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

[Flourish. Saturninus courts Tamora in dumb show. Bas. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine.

[Seizing Lavinia.

Tit. How, sir! are you in earnest, then, my lord?
Bas. Ay, noble Titus; and resolv'd withal

To do myself this reason and this right.

Marc. Suum cuique is our Roman justice:

This prince in justice seizeth but his own.

Luc. And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live.

Tit. Traitors, avaunt!-Where is the emperor's guard?— Treason, my lord,-Lavinia is surpris'd!

Sat. Surpris'd! by whom?

Bas.

By him that justly may

Bear his betroth'd from all the world away.

[Exeunt Bassianus and Marcus with Lavinia.

Mut. Brothers, help to convey her hence away,

And with my sword I'll keep this door safe.

[Exeunt Lucius, Quintus, and Martius. Tit. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back. Mut. My lord, you pass not here.

Tit.

What, villain boy!

[Stabbing Mutius.

Help, Lucius, help! [Dies.

Re-enter LUCIUS.

Luc. My lord, you are unjust; and, more than so,

In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son.

Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine;

My sons would never so dishonour me:
Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor.

Luc. Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife,

That is another's lawful promis'd love.

Sat. No, Titus, no; the emperor needs her not, (13)

Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock:

I'll trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once;

Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons,
Confederates all thus to dishonour me.

Was none in Rome to make a stale,(14)
But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus,

Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine,
That saidst, I begg'd the empire at thy hands.

[Exit.

Tit. O monstrous! what reproachful words are these? Sat. But go thy ways; go, give that changing piece To him that flourish'd for her with his sword: A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy;

One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons,

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 stately. Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs,
Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome,-
If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice,
Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride,
And will create thee empress(15) of Rome.

Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice?
And here I swear by all the Roman gods,-
Sith priest and holy water are so near,
And tapers burn so bright, and every thing
In readiness for Hymenæus stand,—

I will not re-salute the streets of Rome,

Or climb my palace, till from forth this place

I lead espous'd my bride along with me.

Tam. And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome I swear,

If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths,

She will a handmaid be to his desires,

A loving nurse, a mother to his youth.

Sat. Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon.-Lords, accom

pany

Your noble emperor and his lovely bride,

Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine,

Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquerèd:

There shall we cónsummate our spousal rites.

[Exeunt Saturninus attended, Tamora, Demetrius, Chiron, Aaron, and Goths.

Tit. I am not bid to wait upon this bride:— Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, Dishonour'd thus, and challengèd of wrongs?

Re-enter MARCUS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS.
Marc. O Titus, see, O, see what thou hast done!
In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son.

Tit. No, foolish tribune, no; no son of mine,—
Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed
That hath dishonour'd all our family;
Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons!

Luc. But let us give him burial, as becomes;
Give Mutius burial with our brethren.

Tit. Traitors, away! he rests not in this tomb :—
This monument five hundred years hath stood,
Which I have sumptuously re-edified :

Here none but soldiers and Rome's servitors
Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls:-
Bury him where you can, he comes not here.
Marc. My lord, this is impiety in you:
My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him;
He must be buried with his brethren.

Quin. Mart. And shall, or him we will accompany.
Tit. And shall! what villain was it spake that word?
Quin. He that would vouch it in any place but here.
Tit. What, would you bury him in my despite ?
Marc. No, noble Titus; but entreat of thee

To pardon Mutius, and to bury him.

Tit. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest, And, with these boys, mine honour thou hast wounded:

My foes I do repute you every one;

So, trouble me no more, but get you gone.

Mart. He is not with himself; let us withdraw.

Quin. Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried.

[Marcus and the Sons of Titus kneel.

Marc. Brother, for in that name doth nature plead,—
Quin. Father, and in that name doth nature speak,—
Tit. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed.
Marc. Renowned Titus, more than half my soul,-
Luc. Dear father, soul and substance of us all,—
Marc. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter
His noble nephew here in virtue's nest,
That died in honour and Lavinia's cause.
Thou art a Roman,-be not barbarous :
The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax
That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son
Did graciously plead for his funerals:
Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy,
Be barr'd his entrance here.

Tit.
Rise, Marcus, rise:-
The dismall'st day is this that e'er I saw,
To be dishonour'd by my sons in Rome!-
Well, bury him, and bury me the next.

[Mutius is put into the tomb. Luc. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends, Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb.

All. [kneeling] No man shed tears for noble Mutius; He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause.(16)

Marc. My lord,-to step out of these dreary(17) dumps,— How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths

Is of a sudden thus advanc'd in Rome?

Tit. I know not, Marcus; but I know it is,-
Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell:
Is she not, then, beholding to the man

That brought her for this high good turn so far?
Marc. Yes, and will nobly him remunerate.(18)

Flourish. Re-enter, from one side, SATURNINUS attended, TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, and AARON; from the other, BASSIANUS, LAVINIA, and others.

Sat. So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize:

God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride!

Bas. And you of yours, my lord! I say no more,

Nor wish no less; and so, I take my leave.

Sat. Traitor, if Rome have law, or we have power, Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape.

Bas. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own, My true-betrothèd love, and now my wife? But let the laws of Rome determine all; Meanwhile I am possess'd of that is mine.

Sat. 'Tis good, sir: you are very short with us;
But, if we live, we'll be as sharp with you.

Bas. My lord, what I have done, as best I may,
Answer I must, and shall do with my life.
Only thus much I give your grace to know,-
By all the duties that I owe to Rome,
This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here,
Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd;
That, in the rescue of Lavinia,

With his own hand did slay his youngest son,
In zeal to you, and highly mov'd to wrath
To be controll'd in that he frankly gave:
Receive him, then, to favour, Saturnine,
That hath express'd himself, in all his deeds,
A father and a friend to thee and Rome.

Tit. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds:
'Tis thou and those that have dishonour'd me.
Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge,
How I have lov'd and honour'd Saturnine!

Tam. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora
Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine,
Then hear me speak indifferently for all;
And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past.

Sat. What, madam! be dishonour'd openly,

And basely put it up without revenge?

Tam. Not so, my lord; the gods of Rome forfend I should be author to dishonour you! But on mine honour dare I undertake For good Lord Titus' innocence in all; Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs: Then, at my suit, look graciously on him; Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose, Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart.