Titus Andronicus | Page 4

honour's spoils, Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, Renowned
Titus, flourishing in arms. Let us entreat,--by honour of his name
Whom worthily you would have now succeed, And in the Capitol and
senate's right, Whom you pretend to honour and adore,-- That you
withdraw you and abate your strength; Dismiss your followers, and, as
suitors should, Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness.
SATURNINUS. How fair the tribune speaks to calm my thoughts!
BASSIANUS. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy In thy uprightness and
integrity, And so I love and honour thee and thine, Thy noble brother
Titus and his sons, And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all,
Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament, That I will here dismiss my
loving friends; And to my fortunes and the people's favour Commit my

cause in balance to be weigh'd.
[Exeunt the Followers of BASSIANUS.]
SATURNINUS. Friends, that have been thus forward in my right, I
thank you all and here dismiss you all; And to the love and favour of
my country Commit myself, my person, and the cause.
[Exeunt the Followers of SATURNINUS.]
Rome, be as just and gracious unto me As I am confident and kind to
thee.-- Open the gates, tribunes, and let me in.
BASSIANUS. Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor.
[Flourish. Exeunt; SATURNINUS and BASSIANUS go up into the
Capitol.]
[Enter a Captain.]
CAPTAIN. Romans, make way. The good Andronicus, Patron of virtue,
Rome's best champion, Successful in the battles that he fights, With
honour and with fortune is return'd From where he circumscribed with
his sword And brought to yoke the enemies of Rome.
[Flourish of trumpets, &c. Enter MARTIUS and MUTIUS; after them
two Men bearing a coffin covered with black; then LUCIUS and
QUINTUS. After them TITUS ANDRONICUS; and then TAMORA,
with ALARBUS, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, AARON, and other Goths,
prisoners; soldiers and People following. The bearers set down the
coffin, and TITUS speaks.]
TITUS. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds! Lo, as the bark
that hath discharg'd her fraught Returns with precious lading to the bay
From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage, Cometh Andronicus,
bound with laurel boughs, To re-salute his country with his tears,--
Tears of true joy for his return to Rome.-- Thou great defender of this
Capitol, Stand gracious to the rites that we intend!-- Romans, of five
and twenty valiant sons, Half of the number that King Priam had,
Behold the poor remains, alive and dead! These that survive let Rome
reward with love; These that I bring unto their latest home, With burial
amongst their ancestors; Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my
sword. Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own, Why suffer'st thou thy
sons, unburied yet, To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx?-- Make
way to lay them by their brethren.--
[The tomb is opened.]
There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, And sleep in peace, slain in

your country's wars! O sacred receptacle of my joys, Sweet cell of
virtue and nobility, How many sons of mine hast thou in store, That
thou wilt never render to me more!
LUCIUS. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths, That we may hew
his limbs, and on a pile Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh Before this
earthy prison of their bones; That so the shadows be not unappeas'd,
Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth.
TITUS. I give him you,--the noblest that survives, The eldest son of
this distressed queen.
TAMORA. Stay, Roman brethen!--Gracious conqueror, Victorious
Titus, rue the tears I shed, 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 slaughter'd in the streets For valiant doings in their country's cause?
O, if to fight for king and common weal 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, To 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 LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and MUTIUS with
ALARBUS.]
TAMORA. O cruel, irreligious piety!
CHIRON. Was ever