The Complete Tragedies of William Shakespeare - All 12 Books in One Edition. William Shakespeare

Brother, for in that name doth nature plead,—

       QUINTUS.

       Father, and in that name doth nature speak,—

       TITUS.

       Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed.

       MARCUS.

       Renowned Titus, more than half my soul,—

       LUCIUS.

       Dear father, soul and substance of us all,—

       MARCUS.

       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:

       Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy,

       Be barr’d his entrance here.

       TITUS.

       Rise, Marcus, rise:

       The dismall’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.]

       LUCIUS.

       There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends,

       Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb.

       ALL.

       [Kneeling.] No man shed tears for noble Mutius;

       He lives in fame that died in virtue’s cause.

       MARCUS.

       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?

       TITUS.

       I know not, Marcus, but I know it is,—

       Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell:

       Is she not, then, beholding to the man

       That brought her for this high good turn so far?

       MARCUS.

       Yes, and will nobly him remunerate.

       [Flourish. Re-enter, at one side, SATURNINUS, attended; TAMORA DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, and AARON; at the other, BASSIANUS, LAVINIA, and others.]

       SATURNINUS.

       So, Bassianus, you have play’d your prize:

       God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride!

       BASSIANUS.

       And you of yours, my lord! I say no more,

       Nor wish no less; and so I take my leave.

       SATURNINUS.

       Traitor, if Rome have law or we have power,

       Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape.

       BASSIANUS.

       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;

       Meanwhile am I possess’d of that is mine.

       SATURNINUS.

       ‘Tis good, sir. You are very short with us;

       But if we live we’ll be as sharp with you.

       BASSIANUS.

       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 controll’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.

       TITUS.

       Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds:

       ‘Tis thou and those that have dishonour’d me.

       Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge

       How I have lov’d and honour’d Saturnine!

       TAMORA.

       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.

       SATURNINUS.

       What, madam! be dishonoured openly,

       And basely put it up without revenge?

       TAMORA.

       Not so, my lord; the gods of Rome forfend

       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.—

       [Aside.] 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 you 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.—

       Come, come, sweet emperor,—come, Andronicus,—

       Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart

       That dies in tempest of thy angry frown.

       SATURNINUS.

       Rise, Titus, rise; my empress hath prevail’d.

       TITUS.

       I thank your majesty and her, my lord:

       These words, these looks, infuse new life in me.

       TAMORA.

       Titus, I am incorporate in Rome,

       A Roman now adopted happily,

       And must advise the emperor for his good.

       This day all quarrels die, Andronicus;—

       And let it be mine honour, good my lord,

       That I have reconcil’d