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Sąt. How fair the tribune speaks to calm my

thoughts ! Bass. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy In thy uprightness and integrity, And so I love and honour thee and thine, Thy noble brother Titus and his sons, And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all, Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament, That I will here dismiss my loving friends ; And to my fortunes and the people's favour Commit my cause in balance to be weigh’d.

[Exeunt Followers of Bassianus. Sat. Friends, that have been thus forward in

my right,
I thank you all, and here dismiss you all ;
And to the love and favour of my country
Commit myself, my person, and the cause.

[Ēxeunt Followers of Saturninus.
Rome, be as just and gracious unto me,
As I am confident and kind to thee.
Open the gates and let me in.
Bass. Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor.

(Flourish. They go up into the Senate-house.

SCENE IL-The same.

Enter a Captain, and others
Cap. Romans, make way: the good Andro-

nicus,
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.

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Sound drums and trumpets, and then enter MARTIUS

and MUTius, two of Titus' Sons. After them the Men bearing a coffin covered with black: ther Lucius and QUINTUS, two other Sons of Titus. After them Titus ANDRONICUS; and then Í AMORA, the Queen of Goths, and her Sons, ALARBUS, ChiRON, and DEMETRIUS, with AARON the Moor, and 2 number of Goths, prisoners; Soldiers and People following. The Bearers set down the cofin, and Titus speaks. Tit. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning

weeds!
Lo, as the bark that hath discharged 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,
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:
These that I bring unto their latest home,
With burial amongst their ancestors.
Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my

sword.
Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own,
Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet,
To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx ?
Make way to lay them by their brethren.

[They open the tomb.
There greet in silence, as the dead are wont,
And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars:
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 !
Luc. Give us the proudest prisoner of the

Goths,
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 unappeased,
Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth.

Tit. I give him you, the noblest that survives,
The eldest son of this distressed queen.
Tam. Stay, Roman brethren! Gracious con-

queror, 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 sons 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.

Tit. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me. These are their brethren, whom you Goths be

held
Alive and dead, and for their brethren slain
Religiously they ask a sacrifice :
To this your son is mark’d, and die he must,
T'appease their gr

ng 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 consumed.

[Exeunt Titus' Sons with ALARBUS.
Tam. O cruel, irreligious piety!
Chi. Was ever Scythia half so barbarous ?
Demet. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious

Rome.
Alarbus goes to rest; and we survive
To tremble under Titus' threatening looks.
Then, madam, stand resolved; 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.

Enter the Sons of Andronicus again. Luc. See, lord and father, how we have per

form'd Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd, And entrails 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 so, and let Andronicus Make this his latest farewell to their souls.

(Flourish. Sound trumpets, and they lay the

coffin 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 swells, Here grow no damned grudges; here are 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 brethren's 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 victorious hand,
Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud.
Tit. Kind Rome, thou hast thus lovingly

reserved
The cordial of mine age to glad my heart !
Lavinia, live ; outlive thy father's days,
And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise.

Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS, SATURNINUS, BASSIANUS,

and others. Marc. Long live lord Titus, my beloved

brother, Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome ! Tit. Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother

Marcus.
Marc. And welcome, nephews, from success-

ful wars,

You that survive, and you that sleep 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 aspired to Solon's happiness,

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