my right, Defend the justice of my cause with arms; And, countrymen, my loving followers, Plead my successive title with your swords: I am his first-born son, that was the last That wore the imperial diadem of Rome; Then let my father's honours live in me, Nor wrong mine age with this indignity.

Bass. Romans, friends, followers, favourers my right,

If ever Bassianus, Cæsar's son,
Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome,
Keep then this passage to the Capitol,
And suffer not dishonour to approach
The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate,
To justice, continence, and nobility;
But let desert in pure election shine,

of

10

And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice.

Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS, aloft, with the

crown.

Know that the people of Rome, for whom we

stand

A special party, have by common voice,
In election for the Roman empery,
Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius,
For many good and great deserts to Rome:
A nobler man, a braver warrior,
Lives not this day within the city walls:
He by the senate is accited home
From weary wars against the barbarous Goths;
That, with his sons, a terror to our foes,
Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd up in arms.
Ten years are spent since first he undertook sa
This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms
Our enemies' pride: five times he hath return'd
Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons
In coffins from the field;

And now at last, laden with honour's spoils,
Returns the good Andronicus to Rome,
Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms.
Let us entreat, by honour of his name,
Whom worthily you would have now succeed, #
And in the Capitol and senate's right,
Whom you pretend to honour and adore,
That you withdraw you and abate your strength;
Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should,
Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness.
Sat. How fair the tribune speaks to calm my
thoughts!

Bass. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy

And so I love and honour thee and thine, Thy noble brother Titus and his sons,

80

Enter a Captain.

Cap. Romans, make way! the good Andronicus, Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion, Successful in the battles that he fights, With honour and with fortune is return'd From where he circumscribed with his sword, And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome.

Sound drums and trumpets, and then enter MARTIUS and MUTIUS; after them two Men bearing a coffin covered with black; then LUCIUS and

QUINTUS. After them TITUS ANDRONICUS; and then TAMORA, with ALARBUS, CHIRON, DEMETRIUS, AARON, and other Goths, prisoners; Soldiers and People following. They set down the coffin, and TITUS speaks.

Tit. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds!

70

Lo! as the bark, that hath discharg'd her fraught,
Returns with precious lading to the bay
From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage,
Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs,
To re-salute his country with his tears,

110

Tit. I give him you, the noblest that survives The eldest son of this distressed queen. Tam. Stay, Roman brethren! Gracious conqueror, Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, A mother's tears in passion for her son: And if thy sons were ever dear to thee, O! think my son to be as dear to me. Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome, To beautify thy triumphs and return, Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke; But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets For valiant doings in their country's cause ? O! if to fight for king and commonweal Were piety in thine, it is in these. Andronicus, stain 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, spare my first-born son. 120

Tit. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me. These are their brethren, whom you Goths beheld Alive and dead, and for their brethren slain Religiously they ask a sacrifice : To this your son is mark'd, and die he must, To appease their groaning shadows that are gone.

Luc. Away withhim! 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 LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and MUTIUS, with ALARBUS.

130

Tam. O cruel, irreligious piety!
Chi. Was ever Scythia half so barbarous ?
Dem. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.
Alarbus goes to rest, and we survive
To tremble under Titus' threatening look.
Then, madam, stand resolv'd; but hope withal
The self-same 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 Goths,
When Goths were Goths, and Tamora was queen,
To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes.

Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and
MUTIUS, with their swords bloody.

141

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,
Behold the poor remains, alive, and dead!
These that survive let Rome reward with love;

80

These that I bring unto their latest home,

Luc. See, lord and father, how we have perform'd

With burial amongst their ancestors :

Our Roman rites. Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd,

sword.

O sacred receptacle of my joys,
Sweet cell of virtue and nobility,

How many sons of mine hast thou in store,

That thou wilt never render to me more!

That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile
Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh,
Before this earthy prison of their bones;
That so the shadows be not unappeas'd,

You that survive, and you that sleep in fame!
Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all,
That in your country's service drew yourswords;
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, 180
Send thee by me, their tribune and their trust,
This palliament of white and spotless hue;
And name thee 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.

190

Tit. A better head her glorious body tits Than his that shakes for age and feebleness. What should I don this robe, and trouble you? Be chosen with proclamations to-day, To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life, And set abroad new business 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, slain manfully in arms, In right and service of their noble country. Give me a staff of honour for mine age, But not a sceptre to control the world: Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. Marc. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the

empery.

200

Sat. Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou

tell?

Tit. People of Rome, and noble tribunes here, I ask your voices and your suffrages: Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus? Tribunes. To gratify the good Andronicus, 220 And gratulate his safe return to Rome, The people will accept whom he admits.

Tit. Tribunes, I thank you; and this suit I
make,

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 commonweal:
Then, if you will elect by my advice,
Crown him, and say 'Long live our emperor!'
Marc. 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!'
A long flourish,

Sat. 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 requite thy gentleness: And for an onset, Titus, to advance Thy name and honourable family, Lavinia will I make my empress, 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 honour'd of your grace: And here in sight of Rome to Saturnine, King and commander of our commonweal, The wide world's emperor, do I consecrate My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners; Presents well worthy Rome's imperious lord: Receive them then, the tribute that I owe, Mine honour's ensigns 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 least of these unspeakable deserts, Romans, forget your fealty to me.

Tit. To TAMORA. Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor;

To him that, for your honour and your state, Will use you nobly and your followers.

200

Sat. A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue That I would choose, were I to choose anew. Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance; Though chance of war hath wrought this chane

of cheer,

Thou com'st 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. Not I, my lord; sith true nobility
Warrants these words in princely courtesy.
Sat. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let

us go:

270

Ransomless here we set our prisoners free: Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and

drum.

Bass. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is Seizing LAVINIA. Tit. How, sir! Are you in earnest then, my