Shakespeare's First Folio Part 481

Luc. My Lord you are vniust, and more then so, In wrongfull quarrell, you haue slaine your son

t.i.t. Nor thou, nor he are any sonnes of mine, My sonnes would neuer so dishonour me.

Traytor restore Lauinia to the Emperour

Luc. Dead if you will, but not to be his wife, That is anothers lawfull promist Loue.

Enter aloft the Emperour with Tamora and her two sonnes, and Aaron the Moore.

Empe. No t.i.tus, no, the Emperour needs her not, Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stocke: Ile trust by Leisure him that mocks me once.

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

t.i.t. 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

t.i.t. 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 G.o.ds, 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 n.o.ble 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.

t.i.t. I am not bid to waite vpon this Bride: t.i.tus when wer't thou wont to walke alone, Dishonoured thus and Challenged of wrongs?

Enter Marcus and t.i.tus Sonnes.

Mar. O t.i.tus see! O see what thou hast done!

In a bad quarrell, slaine a Vertuous sonne

t.i.t. 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

t.i.t. 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

t.i.tus two Sonnes speakes. And shall, or him we will accompany

Ti. And shall! What villaine was it spake that word?

t.i.tus sonne speakes. He that would vouch'd it in any place but heere

t.i.t. What would you bury him in my despight?

Mar. No n.o.ble t.i.tus, but intreat of thee, To pardon Mutius, and to bury him

t.i.t. 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

t.i.t. Speake thou no more if all the rest will speede

Mar. Renowned t.i.tus more then halfe my soule

Luc. Deare Father, soule and substance of vs all

Mar. Suffer thy brother Marcus to interre His n.o.ble 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

t.i.t. 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 n.o.ble 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 n.o.bly him remunerate.

Flourish.

Enter the Emperor, Tamora, and her two sons, with the Moore at one doore.

Enter at the other doore Ba.s.sia.n.u.s and Lauinia with others.

Sat. So Ba.s.sia.n.u.s, you haue plaid your prize, G.o.d giue you ioy sir of your Gallant Bride

Ba.s.s. And you of yours my Lord: I say no more, Nor wish no lesse, and so I take my leaue

Sat. Traytor, if Rome haue law, or we haue power, Thou and thy Faction shall repent this Rape

Ba.s.s. Rape call you it my Lord, to cease my owne, My true betrothed Loue, and now my wife?