That noble-minded Titus means to thee. Tit. Content thee, Prince; I will restore to thee The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves. Baf. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee, But honour thee, and will do 'till I'die: Tit. People of Rome, and noble tribunes here, Tit. Tribunes, I thank you, and this fuit I make, Crown him, and fay,-Long live our Emperor! [A long flourish, 'till they come down. Sat. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done To us in our election this day, I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts, Rome's royal miftrefs, miftrefs of my heart, And in the facred Pantheon her espouse: Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee? And here in fight of Rome, to Saturninus, The The wide world's Emperor, do I confecrate Tit. Now, madam, are you prifoner to an Emperor; Sat. A goodly Lady, truft me, of the hue [To Tamora. That I would chufe, were I to chufe a-new: Clear up, fair Queen, that cloudy countenance; Reft on my word, and let not difcontent Daunt all your hopes: Madam, who comforts you, Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths. Lavinia, you are not difpleas'd with this? Lav. Not I, my Lord; fith true nobility Warrants these words in princely courtesy. Sat. Thanks, fweet Lavinia; Romans, let us go. Ranfomlefs here we fet our prisoners free; Proclaim our honours, Lords, with trump and drum. Baf. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine. [Seizing Lavinia. Tit. How, Sir? are you in earnest then, my Lord? Baf. Ay, noble Titus; and refolv'd withal, To do myself this reafon and this right. [The Emperor courts Tamora in dumb fhew. Mar. Suum cuique is our Roman juftice: This Prince in juftice feizeth but his own. Sat. Surpriz'd! by whom? Baf. Baf. By him, that juftly may Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. [Exit Baffinus with Lavinia, Mut. Brothers, help to convey her hence away, And with my sword I'll keep this door fecure. Tit. Follow, my Lord, and I'll foon bring her back. Mut. My Lord, you pass not here. Tit. What! villain-boy, Barr'ft me my way in Rome? Mut. Help, Lucius, help! [He kills bim. Luc. My Lord, you are unjuft, and more than fo; In wrongful quarrel you have flain your fon. Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any fons of mine: Luc. Dead, if you will, but not to be his wife, Sat. No, Titus, no, the Emperor needs her not; Was there none else in Rome to make a ftale of, Agree thefe deeds with that proud brag of thine, Tit. O monstrous! what reproachful words are thefe; One fit to bandy with thy lawless fons, Tit. These words are razors to my wounded heart. Speak, Queen of Geths, doft thou applaud my choice? And here I fwear by all the Roman gods, I will not re-falute the ftreets of Rome, Or climb my palace, 'till from forth this place Tam. And here in fight of heav'n to Rome I swear, If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths, She will a handmaid be to his defires, A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. Sat. Afcend, fair Queen, Pantheon; Lords, accompany Your noble Emperor, and his lovely bride, Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine ; Tit. I am not bid to wait upon this bride. Enter Marcus Andronicus, Lucius, Quintus, and Marcus. Mar. Oh, Titus, fee, oh, fee, what thou haft done! In a bad quarrel flain a virtuous fon. Tit. No, foolish tribune, no: no fon of mine, Nor thou, nor these confederates in the deed, That hath dishonoured all our family; Unworthy brother, and unworthy fons. Luc. But let us give him burial, as becomes; Give Mutius burial with our bretheren. Tit. Traitors, away! he refts not in this tomb; Here none but foldiers, and Rome's fervitors, Sons. Sons. And fhall, or him we will accompany. Tit. And fhall? what villain was it fpake that word? [Titus's fon Speaks. Quin. He, that would vouch't in any place but here. Tit. What, would you bury him in my defpight? Mar. No, noble Titus; but in treat of thee To pardon Mutius, and to bury him. Tit. Marcus, ev'n thou haft struck upon my creft, And with these boys mine honour thou haft wounded. My foes I do repute you every one, So trouble me no more, but get you gone. Luc. He is not himself, let us withdraw. [The brother and the fons kneel. His noble nephew here in virtue's nest, The Greeks, upon advice, did bury Ajax, (7) Tit. Rife, Marcus, rife The difmall'ft day is this, that ev'r I saw, [They put him in the tamb. Luc. There lye thy bones, fweet Mutius, with thy friends, (7) The Greeks, upon advice, did bury Ajax, That flew bimfelf-] As the author before fhew'd himself acquainted with a circumftance glean'd from Euripides, we find him there no lefs converfant with the Ajax of SOPHOCLES; in which Ulyffes and Teucer ftrenuously contend for permiffion to bury the body of Ajax, tho' he had been declar'd an enemy to the confederate ftates of Greece. VOL. VI. K 'Till |