To beautifie thy triumphs and return, Tit. Patient your felf, Madam, and pardon me, To this your fon is markt, and die he muft, Tam. O cruel irreligious piety! Chi. Was ever Scythia half fo barbarous ? 2 Dem. Oppofe 'not Scythia to ambitious Rome. To tremble under Titus' threatning looks. Then, Madam, ftand refolv'd; but hope withal, The felf-fame Gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy Upon the Thracian a tyrant in 'her` tent, May favour Tamora, the Queen of Goths, (When (a) Polymneftor, whofe eyes were pulled out and fons murder'd by Hecuba, in revenge for his having treacherously flain her fon Polydore, Euripid. in Hec. 2 me 3 go 4 his... old edit. Theob. emend. (When Goths were Goths, and Tamora was Queen) To quit her bloody wrongs upon her foes. Enter Mutius, Marcus, Quintus and Lucius. Whose smoke, like incenfe, doth perfume the sky. [Then found trumpets, and lay the coffins in the tomb. In peace and honour reft you here, my fons, Lav. In peace and honour live Lord Titus long, Tit. Kind Rome, that haft thus lovingly ''preferv'd The cordial of mine age, to glad mine heart! Lavinia, live, out-live thy father's days, In fame's eternal date for virtue's praise! 5 referv'd 6 And... old edit. Theob. emend. Mar. 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 fuccessful wars, You that furvive, and you that fleep in fame: Fair Lords, your fortunes are alike in all, That in your country's fervice drew your fwords. But fafer triumph is this funeral pomp That hath afpir'd to Solon's happiness, And triumphs over chance in honour's bed. Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, Whofe friend in juftice thou haft ever been, Send thee by me their Tribune, 7in their truft, This palliament of white and spotlefs hue, And name thee in election for the empire, With these our late deceased Emperor's fons; Be Candidatus then, and put it on, And help to fet a head on headless Rome. Tit. A better head her glorious body fits, Than his that shakes for age and feebleness: What should I don this robe, and trouble you? Be chofe with proclamations to-day, To-morrow yield up rule, refign my life, And fet abroach new bufinefs for you all? Rome, I have been thy foldier forty years, And led my country's ftrength fuccefsfully, And buried one and twenty valiant fons, Knighted in field, flain manfully in arms, In right and fervice of their noble country. Give me a staff of honour for mine age, But not a fceptre to controul the world. Upright he held it, Lords, that held it laft. Mar. Titus, thou fhalt /obtain the empery. Sat. Proud and ambitious Tribune, canft thou tell? Tit. Patience, prince 'Saturnine!` Sat Sat. Romans, do me right! Patricians, draw your fwords, and fheath them not Andronicus, would thou wert fhipt to hell, Luc. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good 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, And gratulate his safe return to Rome, Tit. Tribunes, I thank you, and this fuit I make, Lord Saturninus, Rome's great 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, Thy Thy name, and honourable family, Rome's royal miftrefs, mistress of my heart, Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee? Tit. Now, Madam, are you prifoner to an Emperor, To him that for your honour and your state Will-use you nobly, and your followers. 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; Tho' chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer, Thou com'ft not to be made a fcorn in Rome: Princely shall be thy ufage every way. Reft on my word, and let not discontent Daunt all your hopes: Madam, who comforts you Lav. Not I, my Lord, fith true nobility Sat. Thanks, fweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go. Baf. |