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 resalute 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

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, ac-

company

Your noble emperor, and his lovely bride,
Sent by the heavens for prince Saturnine,
Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered:
There shall we cónsummate our spousal rites.

[Exeunt SATURNINUS, and his Followers; TA

MORA, and her Sons; AARON and Goths. Tit. I am not bid 15 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
MARTIUS.

Mar. O, Titus, see, O, see, what thou hast done! In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son.

15 i. e. invited.

Tit. No, foolish tribune, no; no son of mine,— Nor thou, nor these confederates in the deed That hath dishonour'd all our family; Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons!

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 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.
Mar. My lord, this is impiety in you:

My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him;
He must be buried with his brethren.

Quin. Mart. And shall, or him we will accom

pany.

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 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.

Mart. He is not with himself 16: 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,

16 He is not with himself'. This is much the same sort of phrase as he is beside himself, a genuine English idiom.

Luc. Dear father, soul 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 slew himself; and wise Laertes' son Did graciously plead for his funerals 17. Let not young Mutius then, that was thy joy, Be barr'd his entrance here.

Tit. Rise, Marcus, rise:The dismal'st 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.

[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 18.

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:

17 This passage alone would sufficiently convince me that the play before us was the work of one who was conversant with the Greek tragedies in their original language. We have here a plain allusion to the Ajax of Sophocles, of which no translation was extant in the time of Shakspeare. In that piece Agamemnon consents at last to allow Ajax the rites of sepulture, and Ulysses is the pleader whose arguments prevail in favour of his remains.'-Steevens.

18 This is evidently a translation of the distich of Ennius:

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,

attended; TAMORA, CHIRON, DEMETRIUS, and AARON at the other, BASSIANUS, LAVINIA, and Others.

power,

Sat. So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize19; 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 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 let the laws of Rome determine all; Mean while I am possessed 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 my life.
Only thus much I give your grace to know,
By all the duties that 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 control'd in that he frankly gave:
Receive him then to favour, Saturnine;
That hath express'd himself, in all his deeds,
A father, and a friend, to thee, and Rome.

Tit. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds; 'Tis thou, and those, that have dishonour'd me:

19 To play a prize was a technical term in the ancient fencing schools. See vol. i. p. 195, note 25.

Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge,
How I have lov'd and honour'd 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 past.
Sat. What! madam! be dishonour'd openly,
And basely put it up without revenge?

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. My lord, be rul'd by me, be won at last, Dissemble all your griefs and discontents: You are but newly planted in your throne; Lest then the people, and patricians too, Upon a just survey, take Titus' part, And so supplant us for ingratitude (Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin), Yield at entreats, and then let me alone: I'll find a day to massacre them all, And raze their faction, and their family, The cruel father, and his traitorous sons, To whom I sued for my dear son's life; And make them know, what 'tis to let a

queen

Kneel in the streets, and beg for grace in

vain.

Aside.

Come, come, sweet emperor,-come, Andronicus, Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart That dies in tempest of thy angry frown.

Sat. Rise, Titus, rise; my empress hath prevail'd.