Uncle Marcus, since ’tis my father’s mind

That I repair to Rome, I am content.

And ours with thine, befall what fortune will.

Good uncle, take you in this barbarous Moor,

This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil;

Let him receive no sust’nance, fetter him,

Till he be brought unto the empress’ face

For testimony of her foul proceedings.

And see the ambush of our friends be strong;

I fear the emperor means no good to us.

Some devil whisper curses in my ear,

And prompt me that my tongue may utter forth

The venomous malice of my swelling heart!

Away, inhuman dog, unhallowed slave!

Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in.

The trumpets show the emperor is at hand.

others.

What, hath the firmament more suns than one?

What boots it thee to call thyself a sun?

Rome’s emperor, and nephew, break the parle;

These quarrels must be quietly debated.

The feast is ready which the careful Titus

Hath ordained to an honourable end,

For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome.

Please you, therefore, draw nigh and take your places.

Marcus, we will.

Trumpets sounding, enter Titus like a cook, placing the dishes, with

Young Lucius and others, and Lavinia with a veil over her face.

Welcome, my lord; welcome, dread queen;

Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius;

And welcome all. Although the cheer be poor,

’Twill fill your stomachs; please you eat of it.

Why art thou thus attired, Andronicus?

Because I would be sure to have all well

To entertain your highness and your empress.

We are beholden to you, good Andronicus.

An if your highness knew my heart, you were.

My lord the emperor, resolve me this:

Was it well done of rash Virginius

To slay his daughter with his own right hand,

Because she was enforced, stained, and deflowered?

It was, Andronicus.

Your reason, mighty lord?

Because the girl should not survive her shame,

And by her presence still renew his sorrows.

A reason mighty, strong, and effectual;

A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant

For me, most wretched, to perform the like.

Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee;

And with thy shame thy father’s sorrow die!

What hast thou done, unnatural and unkind?

Killed her for whom my tears have made me blind.

I am as woeful as Virginius was,

And have a thousand times more cause than he

To do this outrage, and it now is done.

What, was she ravished? Tell who did the deed.

Will’t please you eat? Will’t please your highness feed?

Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus?

Not I; ’twas Chiron and Demetrius.

They ravished her, and cut away her tongue;

And they, ’twas they, that did her all this wrong.

Go fetch them hither to us presently.

Why, there they are, both baked in that pie,

Whereof their mother daintily hath fed,

Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred.

’Tis true, ’tis true; witness my knife’s sharp point.

Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed.

Can the son’s eye behold his father bleed?

There’s meed for meed, death for a deadly deed.

[_A great tumult. Lucius, Marcus, and others go aloft to the upper

stage._]

You sad-faced men, people and sons of Rome,

By uproar severed, as a flight of fowl

Scattered by winds and high tempestuous gusts,

O, let me teach you how to knit again

This scattered corn into one mutual sheaf,

These broken limbs again into one body;

Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself,

And she whom mighty kingdoms curtsy to,

Like a forlorn and desperate castaway,

Do shameful execution on herself.

But if my frosty signs and chaps of age,

Grave witnesses of true experience,

Cannot induce you to attend my words,

Speak, Rome’s dear friend, [_to Lucius_] as erst our ancestor,

When with his solemn tongue he did discourse

To love-sick Dido’s sad attending ear

The story of that baleful burning night

When subtle Greeks surprised King Priam’s Troy.

Tell us what Sinon hath bewitched our ears,

Or who hath brought the fatal engine in

That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound.

My heart is not compact of flint nor steel,

Nor can I utter all our bitter grief,

But floods of tears will drown my oratory

And break my utterance, even in the time

When it should move you to attend me most,

And force you to commiseration.

Here’s Rome’s young captain, let him tell the tale,

Then, noble auditory, be it known to you

That Chiron and the damned Demetrius

Were they that murdered our emperor’s brother;

And they it were that ravished our sister.

For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded,

Our father’s tears despised, and basely cozened

Of that true hand that fought Rome’s quarrel out

And sent her enemies unto the grave.

Lastly, myself unkindly banished,

The gates shut on me, and turned weeping out,

To beg relief among Rome’s enemies;

Who drowned their enmity in my true tears,

And oped their arms to embrace me as a friend.

I am the turned-forth, be it known to you,

That have preserved her welfare in my blood

And from her bosom took the enemy’s point,

Sheathing the steel in my advent’rous body.

Alas, you know I am no vaunter, I;

My scars can witness, dumb although they are,

That my report is just and full of truth.

But soft, methinks I do digress too much,

Citing my worthless praise. O, pardon me;

For when no friends are by, men praise themselves.

Now is my turn to speak. Behold the child.

Of this was Tamora delivered,

The issue of an irreligious Moor,

Chief architect and plotter of these woes.

The villain is alive in Titus’ house,

And as he is to witness, this is true.

Now judge what cause had Titus to revenge

These wrongs unspeakable, past patience,

Or more than any living man could bear.

Now have you heard the truth. What say you, Romans?

Have we done aught amiss? Show us wherein,

And, from the place where you behold us pleading,

The poor remainder of Andronici

Will, hand in hand, all headlong hurl ourselves,

And on the ragged stones beat forth our souls,

And make a mutual closure of our house.

Speak, Romans, speak, and if you say we shall,

Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall.

Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome,

And bring our emperor gently in thy hand,

Lucius our emperor; for well I know

The common voice do cry it shall be so.

Lucius, all hail, Rome’s royal emperor!

Go, go into old Titus’ sorrowful house,

And hither hale that misbelieving Moor

To be adjudged some direful slaught’ring death,

As punishment for his most wicked life.

[_Exeunt Attendants. Lucius and Marcus come down from the upper

stage._]

Lucius, all hail, Rome’s gracious governor!

Thanks, gentle Romans. May I govern so

To heal Rome’s harms and wipe away her woe!

But, gentle people, give me aim awhile,

For nature puts me to a heavy task.

Stand all aloof; but, uncle, draw you near

To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk.

O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips.

These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stained face,

The last true duties of thy noble son.

Tear for tear and loving kiss for kiss

Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips.

O, were the sum of these that I should pay

Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them.

Come hither, boy; come, come, and learn of us

To melt in showers. Thy grandsire loved thee well.

Many a time he danced thee on his knee,

Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow;

Many a story hath he told to thee,

And bid thee bear his pretty tales in mind

And talk of them when he was dead and gone.

How many thousand times hath these poor lips,

When they were living, warmed themselves on thine!

O, now, sweet boy, give them their latest kiss.

Bid him farewell; commit him to the grave.

Do them that kindness, and take leave of them.

O grandsire, grandsire, e’en with all my heart

Would I were dead, so you did live again!

O Lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping;

My tears will choke me if I ope my mouth.

You sad Andronici, have done with woes.

Give sentence on the execrable wretch

That hath been breeder of these dire events.

Set him breast-deep in earth and famish him;

There let him stand and rave and cry for food.

If anyone relieves or pities him,

For the offence he dies. This is our doom.

Some stay to see him fastened in the earth.

Ah, why should wrath be mute and fury dumb?

I am no baby, I, that with base prayers

I should repent the evils I have done.

Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did

Would I perform, if I might have my will.

If one good deed in all my life I did,

I do repent it from my very soul.

Some loving friends convey the emperor hence,

And give him burial in his father’s grave.

My father and Lavinia shall forthwith

Be closed in our household’s monument.

As for that ravenous tiger, Tamora,

No funeral rite, nor man in mournful weed,

No mournful bell shall ring her burial;

But throw her forth to beasts and birds of prey.

Her life was beastly and devoid of pity;

And being dead, let birds on her take pity.