Mut.
Brothers, help to convey her hence away,
And with my sword I'll keep this door secure.

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 in Rome? [He kills him.

Mut.
Help, Lucius, help.

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 dishonour me.
Traitor, restore Lavinia to the Emperor.

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

Sat.
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 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 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 Phœbe 'mong 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 stands,)
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 heav'n to Rome I swear,
If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths,
She will a handmaid 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 spousal rites. [Exeunt.

Previous section

Next section