Thee neuer: nor thy Trayterous haughty sonnes,
Confederates all, thus to dishonour me.
Was none in Rome to make a stale
But Saturnine? Full well Andronicus
Agree these Deeds, with that proud bragge of thine,
That said'st, I beg'd the Empire at thy hands
Tit. O monstrous, what reproachfull words are these?
Sat. But goe thy wayes, goe giue that changing peece,
To him that flourisht for her with his Sword:
A Valliant sonne in-law thou shalt enioy:
One, fit to bandy with thy lawlesse Sonnes,
To ruffle in the Common-wealth of Rome
Tit. These words are Razors to my wounded hart
Sat. And therefore louely Tamora Queene of Gothes,
That like the stately Thebe mong'st her Nimphs
Dost ouer-shine the Gallant'st Dames of Rome,
If thou be pleas'd with this my sodaine choyse,
Behold I choose thee Tamora for my Bride,
And will Create thee Empresse of Rome.
Speake Queene of Goths dost thou applau'd my choyse?
And heere I sweare by all the Romaine Gods,
Sith Priest and Holy-water are so neere,
And Tapers burne so bright, and euery thing
In readines for Hymeneus stand,
I will not resalute the streets of Rome,
Or clime my Pallace, till from forth this place,
I leade espous'd my Bride along with me
Tamo. And heere in sight of heauen to Rome I sweare,
If Saturnine aduance the Queen of Gothes,
Shee will a Hand-maid be to his desires,
A louing Nurse, a Mother to his youth
Satur. Ascend Faire Queene,
Panthean Lords, accompany
Your Noble Emperour and his louely Bride,
Sent by the heauens for Prince Saturnine,
Whose wisedome hath her Fortune Conquered,
There shall we Consummate our Spousall rites.
Exeunt. omnes.
Tit. I am not bid to waite vpon this Bride:
Titus when wer't thou wont to walke alone,
Dishonoured thus and Challenged of wrongs?
Enter Marcus and Titus Sonnes.
Mar. O Titus see! O see what thou hast done!
In a bad quarrell, slaine a Vertuous sonne
Tit. No foolish Tribune, no: No sonne of mine,
Nor thou, nor these Confedrates in the deed,
That hath dishonoured all our Family,
Vnworthy brother, and vnworthy Sonnes
Luci. But let vs giue him buriall as becomes:
Giue Mutius buriall with our Bretheren
Tit. Traytors away, he rest's not in this Tombe:
This Monument fiue hundreth yeares hath stood,
Which I haue Sumptuously re-edified.
Heere none but Souldiers, and Romes Seruitors,
Repose in Fame: None basely slaine in braules,
Bury him where you can, he comes not heere
Mar. My Lord this is impiety in you,
My Nephew Mutius deeds do plead for him,
He must be buried with his bretheren
Titus two Sonnes speakes. And shall, or him we will accompany
Ti. And shall! What villaine was it spake that word?
Titus sonne speakes. He that would vouch'd it in any place but
heere
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, Euen thou hast stroke vpon my Crest,
And with these Boyes mine Honour thou hast wounded,
My foes I doe repute you euery one.
So trouble me no more, but get you gone
1. Sonne. He is not himselfe, let vs withdraw
2. Sonne. Not I tell Mutius bones be buried.
The Brother and the sonnes kneele.
Mar. Brother, for in that name doth nature plea'd
2. Sonne. Father, and in that name doth nature speake
Tit. Speake thou no more if all the rest will speede
Mar. Renowned Titus more then halfe my soule
Luc. Deare Father, soule and substance of vs all
Mar. Suffer thy brother Marcus to interre
His Noble Nephew heere in vertues nest,
That died in Honour and Lauinia's cause.
Thou art a Romaine, be not barbarous:
The Greekes vpon aduise did bury Aiax
That slew himselfe: And Laertes sonne,
Did graciously plead for his Funerals:
Let not young Mutius then that was thy ioy,
Be bar'd his entrance heere
Tit. Rise Marcus, rise,
The dismall'st day is this that ere I saw,
To be dishonored by my Sonnes in Rome:
Well, bury him, and bury me the next.
They put him in the Tombe.
Luc. There lie thy bones sweet Mutius with thy friends.
Till we with Trophees do adorne thy Tombe.
They all kneele and say.
No man shed teares for Noble Mutius,
He liues in Fame, that di'd in vertues cause.
Enter.
Mar. My Lord to step out of these sudden dumps,
How comes it that the subtile Queene of Gothes,
Is of a sodaine thus aduanc'd in Rome?
Ti. I know not Marcus: but I know it is,
(Whether by deuise or no) the heauens can tell,
Is she not then beholding to the man,
That brought her for this high good turne so farre?
Yes, and will Nobly him remunerate.
Flourish. Enter the Emperor, Tamora, and