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MUTIUS. Brothers, help to convey her hence away, |
And with my sword I'll keep this door safe. |
Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS |
TITUS. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back. |
MUTIUS. My lord, you pass not here. |
TITUS. What, villain boy! |
Bar'st me my way in Rome? |
MUTIUS. Help, Lucius, help! |
TITUS kills him. During the fray, exeunt SATURNINUS, |
TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, and AARON |
Re-enter Lucius |
LUCIUS. My lord, you are unjust, and more than so: |
In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. |
TITUS. Nor thou nor he are any sons of mine; |
My sons would never so dishonour me. |
Re-enter aloft the EMPEROR |
with TAMORA and her two Sons, and AARON the Moor |
Traitor, restore Lavinia to the Emperor. |
LUCIUS. Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife, |
That is another's lawful promis'd love. Exit |
SATURNINUS. 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 traitorous haughty sons, |
Confederates all thus to dishonour me. |
Was there none else in Rome to make a stale |
But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus, |
Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine |
That saidst I begg'd the empire at thy hands. |
TITUS. O monstrous! What reproachful words are these? |
SATURNINUS. 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. |
TITUS. These words are razors to my wounded heart. |
SATURNINUS. And therefore, lovely Tamora, Queen of Goths, |
That, like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs, |
Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, |
If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice, |
Behold, I choose 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 everything |
In readiness for Hymenaeus stand- |
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. |
TAMORA. And here in sight of heaven 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. |
SATURNINUS. 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 all but TITUS |
TITUS. I am not bid to wait upon this bride. |
TITUS, when wert thou wont to walk alone, |
Dishonoured thus, and challenged of wrongs? |
Re-enter MARCUS, |
and TITUS' SONS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS |
MARCUS. O Titus, see, O, see what thou hast done! |
In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. |
TITUS. No, foolish Tribune, no; no son of mine- |
Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed |
That hath dishonoured all our family; |
Unworthy brother and unworthy sons! |
LUCIUS. But let us give him burial, as becomes; |
Give Mutius burial with our bretheren. |
TITUS. Traitors, away! He rests not in this tomb. |
This monument five hundred years hath stood, |
Which I have sumptuously re-edified; |
Here none but soldiers and Rome's servitors |
Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls. |
Bury him where you can, he comes not here. |
MARCUS. My lord, this is impiety in you. |
My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him; |
He must be buried with his bretheren. |
QUINTUS & MARTIUS. And shall, or him we will accompany. |
TITUS. 'And shall!' What villain was it spake that word? |
QUINTUS. He that would vouch it in any place but here. |
TITUS. What, would you bury him in my despite? |
MARCUS. No, noble Titus, but entreat of thee |
To pardon Mutius and to bury him. |
TITUS. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest, |
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. |
MARTIUS. He is not with himself; let us withdraw. |
QUINTUS. Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried. |
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