Approved warriors and my faithful friends,

I have received letters from great Rome

Which signifies what hate they bear their emperor

And how desirous of our sight they are.

Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness,

Imperious, and impatient of your wrongs;

And wherein Rome hath done you any scath,

Let him make treble satisfaction.

Brave slip, sprung from the great Andronicus,

Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort,

Whose high exploits and honourable deeds

Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt,

Be bold in us. We’ll follow where thou lead’st,

Like stinging bees in hottest summer’s day

Led by their master to the flowered fields,

And be avenged on cursed Tamora.

And as he saith, so say we all with him.

I humbly thank him, and I thank you all.

But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth?

Renowned Lucius, from our troops I strayed

To gaze upon a ruinous monastery;

And as I earnestly did fix mine eye

Upon the wasted building, suddenly

I heard a child cry underneath a wall.

I made unto the noise, when soon I heard

The crying babe controlled with this discourse:

“Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dame!

Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art,

Had nature lent thee but thy mother’s look,

Villain, thou mightst have been an emperor.

But where the bull and cow are both milk-white,

They never do beget a coal-black calf.

Peace, villain, peace!” even thus he rates the babe,

“For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth,

Who, when he knows thou art the empress’ babe,

Will hold thee dearly for thy mother’s sake.”

With this, my weapon drawn, I rushed upon him,

Surprised him suddenly, and brought him hither

To use as you think needful of the man.

O worthy Goth, this is the incarnate devil

That robbed Andronicus of his good hand;

This is the pearl that pleased your empress’ eye;

And here’s the base fruit of her burning lust.

Say, wall-eyed slave, whither wouldst thou convey

This growing image of thy fiend-like face?

Why dost not speak? What, deaf? Not a word?

A halter, soldiers, hang him on this tree,

And by his side his fruit of bastardy.

Touch not the boy, he is of royal blood.

Too like the sire for ever being good.

First hang the child, that he may see it sprawl,

A sight to vex the father’s soul withal.

Get me a ladder.

Lucius, save the child;

And bear it from me to the empress.

If thou do this, I’ll show thee wondrous things

That highly may advantage thee to hear.

If thou wilt not, befall what may befall,

I’ll speak no more but “Vengeance rot you all!”

Say on, and if it please me which thou speak’st,

Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourished.

And if it please thee? Why, assure thee, Lucius,

’Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak;

For I must talk of murders, rapes, and massacres,

Acts of black night, abominable deeds,

Complots of mischief, treason, villainies,

Ruthful to hear, yet piteously performed.

And this shall all be buried in my death,

Unless thou swear to me my child shall live.

Tell on thy mind; I say thy child shall live.

Swear that he shall, and then I will begin.

Who should I swear by? Thou believ’st no god.

That granted, how canst thou believe an oath?

What if I do not? As indeed I do not;

Yet, for I know thou art religious,

And hast a thing within thee called conscience,

With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies

Which I have seen thee careful to observe,

Therefore I urge thy oath; for that I know

An idiot holds his bauble for a god,

And keeps the oath which by that god he swears,

To that I’ll urge him. Therefore thou shalt vow

By that same god, what god soe’er it be

That thou adorest and hast in reverence,

To save my boy, to nourish and bring him up;

Or else I will discover naught to thee.

Even by my god I swear to thee I will.

First know thou, I begot him on the empress.

O most insatiate and luxurious woman!

Tut, Lucius, this was but a deed of charity

To that which thou shalt hear of me anon.

’Twas her two sons that murdered Bassianus;

They cut thy sister’s tongue, and ravished her,

And cut her hands, and trimmed her as thou sawest.

O detestable villain, call’st thou that trimming?

Why, she was washed, and cut, and trimmed; and ’twas

Trim sport for them which had the doing of it.

O barbarous beastly villains, like thyself!

Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them.

That codding spirit had they from their mother,

As sure a card as ever won the set;

That bloody mind I think they learned of me,

As true a dog as ever fought at head.

Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth.

I trained thy brethren to that guileful hole

Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay.

I wrote the letter that thy father found,

And hid the gold within that letter mentioned,

Confederate with the queen and her two sons.

And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue,

Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in’t?

I played the cheater for thy father’s hand,

And, when I had it, drew myself apart,

And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter.

I pried me through the crevice of a wall

When, for his hand, he had his two sons’ heads;

Beheld his tears, and laughed so heartily

That both mine eyes were rainy like to his.

And when I told the empress of this sport,

She sounded almost at my pleasing tale,

And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses.

What, canst thou say all this and never blush?

Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is.

Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds?

Ay, that I had not done a thousand more.

Even now I curse the day, and yet, I think,

Few come within the compass of my curse,

Wherein I did not some notorious ill,

As kill a man, or else devise his death;

Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it;

Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself;

Set deadly enmity between two friends;

Make poor men’s cattle break their necks;

Set fire on barns and haystalks in the night,

And bid the owners quench them with their tears.

Oft have I digged up dead men from their graves,

And set them upright at their dear friends’ door,

Even when their sorrows almost was forgot,

And on their skins, as on the bark of trees,

Have with my knife carved in Roman letters,

“Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.”

But I have done a thousand dreadful things

As willingly as one would kill a fly,

And nothing grieves me heartily indeed

But that I cannot do ten thousand more.

Bring down the devil, for he must not die

So sweet a death as hanging presently.

If there be devils, would I were a devil,

To live and burn in everlasting fire,

So I might have your company in hell

But to torment you with my bitter tongue!

Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak no more.

My lord, there is a messenger from Rome

Desires to be admitted to your presence.

Let him come near.

Welcome, Aemilius. What’s the news from Rome?

Lord Lucius, and you princes of the Goths,

The Roman emperor greets you all by me;

And, for he understands you are in arms,

He craves a parley at your father’s house,

Willing you to demand your hostages,

And they shall be immediately delivered.

What says our general?

Aemilius, let the emperor give his pledges

Unto my father and my uncle Marcus,

And we will come. March away.