Titus Andronicus | Page 7

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 SATURNINUS and his Followers; TAMORA and her Sons;
AARON and Goths.]
TITUS. I am not bid to wait upon this bride.-- Titus, when wert thou
wont to walk alone, Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs?
[Re-enter MARCUS, 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.
[MARCUS and the Sons of TITUS kneel.]
MARCUS. Brother, for in that name doth nature plead,--
QUINTUS. Father, and in that name doth nature speak,--
TITUS. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed.
MARCUS. Renowned Titus, more than half my soul,--
LUCIUS. Dear father, soul and substance of us all,--
MARCUS. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter His noble nephew here in
virtue's nest, That died in honour and Lavinia's cause: Thou art a
Roman,--be not barbarous. The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax,
That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son Did graciously plead for his
funerals: Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy, Be barr'd his
entrance here.
TITUS. Rise, Marcus, rise: The dismall'st day is this that e'er I saw, To
be dishonour'd by my sons in Rome!-- Well, bury him, and bury me the
next.
[MUTIUS is put into the tomb.]
LUCIUS. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends, Till we
with trophies do adorn thy tomb.
ALL. [Kneeling.] No man shed tears for noble Mutius; He lives in fame
that died in virtue's cause.
MARCUS. My lord,--to step out of these dreary dumps,-- How comes
it that the subtle Queen of Goths Is of a sudden thus advanc'd in Rome?
TITUS. I know not, Marcus, but I know it is,-- Whether by device or no,
the heavens can tell: Is she not, then, beholding to the man That
brought her for this high good turn so far?
MARCUS. Yes, and will nobly him remunerate.

[Flourish. Re-enter, at one side, SATURNINUS, attended; TAMORA
DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, and AARON; at the other, BASSIANUS,
LAVINIA, and others.]
SATURNINUS. So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize: God give
you joy, sir, of your gallant bride!
BASSIANUS. And you of yours, my lord! I say no more, Nor wish no
less; and so I take my leave.
SATURNINUS. Traitor, if Rome have law or we have power, Thou
and thy faction shall repent this rape.
BASSIANUS. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own, My true
betrothed love, and now my wife? But let the laws of Rome determine
all; Meanwhile am I possess'd of that is mine.
SATURNINUS. 'Tis good, sir. You are very short with us; But if we
live we'll be as sharp with you.
BASSIANUS. My lord, what I have done, as best I may, Answer I
must, and shall do with my life. Only thus much I give your grace to
know,-- By all the duties that I owe to Rome, This noble gentleman,
Lord Titus here, Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd, That, in the
rescue of Lavinia, With his own hand did slay his youngest son, In zeal
to you, and highly mov'd to wrath To be controll'd in that he frankly
gave: Receive him then to favour, Saturnine, That hath express'd