My sword, my chariot and my prisoners; Presents well worthy Rome's imperious lord: Receive them then, the tribute that I owe, Mine honor's ensigns humbled at thy feet. Sat. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life! How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts, Rome shall record; and when I do forget The least of these unspeakable deserts, Romans, forget your fealty to me. 249 Tit. [To Tamora] Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor; To him that, for your honor and your state, 260 That I would choose, were I to choose anew. Thou comest not to be made a scorn in Rome: Warrants these words in princely courtesy. Sat. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go: Ransomless here we set our prisoners free: Proclaim our honors, lords, with trump and drum. [Flourish. Saturninus courts Tamora in dumb show. Bas. [Seizing Lavinia] Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine. Tit. How, sir! are you in earnest then, my lord? Bas. Aye, noble Titus, and resolved withal To do myself this reason and this right. Marc. 'Suum cuique' is our Roman justice: 280 This prince in justice seizeth but his own. Luc. And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live. Tit. Traitors, avaunt! Where is the emperor's guard? Treason, my lord! Lavinia is surprised! Sat. Surprised! by whom? Bas. By him that justly may Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. [Exeunt Bassianus and Marcus with Lavinia. Mut. Brothers, help to convey her hence away, And with my sword I 'll keep this door safe. [Exeunt Lucius, Quintus, and Martius. Tit. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back. Mut. My lord, you pass not here. Tit. Barr'st me my way in Rome? Mut. What, villain boy! 290 [Stabbing Mutius. Help, Lucius, help! [Dies. [During the fray, Saturninus, Tamora, Demetrius, Chiron and Aaron go out, and re-enter above. Re-enter Lucius. Luc. My lord, you are unjust; and, more than so, In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine; XXXVII-2 17 My sons would never so dishonor me: 300 Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor. But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus, That saidst, I begg'd the empire at thy hands. Tit. O monstrous! what reproachful words are these? Sat. But go thy ways; go give that changing piece 309 To him that flourish'd for her with his sword: One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons, To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome. Tit. These words are razors to my wounded heart. Sat. And therefore, lovely Tamora, Queen of Goths, That, like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, 320 Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my And here I swear by all the Roman gods, I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, Or climb my palace, till from forth this place Tam. And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome I swear, If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths, 350 A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. Sat. Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon. Lords, accompany Your noble emperor and his lovely bride, Tit. I am not bid to wait upon this bride. Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, Re-enter Marcus, Lucius, Quintus, and Martius. Tit. No, foolish tribune, no; no son of mine, 333. "Pantheon"; the Pantheon; the temple built by Agrippa in the Campus Martius, A. D. 27.—C. H. H. 338. "bid"; i. e. invited.-H. N. H. Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed That hath dishonor'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: 349 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. Marc. My lord, this is impiety in you: My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him; Quin. And shall, or him we will accompany. Tit. And shall! what villain was it spake that word? Quin. He that would vouch it in any place but here. Tit. What, would you bury him in my despite? To pardon Mutius and to bury him. 360 Tit. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest, And with these boys mine honor thou hast wounded: My foes I do repute you every one; So trouble me no more, but get you gone. Marc. He is not with himself; let us withdraw. 368. "not with himself"; this is much the same sort of phrase as he is beside himself, a genuine English idiom. A similar expression occurs in the Yorkshire Tragedy: "She'd run upon the left hand of her wit, and ne'er be her own woman again."-H. N. H. |