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A mother's tears in passion for her son; |
And if thy sons were ever dear to thee, |
O, think my son to be as dear to me! |
Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome |
To beautify thy triumphs, and return |
Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke; |
But must my sons be slaughtered in the streets |
For valiant doings in their country's cause? |
O, if to fight for king and commonweal |
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. |
TITUS. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me. |
These are their brethren, whom your Goths beheld |
Alive and dead; and for their brethren slain |
Religiously they ask a sacrifice. |
To this your son is mark'd, and die he must |
T' appease their groaning shadows that are gone. |
LUCIUS. 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 TITUS' SONS, with ALARBUS |
TAMORA. O cruel, irreligious piety! |
CHIRON. Was never Scythia half so barbarous! |
DEMETRIUS. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome. |
Alarbus goes to rest, and we survive |
To tremble under Titus' threat'ning look. |
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 the bloody wrongs upon her foes. |
Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and |
MUTIUS, the sons of ANDRONICUS, with their swords bloody |
LUCIUS. See, lord and father, how we have perform'd |
Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd, |
And entrails 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. |
TITUS. Let it be so, and let Andronicus |
Make this his latest farewell to their souls. |
[Sound trumpets and lay the coffin 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 drugs, here are no storms, |
No noise, but silence and eternal sleep. |
In peace and honour rest you here, my sons! |
Enter LAVINIA |
LAVINIA. 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 brethren's obsequies; |
And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy |
Shed on this earth for thy return to Rome. |
O, bless me here with thy victorious hand, |
Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud! |
TITUS. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserv'd |
The cordial of mine age to glad my heart! |
Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days, |
And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise! |
Enter, above, MARCUS ANDRONICUS and TRIBUNES; |
re-enter SATURNINUS, BASSIANUS, and attendants |
MARCUS. Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother, |
Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome! |
TITUS. Thanks, gentle Tribune, noble brother Marcus. |
MARCUS. 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 par]iament 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. |
TITUS. 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 chosen with proclamations to-day, |
To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life, |
And set abroad new business for you all? |
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