Why, lords, what wrongs are these! Was ever seen

An emperor in Rome thus overborne,

Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent

Of legal justice, used in such contempt?

My lords, you know, as know the mightful gods,

However these disturbers of our peace

Buzz in the people’s ears, there naught hath passed

But even with law against the wilful sons

Of old Andronicus. And what an if

His sorrows have so overwhelmed his wits?

Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks,

His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness?

And now he writes to heaven for his redress!

See, here’s “to Jove,” and this “to Mercury,”

This “to Apollo,” this to the god of war.

Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome!

What’s this but libelling against the senate,

And blazoning our injustice everywhere?

A goodly humour, is it not, my lords?

As who would say, in Rome no justice were.

But if I live, his feigned ecstasies

Shall be no shelter to these outrages;

But he and his shall know that justice lives

In Saturninus’ health; whom, if she sleep,

He’ll so awake as he in fury shall

Cut off the proud’st conspirator that lives.

My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine,

Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts,

Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus’ age,

Th’ effects of sorrow for his valiant sons,

Whose loss hath pierced him deep and scarred his heart;

And rather comfort his distressed plight

Than prosecute the meanest or the best

For these contempts. [_Aside_.] Why, thus it shall become

High-witted Tamora to gloze with all.

But, Titus, I have touched thee to the quick;

Thy life-blood out, if Aaron now be wise,

Then is all safe, the anchor in the port.

How now, good fellow, wouldst thou speak with us?

Yes, forsooth, an your mistresship be emperial.

Empress I am, but yonder sits the emperor.

’Tis he. God and Saint Stephen give you good e’en. I have brought you a

letter and a couple of pigeons here.

Go take him away, and hang him presently.

How much money must I have?

Come, sirrah, you must be hanged.

Hanged! by’r Lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair end.

Despiteful and intolerable wrongs!

Shall I endure this monstrous villainy?

I know from whence this same device proceeds.

May this be borne as if his traitorous sons,

That died by law for murder of our brother,

Have by my means been butchered wrongfully?

Go, drag the villain hither by the hair;

Nor age nor honour shall shape privilege.

For this proud mock I’ll be thy slaughterman,

Sly frantic wretch, that holp’st to make me great,

In hope thyself should govern Rome and me.

What news with thee, Aemilius?

Arm, my lord! Rome never had more cause.

The Goths have gathered head, and with a power

Of high-resolved men, bent to the spoil,

They hither march amain, under conduct

Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus;

Who threats, in course of this revenge, to do

As much as ever Coriolanus did.

Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths?

These tidings nip me, and I hang the head

As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms.

Ay, now begins our sorrows to approach.

’Tis he the common people love so much;

Myself hath often overheard them say,

When I have walked like a private man,

That Lucius’ banishment was wrongfully,

And they have wished that Lucius were their emperor.

Why should you fear? Is not your city strong?

Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius,

And will revolt from me to succour him.

King, be thy thoughts imperious like thy name.

Is the sun dimmed, that gnats do fly in it?

The eagle suffers little birds to sing,

And is not careful what they mean thereby,

Knowing that with the shadow of his wings

He can at pleasure stint their melody;

Even so mayest thou the giddy men of Rome.

Then cheer thy spirit; for know, thou emperor,

I will enchant the old Andronicus

With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous,

Than baits to fish or honey-stalks to sheep,

Whenas the one is wounded with the bait,

The other rotted with delicious feed.

But he will not entreat his son for us.

If Tamora entreat him, then he will,

For I can smooth and fill his aged ears

With golden promises, that, were his heart

Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf,

Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue.

[_to Aemilius_] Go thou before, be our ambassador.

Say that the emperor requests a parley

Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting

Even at his father’s house, the old Andronicus.

Aemilius, do this message honourably,

And if he stand on hostage for his safety,

Bid him demand what pledge will please him best.

Your bidding shall I do effectually.

Now will I to that old Andronicus,

And temper him with all the art I have,

To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths.

And now, sweet emperor, be blithe again,

And bury all thy fear in my devices.

Then go successantly, and plead to him.