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Mut. ROTHERS, help to convey her hence

away, And with my sword I'll keep this door secure.

Tit. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back. Mut. My lord, you pass not here.

Tit. What! villain-boy, Barr'ít me my way in Rome ?

(He kills him. Mut. Help, Lucius, help!

Luc. My lord, you are unjust, and more than so; In wrongful quarrel you have Nain your son.

Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine:
My sons would never so dishonour me.
Traitor, restore Lavinia to the Emperor.

Luc. Dead, if you will, but not to be his wife,
This is another's lawful promis'd love.

Sat. No, Titus, no, the Emperor needs her not; Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy flock; I'll trust by leisure him, that mocks me once: Thee never, nor thy traiterous haughty fons, Confederates all, thus to dishonour me. Was there none else in Rome to make a Stale of, But Saturnine? full well, Andronicus, Agree these deeds with that proud Brag of thine, That said'ft, I begg'd the Empire at thy hands. Tit. O monstrous ! what reproachful words are

these!
Sat. But go thy ways: go give that changing

piece,
To him that flourish'd for her with his sword;
A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy:
One fit to bandy with thy lawless fons
To ruffle in the Commonwealth of Rome.

Tit. These words are razors to my wounded heart.

Sat. And therefore, lovely Tamora, Queen of Goths, That, like the stately Phæbe 'mong her Nymphs,

Dost

Doft over-shine the gallant'st Dames of Rome,
If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice,
Behold I chuse thee, Tamora, for my bride,
And will create thee Emperess of Rome.
Speak, Queen of Goths, doft thou applaud my choice?
And hear I swear by all the Roman Gods,
(Sith priest and holy water are so near,
And tapers burn so bright, and every thing
In readiness for Hymeneus ftands)
I will not re-salute the streets of Rome,
Or climb my Palace, 'till from forth this place
I lead espous'd my bride along with me.

Tam. And here in sight of heav'n to Rome I swear,
If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths,
She will a handmaid be to his desires,
A loving nurse, a mother to his youth.

Sat. 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.

S CE NE V.

Manet Titus Andronicus.

Tit.
I

am not bid to wait upon this bride.

Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs? Enter Marcus Andronicus, Lucius, Quintus, and

Marcus. Marc. Oh, Titus, fee, oh, fee, what thou haft done! In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous fon.

Tit. 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 fons.

Luc.

Luc. But let us give him burial, as becomes ;
Give Mutius burial with our brethren.

Tit. Traitors, away! he rests not in this tomb ;
This monument five hundred years hath ftood,
Which I have sumptuously re-edified:
Here none but soldiers, and Rome's Servitors,
Repofe in fame: none basely flain in brawls.
Bury him where you can, he comes not here.

Mar. My lord, this is impiety in you;.
My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him:
He must be buried with his brethren.

[Titus's sons Speak Sons. And fall, or him we will accompany. Tit. And Iball? what villain was it spake that word?

(Titus's son speaks. Quin. He, that would vouch't in any place but

here. 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, ev'n thou haft struck upon my Crest,
And with these boys mine Honourthou hast wounded.
My foes I do repute you every one,
Só trouble me no more, but get you gone.

Luc. He is not himself, let us withdraw.
Quin. Not I, 'till Mutius' bones be buried.

[The brother and the fons kneel. Mar. Brother, for in that name doth nature plead. Quin. Father, and in that name doth nature speak. Tit. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed. Mar. Renowned Titus, more than half my soul,Luc. Dear father, foul and substance of us all,

Mar. 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 flew himself; and wife Laertes' fon

1

!

Did graciously plead for his funerals.
Let not young Mutius then, that was thy joy,
Be barr'd his entrance here.

Tit. Rise, Marcus, rise-
The dismall'At 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.

[They put him in the tomb. Luc. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy

friends,
'Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb !

(They all kneel and say;
No man shed tears for noble Mutius;
He lives in fame, that died in virtue's cause.

Mar. 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?

Tit. I know not Marcus; but, I know, it is :
If by device or no, the heav'ns can tell:
Is the not then beholden to the man,
That brought her for this high good Turn so far?
Yes; and will nobly him remunerate.

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SCENE VI.

0

Flourish. Re-enter the Emperor, Tamora, Chiron, and

Demetrius, with Aaron the Moor, at one door. At the other door, Ballianus and Lavinia with others.

Baffianus, you have play'd your prize ;

God give you joy, Sir, of your gallant bride. Bas. And you of yours, my lord; I say no more, Nor wish no less, and so I take

my

leave. Sat. Traitor, if Rome have law, or we have power, Thou and thy faction shall repent this Rape.

Bas. Rape call you it, my lord, to seize my own, My true-betrothed love, and now my wife?

But

life;

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But let the laws of Rome determine all;
Mean while I am posseft of that is mine.

Sat. 'Tis good, Sir; you are very short with us,
But, if we live, we'll be as sharp with you.

Baf. My lord, what I have done, as best I may,
Answer I must, and shall do with my
Only thus much I give your Grace to know,
By all the duties which 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 controul'd in that he frankly gave ;
Receive him then to favour, Saturnine;
That hath expreft himself in all his deeds,
A father and a friend to thee, and Rome.

Tit. Prince Basianus, leave to plead my deeds.
'Tis thou, and those, that have dishonour'd me :
Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge,
How I have lov'd and honourd Saturnine.

Tam. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora
Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine,
Then hear me speak, indifferently, for all ;
And at my suit (sweet) pardon what is paft.

Sat. What, Madam! be dishonour'd openly,
And basely put it up without revenge?
Tam. Not so, my lord; the Gods of Rome fore--

fend,
I should be author to dishonour you!
But, on mine honour dare I undertake
For good lord Titus' innocence in all;
Whose fury, not diffembled, speaks his griefs :
Then, at my suit, look graciously on him,
Lose not so noble a friend on vain Suppose,
Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart.-

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