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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 among their ancestors.
Here Goths have given me leave to sheath my sword;
Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own,
Why suffer'lt thou thy fons, unburied yet,
To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx?
Make way to lay them by their brethren.

[They open the Tamb.
There greet in filence, as the dead are wont,
And sleep in peace, sain in your country's wars.
O sacred receptacle of my joys,
Sweet cell of virtue and nobility,
How many sons of mine haft thou in store,
That thou wilt never render to me more ?

Luc. Give us the proudeft prisoner of the Goths,
That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile,
Ad manes fratrum facrifice his flesh,
Before this earthly prison of their bones :
That so the shadows be not unappear'ı,
Nor we disturb’d with prodigies on earth.
Tit. I give him

you,

the nobleft 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,
0,' think my fons 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 fons be laughter'd in the streets,
For valiant doings in their country's cause?
O! if to fight for King and common-weal
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

Draw near them then in being merciful ;
Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge.
Thrice-noble Titus, spare my firit-born son.

Tit. Patient yourself, Madam, and pardon me.
These are their brethren, whom you Goths behold
Alive and dead, and for their brethren llain
Religiously they ask a sacrifice;
To this your son is mark’d, and die he must,
T' appeale their groning 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 consumid.'

[Exeunt Mutius, Marcus, Quintus, and Lucius,

with Alarbus. Tam. O cruel, irreligious piety! Cbi. Was ever Scythia half so barbarous ? Dem. Oppose me Scythia to ambitious Rome. Alarbus, go toʻreft! and we survive To tremble under Titus' threat'ning looks. Then, Madam, fand refolv'd; but hope withal, The self-fame gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy With opportunity of sharp revenge Upon the Thracian tyrant + in her tent, May favour Tamora, the Queen of Goths, (When Goths were Goths, and Tamora was Queen), To quit her bloody wrongs upon her foes.

Enter Mutius, Marcus, Quintus, and Lucius. Luc. See, Lord and Father, how we have perform'd Our Roman rites : Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd; And intrails feed the facrificing 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 lateft farewel to their souls.

[Then found trumpets, and lay the coffins in the tomb. In peace and honour rett you

fons, Rome's readiest champions, repose you here,

Secure

here, my

+ Polymneftor, whose eyes were pulled out, and fons murdered by Hecuba, in revenge for his having treacheroufly Pain ber for Polydore. Eurip. in Hec.

here,

Secure from worldly chances and mishaps.
Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells ;
Here grow no damned grudges, here no storms,
No noise ; but filence and eternal Neep.
in
peace and honour rest

you my

fons !
SCENE III. 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 brethrens' 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 fortune Rome's best citizens applaud.

Tit. Kind Rome, that haft this lovingly preserv'a
The cordial of mine age, to glad mine heart!
Lavinia, live ; outlive thy father's days,
In Fame's eternal date of Virtue's praise !

Mar. Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother,
Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome !

Tit. Thanks, gentle Tribune, noble brother Marcus.

Mar. And welcome, nephews, from successful wars, You that survive, and you that seep in fame : Fair Lords, your fortunes are alike in all, That in your country's service draw your swords. 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, Whole friend in justice thou hast ever been, Send thee by me their Tribune, and their trust, This palliament of white and ipotless 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.

Tit. A better head her glorious body fits, Than his that shakes for

age

and feebleness.
What! shoud I don this rob, and trouble you?
Be chose with proclamations to-day,
To-morrow yield up rule, relign my life,

And

you

And set abroach new business for all !
Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years,
And led my country's Itrength successfully!.
And buried one and twenty valiant sons,
Knighted in field, Ilain 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 controul the world.
Upright he held it, Lords, that held it last.

Mar. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery.
Sat. Proud and ambitious Tribune, canst thou tell
Tit. Patience, Prince Saturninus.

Sat, Romans, do me right. Patricians, draw

your

swords, and sheath them not,
Till Saturninus be Rome's Emperor.
Andronicus, would thou were shipp'd to hell,
Rather than rob me of the people's hearts.

Luc. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good
That noble-minded Titus means to thee.-

Tit. Content thee, Prince ; I will reitore 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 strengthen with thy friends,
I will most thankful be; and thanks to men
Of noble minds is honourable meed.

Tit. People of Rome, and noble Tribunes here,
I ask your voices, and your suffrages;
Will you beftow them friendly on Andronicus ?

Mar. To gratify the good Andronicus,
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 common-weal.
Then, if you will elect by my advice,
Crown him, and say, Long live our Emperor !

Mar. With voices and applause of every fort,
Patricians and Plebeians, we create
Lord Saturninus Rome's great Emperor;

And

And say,-Long live our Emperor Saturnine !

[A leng flourish, till they come down.
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 Emperels,
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 light of Rome, to Saturninus,
King and commander of our conimon-weal,
The wide world's Emperor, do I consecrate
My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners;
Presents well worthy Rome's Imperial Lord.
Receive them then, the tribute that I owe,
Mine honour's enligns 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 thefe unspeakable deserts, Romans, forget your fealty to me.

Tit. Now, Madam, are you prisoner to an Emperor; To him, that for your

honour and your

state Will use

you nobly, and your foilowers. Sat. A goodly lady, trust me, of the hue [To Tamora. That I would chuse, were I to chufe anew. Clear up,

fair Queen, that cloudy countenance ; Tho'chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer, Thou com'ít 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, who comforts you, Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths. Lavinia, you are not displeas’d with this?

Lav. Not I, my Lord ; fith true nobility
Warrants these words in princely courtesy:

Sat. Thanks, sweet Lavinia ; Romans, let us go.
VOL. VI.

P

Ransomleis

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