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But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus,
Tit. These words are razors to my wounded heart. Sat. And therefore, lovely Tamora, queen of
Goths,That, like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs, Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice, Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride, And will create thee emperess of Rome. Speak, queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice? And here 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 stand, 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 heaven, to Rome I Sat. Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon :-Lords, ac
swear, If Satırnine advance the queen of Goths, She will a handmaid be to his desires, A loving nurse, a mother to his youth.
5 A ruffler was a bully.
company 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 ; TA
MORA, and her Sons ; AARON and Goths. Tit. I am not bidó 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 MAR
Mar. O, Titus, see, O, see, what thou hast done!
Tit. No, foolish tribune, no; no son 'of mine,-
Luc. But let us give him burial, as becomes ;
Tit. Traitors, away! he rests not in this tomb.
Mar. My lord, this is impiety in you :
Quin. Mart. And shall, or him we will accompany. Tit. And shall ? What villain was it spoke that
word ? Quin. He that would vouch't in any place but here. Tit. What, would you bury him in my despite ?
Mar. No, noble Titus ; but entreat of thee To pardon Mutius, and to bury him. Tit. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my
erest, 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.
Mart. He is not with himself; let us withdraw. Quin. Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried.
[Marcus and the Sons of Titus 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, soul and substance of us all,
Mar. Suffer thy brother Marcus to interr
Rise, Marcus, rise :-
Well, bury him, and bury me the next.
[Mutius is put into the Tomb. Luc. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy
friends, Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb!
All. 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; Whether by device, or no, the heavens can tell :. Is she not then beholden to the man That brought her for this high good turn so far? Yes, and will nobly him remunerate.
Flourish. Re-enter, at one side, SATURNINUS, at
tended; TAMORA, CHIRON, DEMETRIUS, and AARON : At the Other, BASSIANUS, LAVINIA, and Others.
Sat. So Bassianus, you have play'd your prize;
say no more, Nor wish no less; and so I take
leave. Sat. Traitor, if Rome have law, or we have power, Thou and thy faction shall repent
rape. Bas. 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; Mean while I am possess’d 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.
Bas. My lord, what I have done, as best I may, Answer I must, and shall do with
Tit. Prince Bassianus, 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 honour'd Saturnine !
Tam. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora
Sat. What! madam ! be dishonour'd openly,
Tam. Not so, my lord; The gods of Rome forefend, I should be author to dishonour you ! But, on mine honour, dare I undertake For good lord Titus' innocence in all, Whose fury, not dissembled, 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.-