SATURNINUS.
Noble Patricians, Patrons of my Right,
Defend the Justice of my Cause with Arms.
And Country-men and loving Followers,
Plead my successive Title with your Swords.
I was the first-born Son of him that last
Wore the Imperial Diadem of Rome:
Then let my Father's Honours live in me,
Nor wrong mine Age with this Indignity.

Bas.
Romans, Friends, Followers,
Favourers of my Right;
If ever Bassianus, Cæsar's Son,
Were gracious in the Eyes of Royal Rome,
Keep then this passage to the Capitol;
And suffer not Dishonour to approach

Th' Imperial Seat to Virtue, Consecrate
To Justice, Continence, and Nobility:
But let Desert in pure Election shine;
And, Romans, fight for Freedom in your Choice. Enter Marcus Andronicus aloft with the Crown.

Mar.
Princes that strive by Factions and by Friends,
Ambitiously for Rule and Empery;
Know, that the People of Rome, for whom we stand
A special Party, have by Common Voice,
In Election for the Roman Empery,
Chosen Andronicus, Sur-named Pius,
For many good and great deserts to Rome.
A Nobler Man, a braver Warrior,
Lives not this day within our City Walls.
He by the Senate is accited home,
From weary Wars against the barbarous Goths,
That with his Sons (a terror to our Foes)
Hath yoak'd a Nation strong, train'd up in Arms.
Ten Years are spent since first he undertook
This Cause of Rome, and chastised with Arms
Our Enemies Pride. Five times he hath return'd
Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant Sons
In Coffins from the Field.
And now at last, laden with Honour's Spoils,
Returns the good Andronicus to Rome,
Renowned Titus, flourishing in Arms.
Let us intreat, by Honour of his Name,
Whom (worthily) you would have now succeed,
And in the Capitol and Senate's Right,
Whom you pretend to Honour and Adore,
That you withdraw you, and abate your Strength;
Dismiss your Followers, and as Suiters should,
Plead your Deserts in Peace and Humbleness.

Sat.
How fair the Tribune speaks,
To calm my Thoughts.

Bas.
Marcus Andronicus, so I do affie
In thy Uprightness and Integrity:
And so I Love and Honour thee and thine;
Thy Noble Brother Titus, and his Sons,
And her (to whom our Thoughts are humbled all)
Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich Ornament,

That I will here dismiss my loving Friends;
And to my Fortunes, and the Peoples Favour,
Commit my Cause in ballance to be weigh'd. [Ex. Soldiers.

Sat.
Friends that have been
Thus forward in my Right,
I thank you all, and here dismiss you all;
And to the Love and Favour of my Country,
Commit my Self, my Person, and the Cause:
Rome, be as just and gracious unto me,
As I am confident and kind to thee.
Open the Gates, and let me in.

Bas.
Tribunes, and me, a poor Competitor. [They go up into the Senate-House Enter a Captain.

Cap.
Romans, make way: The good Andronicus,
Patron of Virtue, Rome's best Champion,
Successful in the Battels that he fights,
With Honour and with Fortune is return'd,
From whence he circumscribed with his Sword,
And brought to yoke the Enemies of Rome. Sound Drums and Trumpets, and then enter Mutius and Marcus: After them, two Men bearing a Coffin cover'd with black; then Quintus and Lucius. After them Titus Andronicus; and then Tamora, the Queen of Goths, Alarbus, Chiron and Demetrius, with Aaron the Moor, Prisoners, Soldiers, and other Attendants. They set down the Coffin, and Titus speaks.

Tit.
Hail, Rome,
Victorious in thy mourning Weeds!
Loe, as the Bark that hath discharg'd her Freight,
Returns with precious lading to the Bay,
From whence at first she weigh'd her Anchorage,
Cometh Andronicus with Laurel Boughs,
To re-salute his Country with his Tears;
Tears of true Joy, for his return to Rome.
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'st thou thy Sons unburied yet,
To hover on the dreadful Shoar of Styx?
Make way to lay them by their Brethren. [They open the Tomb.
There greet in silence, as the dead are wont,
And sleep in Peace, slain in your Country's Wars:
O sacred Receptacle of my Joys,
Sweet Cell of Virtue and Nobility,
How many Sons of mine hast thou in store,
That thou wilt never render to me more?

Luc.
Give us the proudest Prisoner of the Goths,
That we may hew his Limbs, and on a Pile,
Ad manes Fratrum, Sacrifice his Flesh,
Before this Earthly Prison of their Bones,
That so the Shadows be not unappeas'd,
Nor we disturb'd with Prodigies on Earth.

Tit.
I give him you, the noblest 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,
Oh think my Sons to be as dear to me.
Sufficeth not, that we are brought to Rome,
To beautifie thy Triumphs, and return
Captive to thee, and to thy Roman Yoak;
But must my Sons be slaughter'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 near them then in being merciful;
Sweet Mercy is Nobility's true badge,
Thrice Noble Titus, spare my first-born Son.

Tit.
Patient your self, Madam, and pardon me.
These are the Brethren, whom you Goths behold
Alive and dead, and for their Brethren slain,
Religiously they ask a Sacrifice;
To this your Son is markt, and die he must,
To appease their groaning 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 consum'd. [Exeunt Mutius, Marcus, Quintus and Lucius with Alarbus.

Tam.
O cruel irreligious Piety!

Chi.
Was ever Scythia half so barbarous?

Dem.
Oppose me, Scythia, to ambitious Rome.
Alarbus go to rest, and we survive,
To tremble under Titus's threatning Looks,
Then, Madam, stand resolv'd, but hope withal,
The self-same Gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy,
With opportunity of sharp Revenge
Upon the Thracian Tyrant in his 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's Limbs are lopt,
And Intra's feed the sacrificing 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 latest farewel to their Souls. [Then sound Trumpets, and lay the Coffins in the Tomb.
In Peace and Honour rest you here, my Sons,
Rome's readiest Champions, repose you here in rest,
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 Silence and eternal Sleep:
In Peace and Honour rest you here, my Sons.

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 hast thus lovingly reserv'd
The Cordial of mine Age, to glad mine Heart,
Lavinia, live, out-live thy Father's Days;
And Fame's eternal date for 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 sleep in Fame:
Fair Lords, your Fortunes are alike in all,
That in your Country's Service drew 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,
Whose Friend in Justice thou hast ever been,
Send thee by me their Tribune, and their trust,
This Palliament of white and spotless 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 should I don this Robe, and trouble you?
Be chose with Proclamations to Day,
To Morrow yield up Rule, resign my Life,
And set abroach new Business for you all.
Rome, I have been thy Soldier forty Years,
And led my Country's Strength successfully,

And buried one and twenty valiant Sons,
Knighted in Field, slain manfully in Arms,
In Right and Service of their Noble Country:
Give me a Staff of Honour for mine Age,
But not a Scepter 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 wert shipt to Hell,
Rather than rob me of the Peoples Hearts.

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

Tit.
Content thee Prince, I will restore to thee,
The Peoples Hearts, and wean them from themselves.

Bas.
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 bestow them friendly on Andronicus?

Mar.
To gratifie 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 sort,
Patricians and Plebeians, we create
Lord Saturninus, Rome's great Emperor;
And say, Long live our Emperor Saturnine. [A long 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 Emperess,
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 sight of Rome, to Saturninus,
King and Commander of our Common-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 Honours Ensigns 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 these 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 Followers.

Sat.
A goodly Lady, trust me, of the Hue,
That I would chuse, were I to chuse a-new:
Clear up, fair Queen, that cloudy Countenance,
Tho' chance of War hath wrought this change of cheer,
Thou com'st 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, 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 Courtesie.

Sat.
Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go.
Ransomless here we set our Prisoners free,

Proclaim our Honours, Lords, with Trumpet and Drum.

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 my self this Reason and this Right. [The Emperor Courts Tamora in dumb shew.

Mar.
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, avant! where is the Emperor's Guard?
Treason, my Lord; Lavinia is surpriz'd.

Sat.
Surpriz'd! by whom?

Bas.
By him that justly may
Bear his Betroth'd from all the World away. [Exit Bassianus with Lavinia.

Mut.
Brothers, help to convey her hence away.
And with my Sword I'll keep the Door close.

Tit.
Follow, my Lord, and I'll soon bring her back.

Mut.
My Lord, you pass not here.

Tit.
What Villain, Boy, barr'st me my way is Rome?

Mut.
Help, Lucius, help. [He kills him.

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 Dishonor me.
Traitor, restore Livinia to the Emperor.

Luc.
Dead, if you will, but not to be his Wife,
That is another's lawful promis'd Love.

Emp.
No, Titus, no, the Emperor needs her not.
Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy Stock;
I'll trust by Leisure him that mocks me once,
Thee never, nor thy Traiterous haughty Sons,
Confederates all, thus to Dishonour me.
Was there none else in Rome to make a Stale of
But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus,
Agree these Deeds, with that proud Brag of thine,
That said'st, I beg'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 in the Common-wealth of Rome.

Tit.
These Words are Razors to my wounded Heart.

Sat.
And therefore, lovely Tamora, Queen of Goths,
That like the stately Phœbe 'mongst her Nymphs,
Dost over-shine the Gallant'st Dames of Rome,
If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden Choice,
Behold I chuse 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 Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths,
She will a Hand-maid be to his Desires,
A loving Nurse, a Mother to his Youth.

Sat.
Ascend, 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 shall we consummate our Sponsal Rites. [Exeunt.

Tit.
I am not bid to wait upon this Bride.
Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone,
Dishonoured thus, and challenged of Wrongs? Enter Marcus Andronicus, Lucius, Quintus, and Marcus.

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 Dishonoured 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's Deeds do plead for him,
He must be buried with his Brethren. [Titus's Sons speak.

Sons.
And shall, or him we will accompany.

Tit.
And shall? 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 Despight?

Mar.
No, noble Titus, but intreat 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.

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 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 inter
His noble Nephew here in Virtues 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 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.
Rise, Marcus, rise—
The dismall'st Day is this that e'er I saw,
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, sweet Mutius, with thy Friends,
'Till we with Trophies do adorn thy Tomb. [They all kneel, and say
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 sudden 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 devise or no, the Heavens can tell:
Is she not then beholding to the Man,
That brought her for this high good turn so 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 Bassianus and Lavinia with others.

Sat.
So, Bassianus, you have plaid 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 possest 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 which 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 exprest 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 dishonoured openly,
And basely put it up without Revenge?

Tam.
Not so, 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;
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 sowre looks afflict his gentle Heart.—
My Lord, be rul'd by me, be won at last, [Aside.
Dissemble all your Griefs and Discontents,
You are but newly planted in your Throne;
Lest then the People and Patricians too,
Upon a just Survey take Titus part,
And so supplant 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 Massacre them all,
And raze their Faction, and their Family,
The Cruel Father, and his Traiterous Sons,
To whom I sued 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, sweet Emperor,—come Andronicus,
Take up this good old Man, and chear the Heart,
That dies in Tempest of thy angry Frown.

Sat.
Rise, Titus, rise,
My Empress hath prevail'd.

Tit.
I thank your Majesty,

And her, my Lord.
These Words, these Looks, infuse new Life in me.

Tam.
Titus, I am incorporate in Rome,
A Roman now adopted happily:
And must 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 Bassianus, I have past
My Word and Promise to the Emperor,
That you will be more mild and tractable.
And fear not, Lords;
And you, Lavinia,
By my Advice all humbled on your Knees,
You shall ask Pardon of his Majesty.

Luc.
We do,
And vow to Heaven, and to his Highness,
That what we did, was mildly, as we might,
Tendring our Sister's Honour and our own.

Mar.
That on mine Honour here I do protest.

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 sake 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 sure as Death I swore,
I would not part a Batchelor from the Priest.
Come, if the Emperor's Court can feast two Brides,
You are my Guest, Lavinia, and your Friends;
This Day shall be a Love-day, Tamora.

Tit.
To Morrow, and it please your Majesty,
To hunt the Panther and the Hart with me,
With Horn and Hound, we'll give your Grace Bon-jour.

Sat.
Be it so, Titus, and Gramercy too. [Exeunt.