Tit. Traitors away, he refts not in this Tomb;
This Monument five hundred Years hath ftood,
Which I have fumptuoufly re-cdified:
Here none but Soldiers, and Rome's Servitors,
Repofe in Fame: None bafely flain in Brawls.
Bury him where you can, he comes not here.
Mar. My Lord, this is Impiety in you,
My Nephew Mutius's Deeds do plead for him,
He must be buried with his Brethren.
Sons. And fhall, or him we will accompany.
Tit. And fhall? What Villain was it spake that Word?
[Titus's Son Speaks.
Quin. He that would vouch in any place but here.
Tit. What would you bury him in my Defpight?
Mar. No, noble Titus, but intreat of thee,
To pardon Mutius, and to bury him.
Tit. Marcus, even thou haft ftruck upon my Creft, And with these Boys mine Honour thou haft wounded, My Foes, I do repute you every one.
So trouble me no more, but get you gone.
Luc. He is not himself, let us withdraw.
Quin. Not I, till Mutius Bones be buried.
[The Brother and the Sons kneel.
Mar. Brother, for in that Name doth Nature plead.
Quin. Father, and in that Name doth Nature (peak.
Tit. Speak thou no more, if all the reft will speed.
Mar. Renowned Titus, more than half my Soul.
Luc. Dear Father, Scul and Substance of us all.
Mar. Suffer thy Brother Marcus to inter
His noble Nephew here in Virtues Neft,
That died in Honour, and Lavinia's Caufe.
Thou art a Roman, be not barbarous:
The Greeks upon Advice did bury Ajax
That flew himself; And ev'n Laertes Son
Did graciously plead for his Funerals:
Let not young Mutius then, that was thy Joy,
Be barr'd his entrance here.
Tit. Rife, Marcus, rife
The difmall'ft Day is this that e'er I faw,
To be Dishonoured by my Sons in Rome :
Well, bury him, and bury me the next.
They put him in the Tomb, Luc. There lye thy Bones, fweet Mutius, with thy Friends,
'Till we with Trophies do adorn thy Tomb.
No Man fhed Tears for noble Mutius;
He lives in Fame, that died in Virtue's Caufe.
Mar. My Lord, to ftep out of these fudden Dumps,
How comes it that the fubtle Queen of Goths
Is of a fudden' thus advanc'd in Rome?
Tit. I know nor, Marcus; but I know it is,
Whether by device or no, the Heav'ns can tell :
Is he not then beholden to the Man,
That brought her for this high good turn fo far?
Yes, and will Nobly him remunerate.
Flourish. Enter the Emperor, Tamora, Chiron and Demetrius with the Moor at one Door. At the other Door Baffianus and Lavinia with others.
Sat. So, Baffianus, you have plaid your Prize,
God give you Joy, Sir, of your Gallant Bride.
Baf. And you of yours, my Lord; I fay no more,
Nor with no lefs, and fo I take my leave.
Sat. Traitor, if Rome have Law, or we have Power,
Thou and thy Faction fhall repent this Rape.
Baf. Rape call you it, my Lord, to feize my own,
My true betrothed Love, and now my Wife ?
But let the Laws of Rome determine all,
Mean while I am poffeft of that is mine.
Sat. 'Tis good, Sir; you are very short with us,
But if we live, we'll be as harp with you.
Baf. My Lord, what I have done, as beft I may,
Answer I muft, and fhall do with my Life,
Only thus much I give your Grace to know,
By all the Duties which I owe to Rome,
This noble Gentleman, Lord Titus here,
Is in Opinion ard in Honour wrong'd,
That in the Refcue of Lavinia,
With his own Hand did fly his youngest Sen,
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 expreft himself in all his Deeds,
A Father and a Friend to thee, and Rome.
Tit. Prince Baffianus, leave to plead my Decds,
'Tis thou, and thofe, that have difhonour'd me:
Rome and the Righteous Heav'ns be my Judge,
How have I lov'd and honour'd Saturnine.
Tam. My worthy Lord, if ever Tamora
Were gracious in thofe Princely Eyes of thine,
Then hear me speak, indifferently, for all;
And at my Suit (Sweet) pardon what is past.
Sat. What, Madam, be dishonoured openly,
And bafely put it up without Revenge?
Tam. Not fo, my Lord,
The Gods of Rome fore-fend,
I should be Author to dishonour you,
But, on mine Honour dare, I undertake,
For good Lord Titus's innocence in all;
Whofe Fury not diffembled fpeaks his Griefs:
Then at my Suit look graciously on him,
Lofe not fo noble a Friend on vain suppose,
Nor with fowre looks affli& his gentle Heart.
My Lord, be rul'd by me, be won at last,
Diffemble all your Griefs and Difcontents,
You are but newly planted in your Throne;
Left then the People and Partricians too,
Upon a juft Survey take Titus part,
And fo fupplant us for Ingratitude,
Which Rome reputes to be a hainous Sin,
Yield at Intreats, and then let me alone;
I'll find a Day to Maffacre them all,
And raze their Faction, and their Family,
The Cruel Father, and his Traiterous Sons,
To whom I fued for my dear Son's Life:
And make them know what 'tis to let a Queen
Kneel in the Streets, and beg for Grace in vain.
Come, come, fweet Emperor,-core Andronicus,
Take up this good old Man, and chear the Heart,
That dies in Tempeft of thy angry Frown.
Sat. Rife, Titus, rife,
My Empress hath prevail'd.
Tit. I thank your Majefty,
VOL. IV.
Thefe Words, these Looks, infufe new Life in me.
Tam. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome,
A Roman now adopted happily:
And muft advise the Emperor for his good.
This Day all Quarrels die, Andronicus,
And let it be my Honour, good my Lord,
That I have reconcil'd your Friends and you.
For you, Prince Baffianus, I have past
My Word and Promise to the Emperor,
That will be more mild and tractable.
you
And fear not, Lords;
By my Advice all humbled on your Knees,
You shall ask Pardon of his Majefty.
Luc. We do,
And vow to Heaven, and to his Highness,
That what we did, was mildly, as we might,
Tendring our Sifter's Honour and our own.
Mar. That on mine Honour here I do proteft.
Sat. Away, and talk not, trouble us no more.
Tam. Nay, nay,
Sweet Emperor we must all be Friends.
The Tribune and his Nephews kneel for Grace,
I will not be denied, Sweet-heart, look back.
Sat. Marcus,
For thy fake and thy Brother's here,
And at my lovely Tamora's Intreats,
I do remit these young Mens hainous Faults.
Stand up. Lavinia, though you left me like a churl,
I found a Friend, and fure as Death I fwore,
I would not part a Batchelor from the Prieft.
Come, if the Emperor's Court can feaft two Brides,
You are my Gueft, Lavinia, and Friends;
This Day fhall be a Love-day, Tamora.
Tit. To Morrow, and it please your Majefty,
To hunt the Panther and the Hart with me,
Sat. Be it fo, Titus, and Gramercy too.
With Horn and Hound, we'll give your Grace Bon-jour.
Enter Aaron alone.
Aaron. N Safe out of Fortune's fhot, and fits aloft,
NOW
OW climbeth Tamora Olympus top,
Secure of Thunders crack, or Lightning flash,
Advanc'd above pale Envy's threatning reach;
As when the golden Sun falutes the morn,
And having gilt the Ocean with his Beams,
Gallops the Zodiack in his gliftring Coach,
And over-looks the higheft piering Hills:
So Tamore.
Upon her Wit doth early Honour wait,
And Virtue stoops and trembles at her Frown.
Then Aaron arm thy Heart, and fit thy Thoughts,
To mount aloft with thy Imperial Mistress,
And mount her Pitch, whom thou in triumph long
Haft Prifoner held, fetter'd in amorous Chains,
And faster bound to Aaron's charming Eyes,
Than is Prometheus ty'd to Caucasus.
Away with flavish Weeds, and idle Thoughts,
I will be bright, and fhine in Pearl and Gold,
To wait upon this new made Emperefs.
To wait, faid I? To wanton with this Queen,
This Goddefs, this Semiramis, this Queen,
This Syren, that will charm Rome's Saturnine,
And fee his Shipwrack, and his Common-weals.
Holla, what Storm is this?
Enter Chiron and Demetrius.
Dem. Chiron, thy Years want Wit, thy Wit wants Edge
And Manners, to intrude where I am Grac'd,
And may, for ought thou know'ft, affected be.
Chi. Demetrius, thou doft over-ween in all,
And fo in this, to bear me down with Braves:
'Tis not the Difference of a Year or two
Makes me lefs Gracious, or thee more Fortunate;
I am as able, and as fit as thou,
To fe ve, and to deferve my Mistress Grace,
And that my Sword upon thee fhall approve,
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