And buried one and twenty valiant Sons,
Knighted in Field, flain 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, canft 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 fhipt to Hell,
Rather than rob me of the People Hearts.

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

Tit. Content thee Prince, I will reftore to thee
The Peoples Hearts, and wean them from themfelves.
Baf. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee,

But honour thee, and will do 'till I die :
My Faction, if thou ftrengthen with thy Friends,
I will moft 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 beftow them friendly on Andronicus?
Mar. To gratifie the good Andronicus,
And gratulate his fafe Return to Rome,
The People will accept whom he admits.

Tit. Tribunes, I thank you, and this fuit I make,
That you create your Emperor's eldest Son,
Lord Saturnine; whofe Virtues will, I hope,
Reflect on Rome, as Titan's Rays on Earth,
And ripen Juftice in this Common-weal:
Then if you will Ele& by my Advice,
Crown him, and fay, Long live our Emperor.
Mar. With Voices and Applause of every fort,
Patricians and Plebeians, we create

Lord Saturninus, Rome's great Emperor;

And fay, Long live our Emperor Saturnine.

[A long Flourish 'till they come down.

Sat.

Sat. Titus Andronicus, for thy Favours done,
To us in our Election this Day,

I give thee Thanks in part of thy Deferts,
And will with Deeds requite thy gentleness:
And for an Onft, Titus, to advance
Thy Name, and honourable Family,
Lavinia will I make my Emperess,

Rome's Royal Miftrefs, Mistress of my Heart,
And in the facred Pantheon her Efpouse:
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 fight of Rome, to Saturninus,
King and Commander of our Common-weal,
The wide World's Emperor, do I Confecrate
My Sword, my Chariot and my Prifoners,
Prefents well worthy Rome's Imperial Lord.
Receive them then, the Tribute that I owe,
Mine Honours Enfigns humbled at thy Feet.
Sat. Thanks, noble Titus, Father of my Life.
How proud I am of thee, and of thy Gifts,
Rome hall record, and when I do forget
Tre leaft of these unspeakable Deserts,
Romans forget your Fealty to me.

Tit. Now, Madam, are you Prifoner to an Emperor,
To him that for your Honour and your State
Will ufe you nobly, and your Followers.

Sat. A goodly Lady, truft me, of the Hue,
That I would chufe, were I to chufe a-new:
Clear up, fair Queen, that cloudy Countenance,
Tho'chance of War hath wrought this change of cheer,
Thou com'ft not to be made a fcorn in Rome:
Princely fhall be thy Ufage every way.
Reft 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 difpleas'd with this?

Lav. Not I, my Lord, fith true Nobility
Warrant thefe Words in Princely Courtefie.
Sat. Thanks, fweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go.
Ranfomlefs here we fet our Prifoners free,

Proclaim

Proclaim our Honours, Lords, with Trumpet and Drum. Baf. Lord Tuus, by your leave this Maid is mine.

[Seizing Lavinia. Tit. How, Sir? Are you in earneft then, my Lord? Baf. Ay, noble Titus; and refolv'd withal,

To do my felf this Reafon and this Right.

[The Emperor Courts Tamora in dumb jhew.

Mar. Suum cuique, is our Roman Justice:
This Prince in Juftice feizeth but his own.
Luc. And that he will, and fhall, if Lucius live.
Tit. Traitors, avant! where is the Emperor's Guard?
Treafon, my Lord; Lavinia is furpriz'd.

Sat. Surpriz'd! by whom?

Baf. By him that juftiy may

Bear his Betroth'd from all the World away.

[Exit Baffianus 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 foon bring her back.
Mut. My Lord, you pafs not here.

Tit. What Villain, Boy, barr'ft me my way in Rome? Mut. Help, Lucius, help.

[He kills him.

Luc. 'My Lord, you are unjuft, and more than fo,

In wrongful Quarrel you have flain your Son.

Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any Sons of mine.
My Sons would never fo Dishonour me.
Traitor, reftore Lavinia 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 truft by Leifure him that mocks me once,
Thee never, nor thy Traiterous haughty Sons,
Confederates all, thus to Dishonour me.
Was there none elfe in Rome to make a Stale of
But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus,

Agree thefe Deeds, with that proud Brag of thine,
That faid'ft, I beg'd the Empire at thy Hands.

Tit. O Monftrous! what reproachful Words are thefe?
Sat. But go thy ways, go give that changing Piece,

To him that flourish'd for her with his Sword;
A Viant Son-in-Law thou fhalt enjoy:

One

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 ftately Phabe 'mongft 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
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 Hymeneus ftand,

Choice?

I will not re-falute the Streets of Rome,
Or 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 Hand-maid be to his Defires,
A loving Nurfe, 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;
Whole Wisdom hath her Fortune Conquered,
There fhall we confummate our Sponfal Rites.
Tit. I am not bid to wait upon this Bride.
Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone,
Dishonoured thus, and challenged of Wrongs?

[Exeunt.

Enter Marcus Andronicus, Lucius, Quintus, and Marcus. Mar. O Titus fee, O fee what thou haft done!

In a bad Quarrel flain a Virtuous Son.

Tit. No, foolish Tribune, no: No Son of mine, Nor thou, nor thefe Confederates in the Deed, That bath 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 refts not in this Tomb;
This Monument five hundred Years hath ftood,
Which I have sumptuously re-edified:

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.

[Titus's Sons Speak.

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 Despight?
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 speak.
Tit. Speak thou no more, if all the reft will speed.
Mar. Renowned Titus, more than half my Soul.
Luc. Dear Father, Soul and Subftance 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 Difhonoured by my Sons in Rome:

Well,