My word and promise to the emperor
That you will be more mild and tractable.—
And fear not, lords,—and you, Lavinia,—
By my advice, all humbled on your knees,
You shall ask pardon of his majesty.
LUCIUS.
We do; and vow to heaven and to his highness
That what we did was mildly as we might,
Tendering our sister’s honour and our own.
MARCUS.
That on mine honour here do I protest.
SATURNINUS.
Away, and talk not; trouble us no more.
TAMORA.
Nay, nay, sweet emperor, we must all be friends:
The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace;
I will not be denied: sweet heart, look back.
SATURNINUS.
Marcus, for thy sake, and thy brother’s here,
And at my lovely Tamora’s entreats,
I do remit these young men’s heinous faults:
Stand up.—
Lavinia, though you left me like a churl,
I found a friend; and sure as death I swore
I would not part a bachelor from the priest.
Come, if the emperor’s court can feast two brides,
You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends.
This day shall be a love-day, Tamora.
TITUS.
Tomorrow, an it please your majesty
To hunt the panther and the hart with me,
With horn and hound we’ll give your grace bonjour.
SATURNINUS.
Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too.
[Exeunt.]
ACT II.
SCENE I. Rome. Before the palace.
[Enter AARON.]
AARON.
Now climbeth Tamora Olympus’ top,
Safe out of fortune’s shot; and sits aloft,
Secure of thunder’s crack or lightning’s flash;
Advanc’d above pale envy’s threatening reach.
As when the golden sun salutes the morn,
And, having gilt the ocean with his beams,
Gallops the zodiac in his glistening coach,
And overlooks the highest-peering hill;
So Tamora:
Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait,
And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown.
Then, Aaron, arm thy heart and fit thy thoughts
To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress,
And mount her pitch, whom thou in triumph long
Hast prisoner held, fett’red in amorous chains,
And faster bound to Aaron’s charming eyes
Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus.
Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts!
I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold,
To wait upon this new-made empress.
To wait, said I? to wanton with this queen,
This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph,
This siren, that will charm Rome’s Saturnine,
And see his shipwreck and his commonweal’s.—
Holla! what storm is this?
[Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON braving.]
DEMETRIUS.
Chiron, thy years wants wit, thy wit wants edge
And manners, to intrude where I am grac’d;
And may, for aught thou know’st, affected be.
CHIRON.
Demetrius, thou dost overween in all;
And so in this, to bear me down with braves.
‘Tis not the difference of a year or two
Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate:
I am as able and as fit as thou
To serve and to deserve my mistress’ grace;
And that my sword upon thee shall approve,
And plead my passions for Lavinia’s love.
AARON.
[Aside.] Clubs, clubs! These lovers will not keep the peace.
DEMETRIUS.
Why, boy, although our mother, unadvis’d,
Gave you a dancing-rapier by your side,
Are you so desperate grown to threat your friends?
Go to; have your lath glu’d within your sheath
Till you know better how to handle it.
CHIRON.
Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I have,
Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare.
DEMETRIUS.
Ay, boy, grow ye so brave?
[They draw.]
AARON.
[Coming forward.] Why, how now, lords!
So near the emperor’s palace dare ye draw,
And maintain such a quarrel openly?
Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge:
I would not for a million of gold
The cause were known to them it most concerns;
Nor would your noble mother for much more
Be so dishonour’d in the court of Rome.
For shame, put up.
DEMETRIUS.
Not I, till I have sheath’d
My rapier in his bosom, and withal
Thrust those reproachful speeches down his throat
That he hath breath’d in my dishonour here.
CHIRON.
For that I am prepar’d and full resolv’d,—
Foul-spoken coward, that thunder’st with thy tongue,
And with thy weapon nothing dar’st perform.
AARON.
Away, I say!—
Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore,
This pretty brabble will undo us all.—
Why, lords, and think you not how dangerous
It is to jet upon a prince’s right?
What, is Lavinia then become so loose,
Or Bassianus so degenerate,
That for her love such quarrels may be broach’d
Without controlment, justice, or revenge?
Young lords, beware! and should the empress know
This discord’s ground, the music would not please.
CHIRON.