Enter aloft the Emperour with Tamora and her two sonnes, and Aaron the Moore.
Empe. No Titus, 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
Tit. 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
Tit. 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 Gods,
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 Noble 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.
Tit. I am not bid to waite vpon this Bride:
Titus when wer't thou wont to walke alone,
Dishonoured thus and Challenged of wrongs?
Enter Marcus and Titus Sonnes.
Mar. O Titus see! O see what thou hast done!
In a bad quarrell, slaine a Vertuous sonne
Tit. 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
Tit. 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
Titus two Sonnes speakes. And shall, or him we will accompany
Ti. And shall! What villaine was it spake that word?
Titus sonne speakes. He that would vouch'd it in any place but
heere
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, 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
Tit. Speake thou no more if all the rest will speede
Mar. Renowned Titus more then halfe my soule
Luc. Deare Father, soule and substance of vs all
Mar. Suffer thy brother Marcus to interre
His Noble 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
Tit. 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 Noble 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 Nobly him remunerate.
Flourish. Enter the Emperor, Tamora, and her two sons, with the Moore at one doore.
Enter at the other doore Bassianus and Lauinia with others.
Sat. So Bassianus, you haue plaid your prize,
God giue you ioy sir of your Gallant Bride
Bass. 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
Bass. Rape call you it my Lord, to cease my owne,
My true betrothed Loue, and now my wife?
But let the lawes of Rome determine all,
Meane while I am possest of that is mine
Sat. 'Tis good sir: you are very short with vs,
But if we liue, weele be as sharpe with you
Bass. My Lord, what I haue done as best I may,
Answere I must, and shall do with my life,
Onely thus much I giue your Grace to know,
By all the duties that I owe to Rome,
This Noble Gentleman Lord Titus heere,
Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd,
That in the rescue of Lauinia,
With his owne hand did slay his youngest Son,
In zeale to you, and highly mou'd to wrath.
To be controul'd in that he frankly gaue:
Receiue him then to fauour Saturnine,
That hath expre'st himselfe in all his deeds,
A Father and a friend to thee, and Rome
Tit. Prince Bassianus leaue to plead my Deeds,
'Tis thou, and those, that haue dishonoured me,
Rome and the righteous heauens be my iudge,
How I haue lou'd and Honour'd Saturnine
Tam. My worthy Lord if euer Tamora,
Were gracious in those Princely eyes of thine,
Then heare me speake indifferently for all:
And at my sute (sweet) pardon what is past
Satu. What Madam, be dishonoured openly,
And basely put it vp without reuenge?
Tam. Not so my Lord,
The Gods of Rome fore-fend,
I should be Authour to dishonour you.
But on mine honour dare, I vndertake
For good Lord Titus innocence in all:
Whose fury not dissembled speakes his griefes:
Then at my sute looke graciously on him,
Loose not so noble a friend on vaine suppose,
Nor with sowre lookes afflict his gentle heart.
My Lord, be rul'd by me, be wonne at last,
Dissemble all your griefes and discontents,
You are but newly planted in your Throne,
Least then the people, and Patricians too,
Vpon a iust suruey take Titus part,
And so supplant vs for ingratitude,
Which Rome reputes to be a hainous sinne.
Yeeld at intreats, and then let me alone:
Ile finde a day to massacre them all,
And race their faction, and their familie,
The cruell Father, and his trayt'rous sonnes,
To whom I sued for my deare sonnes life.
And make them know what 'tis to let a Queene.
Kneele in the streetes, and beg for grace in vaine.
Come, come, sweet Emperour, (come Andronicus)
Take vp this good old man, and cheere the heart,
That dies in tempest of thy angry frowne
King. Rise Titus, rise,
My Empresse hath preuail'd
Titus. I thanke your Maiestie,
And her my Lord.
These words, these lookes,
Infuse new life in me
Tamo. Titus, I am incorparate in Rome,
A Roman now adopted happily.
And must aduise the Emperour for his good,
This day all quarrels die Andronicus.
And let it be mine honour good my Lord,
That I haue reconcil'd your friends and you.
For you Prince Bassianus, I haue past
My word and promise to the Emperour,
That you will be more milde and tractable.
And feare not Lords:
And you Lauinia,
By my aduise all humbled on your knees,
You shall aske pardon of his Maiestie
Son. We doe,
And vow to heauen, and to his Highnes,
That what we did, was mildly, as we might,
Tendring our sisters honour and our owne
Mar. That on mine honour heere I do protest
King. Away and talke not, trouble vs no more
Tamora. Nay, nay,
Sweet Emperour, we must all be friends,
The Tribune and his Nephews kneele for grace,
I will not be denied, sweet hart looke back
King. Marcus,
For thy sake and thy brothers heere,
And at my louely Tamora's intreats,
I doe remit these young mens haynous faults.
Stand vp: Lauinia, though you left me like a churle,
I found a friend, and sure as death I sware,
I would not part a Batchellour from the Priest.
Come, if the Emperours Court can feast two Brides,
You are my guest Lauinia, and your friends:
This day shall be a Loue-day Tamora
Tit. To morrow and it please your Maiestie,
To hunt the Panther and the Hart with me,
With horne and Hound,
Weele giue your Grace Bon iour
Satur. Be it so Titus, and Gramercy to.
Exeunt.
Flourish. Enter the Emperor, Tamora, and her two sons, with the Moore at one doore.
Enter at the other doore Bassianus and Lauinia with others.
Sat. So Bassianus, you haue plaid your prize,
God giue you ioy sir of your Gallant Bride
Bass. 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
Bass. Rape call you it my Lord, to cease my owne,
My true betrothed Loue, and now my wife?
But let the lawes of Rome determine all,
Meane while I am possest of that is mine
Sat. 'Tis good sir: you are very short with vs,
But if we liue, weele be as sharpe with you
Bass. My Lord, what I haue done as best I may,
Answere I must, and shall do with my life,
Onely thus much I giue your Grace to know,
By all the duties that I owe to Rome,
This Noble Gentleman Lord Titus heere,
Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd,
That in the rescue of Lauinia,
With his owne hand did slay his youngest Son,
In zeale to you, and highly mou'd to wrath.
To be controul'd in that he frankly gaue:
Receiue him then to fauour Saturnine,
That hath expre'st himselfe in all his deeds,
A Father and a friend to thee, and Rome
Tit. Prince Bassianus leaue to plead my Deeds,
'Tis thou, and those, that haue dishonoured me,
Rome and the righteous heauens be my iudge,
How I haue lou'd and Honour'd Saturnine
Tam. My worthy Lord if euer Tamora,
Were gracious in those Princely eyes of thine,
Then heare me speake indifferently for all:
And at my sute (sweet) pardon what is past
Satu. What Madam, be dishonoured openly,
And basely put it vp without reuenge?
Tam. Not so my Lord,
The Gods of Rome fore-fend,
I should be Authour to dishonour you.
But on mine honour dare, I vndertake
For good Lord Titus innocence in all:
Whose fury not dissembled speakes his griefes:
Then at my sute looke graciously on him,
Loose not so noble a friend on vaine suppose,
Nor with sowre lookes afflict his gentle heart.
My Lord, be rul'd by me, be wonne at last,
Dissemble all your griefes and discontents,
You are but newly planted in your Throne,
Least then the people, and Patricians too,
Vpon a iust suruey take Titus part,
And so supplant vs for ingratitude,
Which Rome reputes to be a hainous sinne.
Yeeld at intreats, and then let me alone:
Ile finde a day to massacre them all,
And race their faction, and their familie,
The cruell Father, and his trayt'rous sonnes,
To whom I sued for my deare sonnes life.
And make them know what 'tis to let a Queene.
Kneele in the streetes, and beg for grace in vaine.
Come, come, sweet Emperour, (come Andronicus)
Take vp this good old man, and cheere the heart,
That dies in tempest of thy angry frowne
King. Rise Titus, rise,
My Empresse hath preuail'd
Titus. I thanke your Maiestie,
And her my Lord.
These words, these lookes,
Infuse new life in me
Tamo. Titus, I am incorparate in Rome,
A Roman now adopted happily.
And must aduise the Emperour for his good,
This day all quarrels die Andronicus.
And let it be mine honour good my Lord,
That I haue reconcil'd your friends and you.
For you Prince Bassianus, I haue past
My word and promise to the Emperour,
That you will be more milde and tractable.
And feare not Lords:
And you Lauinia,
By my aduise all humbled on your knees,
You shall aske pardon of his Maiestie
Son. We doe,
And vow to heauen, and to his Highnes,
That what we did, was mildly, as we might,
Tendring our sisters honour and our owne
Mar. That on mine honour heere I do protest
King. Away and talke not, trouble vs no more
Tamora. Nay, nay,
Sweet Emperour, we must all be friends,
The Tribune and his Nephews kneele for grace,
I will not be denied, sweet hart looke back
King. Marcus,
For thy sake and thy brothers heere,
And at my louely Tamora's intreats,
I doe remit these young mens haynous faults.
Stand vp: Lauinia, though you left me like a churle,
I found a friend, and sure as death I sware,
I would not part a Batchellour from the Priest.
Come, if the Emperours Court can feast two Brides,
You are my guest Lauinia, and your friends:
This day shall be a Loue-day Tamora
Tit. To morrow and it please your Maiestie,
To hunt the Panther and the Hart with me,
With horne and Hound,
Weele giue your Grace Bon iour
Satur. Be it so Titus, and Gramercy to.
Exeunt.
Actus Secunda.
Flourish. Enter Aaron alone.
Aron. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus toppe,
Safe out of Fortunes shot, and sits aloft,
Secure of Thunders cracke or lightning flash,
Aduanc'd about pale enuies threatning reach:
As when the golden Sunne salutes the morne,
And hauing gilt the Ocean with his beames,
Gallops the Zodiacke in his glistering Coach,
And ouer-lookes the highest piering hills:
So Tamora
Vpon her wit doth earthly honour waite,
And vertue stoopes and trembles at her frowne.
Then Aaron arme thy hart, and fit thy thoughts,
To mount aloft with thy Emperiall Mistris,
And mount her pitch, whom thou in triumph long
Hast prisoner held, fettred in amorous chaines,
And faster bound to Aarons charming eyes,
Then is Prometheus ti'de to Caucasus.
Away with slauish weedes, and idle thoughts,
I will be bright and shine in Pearle and Gold,
To waite vpon this new made Empresse.
To waite said I? To wanton with this Queene,
This Goddesse, this Semirimis, this Queene.
This Syren, that will charme Romes Saturnine,
And see his shipwracke, and his Common weales.
Hollo, what storme is this?
Enter Chiron and Demetrius brauing.
Dem. Chiron thy yeres wants wit, thy wit wants edge
And manners to intru'd where I am grac'd,
And may for ought thou know'st affected be
Chi. Demetrius, thou doo'st ouer-weene in all,
And so in this, to beare me downe with braues,
'Tis not the difference of a yeere or two
Makes me lesse gracious, or thee more fortunate:
I am as able, and as fit, as thou,
To serue, and to deserue my Mistris grace,
And that my sword vpon thee shall approue,
And plead my passions for Lauinia's loue
Aron. Clubs, clubs, these louers will not keep the peace
Dem. Why Boy, although our mother (vnaduised)
Gaue you a daunsing Rapier by your side,
Are you so desperate growne to threat your friends?
Goe too: haue your Lath glued within your sheath,
Till you know better how to handle it
Chi. Meane while sir, with the little skill I haue,
Full well shalt thou perceiue how much I dare
Deme. I Boy, grow ye so braue?
They drawe.