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That faid'ft, I begg'd the empire at thy hands.

Tit. O monftrous! what reproachful words are these? Sat. But go thy ways; go give that changing piece, To him that flourifh'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. Thefe words are razors to my wounded heart. Sat. And therefore, lovely Tamora Queen of Goths, That, like the stately Phoebe 'mong her nymphs, Doft over-fhine the gallant'ft dames of Rome If thou be pleas'd with this my fudden choice, Behold I chufe thee, Tamora, for my bride, And will create thee Emperefs of Rome. Speak, Queen of Goths, doft thou applaud my choice? And here I fwear by all the Roman Gods, (Sith priest and holy water are fo near, And tapers burn fo bright, and every thing In readiness for Hymenæus ftands,)

I will not re-falute the streets of Rome,

Of climb my palace, 'till from forth this place
I lead efpous'd my bride along with me.

Tam. And here in fight of heav'n to Rome I fwear,

If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths,
She will a handmaid be to his defires,
A loving nurse, a mother to his youth.

Sat. Afcend, fair Queen, Pantheon; Lords, accompany
Your noble Emperor, and his lovely bride,
Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine,
Whofe wifdom hath her fortune conquered:
There fhall we confummate our fpoufal rites.

SCENE V. Manet Titus Andronieus.
Tit. I 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.
Mar. 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, Ner thou, nor thefe confederates in the deed,



That hath difhonour'd all our family;
Unworthy brother, and unworthy fons!
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 stood,
Which I have fumptuously re-edified:
Here none but foldiers, and Rome's fervitors
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' 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 fpake that word?
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 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 well himself, let us withdraw.
Quin. Not I, 'till Mutius' bones be buried.

[The brother and the fons kneel. Mar. Brother, for in that name doth nature plead,Quin. Father, and in that name doth nature fpeak,Tit. Speak thou no more, if all the reft will speed. Mar. Renowned Titus, more than half my foul! Luc. Dear father, foul and fubftance of us all Mar. Suffer thy brother Marcus to interr His noble nephew here in virtue's 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 himfelf; and wife Laertes' fon 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 dishonour'd by my fons 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!

[They all kneel, and say,

No man fhed tears for noble Mutius!
He lives in fame, that died in virtue's cause.

Mar. My Lord, to step out of thefe dreary dumps,
How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths
Is of a fudden thus advanc'd in Rome ?

Tit. I know not, Marcus; but I know it is:
If by device or no, the heav'ns can tell :
Is the not then beholden to the man,

That brought her for this high good turn fo far?

Flourish. Enter the Emperor, Tamora, Chiron, and De-
metrius, with the Moor at one door. At the other door
Baffianus and Lavinia ruith 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 fhort with us,
But if we live, we'll be as fharp 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 and in honour wrong'd,
That in the refcue of Lavinia,

With his own hand did slay his youngest fon,
In zeal to you, and highly mov'd to wrath,
To be controul'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 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 thofe princely eyes of thine, Then hear me fpeak, indifferently, for all; And at my fuit (fweet) pardon what is paft.

Sat. What, Madam, be dishonour'd openly, And bafely put it up without revenge?

Tam. Not fo, my Lord; the Gods of Rome fore-fend, I fhould be author to difhonour you: But, on mine honour dare I undertake For good Lord Titus' innocence in all; Whofe fury not diffembled speaks his griefs: Then at my fuit look gracioufly on him, Lofe not fo noble a friend on vain fuppofe, Nor with four looks afflict his gentle heart. My Lord, be rul'd by me, be won at laft, Diffemble all your griefs and difcontents: You are but newly planted in your throne; Left then the people and patricians too Upon a juft furvey take Titus' part, And fo fupplant us for ingratitude, Which Rome reputes to be a heinous fin, Yield at intreats, and then let me alone; I'll find a day to maffacre them all, And rafe their faction, and their family, The cruel father, and his traiterous fons, To whom I fued for my dear fon'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-come, Andronicus-[Aloud. Take up this good old man, and chear the heart,

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That dies in tempeft of thy angry frown.

Sat. Rife, Titus, rife, my Empress hath prevail'à,
Tit. I thank your Majefty, and her; my Lord,
Thefe words, these looks, infufe new life in me.
Tam. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome,
A Roman now adopted nappily:
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 Baffianus, I have paft
My word and promife 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 fhall afk pardon of his Majefty.

Luc. We do, and vow to heaven, and to his Highness,
That what we did was mildly, as we might,
Tend'ring our fifter'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, fweet Emperor, we must all be friends. The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace, I will not be denied, fweet-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 men's heinous faults.
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 priest.
Come, if the Emperor's court can feaft two brides,
You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends;
This day fhall be a love-day, Tamora.

Tit. To-morrow, an 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 fo, Titus, and gramercy too!



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