Prefents well worthy Rome's imperial Lord.
Receive them then, the Tribute that i owe,
Mine Honour's Enfigns humbled at thy feet.
Sat. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life!
How proud I am of thee, and of thy gifts,
Rome thall 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 Tamora.
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 anew.
-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 usage every way.

Reft on my word, and let not difcontent

Daunt all your hopes; Madam, who 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
Warrants these words in princely courtesy.

Sat. Thanks, fweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go.
Ranfomlefs here we fet our prifoners free;
Proclaim our honours, Lords, with trump and drum.
Baf. Lord Titus, by your Leave, this Maid is mine.

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

To do myself this Reafon and this Right.

[The Emperor courts Tamora in dumb fhew.
Mar. Suum cuique is our Roman juftice:
This Prince in justice seizeth 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.

Sat. Surpriz'd! by whom?

Baf. By him, that justly 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 fword I'll keep this door fecure.

Tit. Follow, my Lord, and I'll foon bring her back. Mut. My Lord, you pass not here—

Tit. What! villain-boy,

Barr'ft me my way in Rome?

Mut. Help, Lucius, help!

[Titus kills Mutius.

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

In wrongful quarrel you have flain your fon.

Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any fons of mine;
My fons would never fo difhonour 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.

Sat. No, Titus, no, the Emperor needs her not,
Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock,
I'll truft by leisure him, that mocks me once;
Thee never, nor thy traiterous haughty fons,
Confederates all, thus to difhonour me.

Was there none elfe in Rome to make a Stale of,
But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus,

Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine,
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 flourish'd for her with his fword;

6-changing piece,] Spoken of Lavin a. Piece was then, as

VOL. VI.

it is now, ufed perfonally as a word of contempt.

U

A

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 Goth,
That, like the ftately Phebe '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 prieft and holy water are fo near,

And tapers burn fo bright, and every thing
In readiness for Hymen.us ftands,)

I will not re-falute the ftreets of Rome,
Or climb my Palace, 'till trom forth this place
I lead cfpous'd my bride along with me.

Tam. And here in fight of heav'n to Rome I fwear,
If Saturni e 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, ac company

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 spoufal rites. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Manet Titus Andronicus.

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

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,

Nor 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 ftood,
Which I have fumptuously re-edified;

Here none but foldiers, 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' deeds do plead for him:
He must be buried with his brethren.

[Titus's fons Speak. Sons. And fhall, or him we will accompany. Tit. And fhall? what villain was it fpoke that word? [Titus's fen Speaks.

Quin. He, that would vouch't in any place but here. Tit. What, would you bury him in my defpight? Mar. No, noble Titus; but intreat of thee To pardon Mutius, and to bury tim.

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.
Lur. He is not 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 speak.

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 inter His noble Nephew here in virtue's nest, 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 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'st day is this, that e'er I faw,
To be difhonour'd by my fons in Rome.
Well, bury him, and bury me the next.

[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 caufe.

Mar. My Lord, to step out of thefe dreary dumps, How comes it, that the fubtle 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 fhe not then beholden to the man,

That brought her for this high good Turn fo far? Yes; and will nobly him remunerate.

SCENE