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O sacred receptacle of my joys,
Luc. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths,
Tit. I give him you; the noblest that survives,
Tit. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me.
* It was supposed that the ghosts of unburied peo. ple appeared to solicit the rites of funeral.
Luc. Away with him! and make a fire straight; And with our swords, upon a pile of wood, Let's hew his limbs, till they be clean consum'd. (Exeunt Lucius, Quintus, Martius, and Mutius,
with Alarbus. Tam. O cruel, irreligious piety! Chi. Was ever Scythia half so barbarous ?
Dem. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome. Alarbus goes to rest; and we survive To tremble under Titus' threatening look. Then, madam, stand resolv'd; but hope withal, The self-same gods, that arnı'd the queen of Troy With opportunity of sharp revenge Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent, May favour Tamora, the queen of Goths (When Goths were Goths, and Tamora was queen), To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes.
Re-enter Lucius, Quintus, Martius, and Mutius,
with their swords bloody. Luc. See, lord and father, how we have perform'd Our Roman rites : Alarbus' limbs are lopp'i, And ep trails feed the sacrificing fire, Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky. Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren, And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome.
Tit. Let it be so, and let Andronicus Make this his latest farewell to their souls. [Trumpets sounded, and the coffins laid in
the tomb. In peace and honour rest you here, my sons; Rome's readiest champions, repose you here, Secure from worldly chances and mishaps ! Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, Here grow no damned grudges; here, are no stornis, No noise, but silence and eternal sleep:
In peace and honour rest you here, my sons!
Lao. In peace and honour live lord Titus long; My noble lord and father, live in fame! Lo! at this tomb my tributary tears I render, for my brethren's obsequies ; And at thy feet I kneel with tears of joy Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome: O, bless me here with thy victorious haud, Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud.
Tit. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserv'd The cordial of mine age to glad my heart! Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days, And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise !
Enter Marcus Andronicus, Saturninus, Bassianus,
Mar. Long live lord Titus, my beloved brother, Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome! Tit. Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Marcus. Mar. And welcome, nephews, from successful
wars, You that survive, and you that sleep in fame. Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all, That in your country's service drew your swords: But safer triumph is this funeral pomp, That hath aspir'd to Solon's happiness t, And triumphs over chance, in honour's bed.Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been,
• He wishes that her life may be longer than his, and her praise longer than fame.
+ The maxim alluded to is, that no man can be prouounced happy before his death.
Send thee by me, their tribuue, and their trust,
This palliament* of white and spotless bue;
Tit. A better head her glorious body fits,
Mar. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery.
Romans, do me right;
Luc. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good 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.
Bas. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee,
Tit. People of Rome, and people's tribunes here,
. A robe,
ti. e. Do on, put it on.
I ask your voices, and your suffrages ;
Trib. To gratify the good Andronicus,
Tit. Tribunes, I thank you: and this suit I make,
Mar. With voices and applause of every sort,
[A long flourish.
Tit. It doth, my worthy lord; and, in this match, I hold me highly honour'd of your grace: And here, in sight of Rome, to Saturnine, King and commander of our commuou-weal, The wide world's emperor, do I consecrate My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners; Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord : Receive them theo, the tribute that I owe, Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet.
Sat. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life! How proud I am of thee, and of thy gifts,
• The sun's.