Mut. SCENE IV. BROTHERS, help to convey her hence away, And with my fword I'll keep this door fecure. Tit. What! villain-boy, Barr'ft me my way in Rome? Mut. Help, Lucius, help! [He kills him. Luc. My lord, you are unjust, and more than so; In wrongful quarrel you have flain your fon. Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any fons of mine: My fons would never so dishonour me. Traitor, reftore Lavinia to the Emperor. Luc. Dead, if you will, but not to be his wife, Sat. No, Titus, no, the Emperor needs her not; Was there none else in Rome to make a Stale of, Agree thefe deeds with that proud Brag of thine, Tit. O monftrous! what reproachful words are Sat. But go thy ways: go give that changing piece, . To him that flourish'd for her with his fword; A valiant fon-in-law thou fhalt enjoy: One fit to bandy with thy lawless fons 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 ftately Phabe 'mong her Nymphs, Doft Doft over-fhine the gallant'ft Dames of Rome, And tapers burn fo bright, and every thing I will not re-falute the streets of Rome, Or climb my Palace, 'till from forth this place Tam. And here in fight of heav'n to Rome I swear, Sat. Afcend, fair Queen, Pantheon; lords, accompany Your noble Emperor, and his lovely bride, Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine; Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered : There fhall we confummate our spousal rites. [Exeunt. Tit. I SCENE V. Manet Titus Andronicus. am not bid to wait upon this bride. Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs? Enter Marcus Andronicus, Lucius, Quintus, and Marcus. Marc. Oh, Titus, fee, oh, fee, what thou haft done! In a bad quarrel flain a virtuous fon. Tit. No, foolish Tribune, no: no fon of mine, Nor thou, nor these confederates in the deed, That hath dishonoured all our family; Unworthy brother, and unworthy fons. Luc. Luc. But let us give him burial, as becomes; Give Mutius burial with our brethren. Tit. Traitors, away! he refts not in this tomb; This monument five hundred years hath flood, Which I have fumptuoufly re-edified: Here none but foldiers, and Rome's Servitors, [Titus's fons Speak. Sons. And fhall, or him we will accompany. Tit. And shall? what villain was it fpake that word? [Titus's fon fpeaks. Quin. He, that would vouch't in any place but here. Tit. What, would you bury him in my despight? Mar. No, noble Titus; but intreat of thee To pardon Mutius, and to bury him. Tit. Marcus, ev'n thou haft ftruck upon my Creft, And with thefe boys mine Honour thou haft wounded. My foes I do repute you every one, So trouble me no more, but get you gone. [The brother and the fons kneel. Did graciously plead for his funerals. Let not young Mutius then, that was thy joy, Tit. Rife, Marcus, rife The difmall'ft day is this, that e'er I saw, [They put him in the tomb. Luc. There lie thy bones, fweet Mutius, with thy friends, 'Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb ! [They all kneel and fay; No man fhed tears for noble Mutius; He lives in fame, that died in virtue's cause. Tit. I know not Marcus; but, I know, it is: Is the not then beholden to the man, That brought her for this high good Turn fo far? Yes; and will nobly him remunerate. At Flourish. Re-enter the Emperor, Tamora, Chiron, and Demetrius, with Aaron the Moor, at one door. the other door, Baffianus and Lavinia with others. Baffianus, you have play'd your prize ; Sat. God give you joy, Sir, of your gallant bride. Baf. And you of yours, my lord; I say no more, Nor wish no lefs, and fo I take my leave. Sat. Traitor, if Rome have law, or we have power, Thou and thy faction shall repent this Rape. Baf. Rape call you it, my lord, to feize my own, My true-betrothed love, and now my wife? But But let the laws of Rome determine all; Sat. 'Tis good, Sir; you are very short with us, Baf. My lord, what I have done, as best I may, Only thus much I give your Grace to know, With his own hand did flay his youngest fon, Tit. Prince Baffianus, leave to plead my deeds.. Tam. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora And bafely put it up without revenge? Tam. Not fo, my lord; the Gods of Rome forefend, I fhould be author to difhonour you! But, on mine honour dare I undertake Whose fury, not diffembled, speaks his griefs: My C |