But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus,
Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine,
That said'st, I begg'd the empire at thy hands.
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 5 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 emperess 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 Hymeneus 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 Satırnine advance the queen of Goths,
She will a handmaid be to his desires,
A loving nurse, a mother to his youth.

5 A ruffler was a bully.

Sat. Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon :-Lords, ac

company Your noble emperor, and his lovely bride, Sent by the heavens for prince Saturnine, Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered : There shall we consummate our spousal rites. [Exeunt SATURNINUS, and his Followers ; TA

MORA, and her Sons ; AARON and Goths. Tit. I am not bidó to wait upon this bride ;Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs?

Re-enter MARCUS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MAR

TIUS.

Mar. 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.

Mar. 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 spoke that

word ? Quin. He that would vouch't in any place but here. Tit. What, would you bury him in my despite ?

Mar. No, noble Titus ; but entreat of thee To pardon Mutius, and to bury him. Tit. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my

erest, 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. Mar. 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. Mar. Renowned Titus, more than half

my soul, Luc. Dear father, soul and substance of us all,

Mar. Suffer thy brother Marcus to interr
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. No man shed tears for noble Mutius ; He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause.

Mar. My lord, -to step out of these dreary 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 beholden to the man That brought her for this high good turn so far? Yes, and will nobly him remunerate.

Flourish. Re-enter, at one side, SATURNINUS, at

tended; TAMORA, CHIRON, DEMETRIUS, and AARON : At 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-betrothed love, and now my wife? But let the laws of Rome determine all; Mean while 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 control'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 loy'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 forefend, 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.-

7 Forbid.