LITMIR.BIZ

        MUTIUS. Brothers, help to convey her hence away,

          And with my sword I'll keep this door safe.

        TITUS. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back.

        MUTIUS. My lord, you pass not here.

        TITUS. What, villain boy!

          Bar'st me my way in Rome?

        MUTIUS. Help, Lucius, help!

                  TITUS kills him. During the fray, exeunt SATURNINUS,

        LUCIUS. My lord, you are unjust, and more than so:

          In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son.

        TITUS. Nor thou nor he are any sons of mine;

          My sons would never so dishonour me.

          Traitor, restore Lavinia to the Emperor.

        LUCIUS. Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife,

          That is another's lawful promis'd love. Exit

        SATURNINUS. No, Titus, no; the Emperor needs her not,

          Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock.

          I'll trust by leisure him that mocks me once;

          Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons,

          Confederates all thus to dishonour me.

          Was there none else in Rome to make a stale

          But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus,

          Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine

          That saidst I begg'd the empire at thy hands.

        TITUS. O monstrous! What reproachful words are these?

        SATURNINUS. 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 sons,

          To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome.

        TITUS. These words are razors to my wounded heart.

        SATURNINUS. 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 everything

          In readiness for Hymenaeus 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.

        TAMORA. And here in sight of heaven 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.

        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.

        TITUS. I am not bid to wait upon this bride.

        TITUS, when wert thou wont to walk alone,

          Dishonoured thus, and challenged of wrongs?

        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. Brother, for in that name doth nature plead-

        QUINTUS.

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