Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs,
To re-salute his country with his tears,
Tears of true joy for his return to Rome,
Thou great defender of this Capitol,
Stand gracious to the rites that we intend!
Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons,
Half of the number that King Priam had,
Behold the poor remains, alive and dead!
These that survive let Rome reward with love;
These that I bring unto their latest home,
With burial amongst their ancestors:

80

Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my
sword.

Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own,
Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet,
To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx?
Make way to lay them by their brethren.

90

[They open the tomb. There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars! O sacred receptacle of my joys,

Sweet cell of virtue and nobility,

How many sons hast thou of mine in store, That thou wilt never render to me more! Luc. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths, That we may hew his limbs and on a pile 'Ad manes fratrum' sacrifice his flesh, Before this earthy prison of their bones, That so the shadows be not unappeased,

100

77. "thou great defender of this Capitol"; i. e. Jupiter, to whom the Capitol was sacred.-H. N. H.

99. "earthy"; so the quartos; the folio, earthly.-H. N. H.

་

Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth. Tit. I give him you, the noblest that survives, The eldest son of this distressed queen. Tam. Stay, Roman brethren! Gracious

queror,

con

110

Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed,
A mother's tears in passion for her son:
And if thy sons were ever dear to thee,
O, think my son to be as dear to me!
Sufficeth not, that we are brought to Rome,
To beautify thy triumphs and return,
Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke;
But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets,
For valiant doings in their country's cause?
O, if to fight for king and commonweal
Were piety in thine, it is in these.

Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood.
Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods?
Draw near them then in being merciful:
Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge:

Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son. 120 Tit. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me. These are their brethren, whom you Goths beheld

Alive and dead; and for their brethren slain
Religiously they ask a sacrifice:

To this your son is mark'd, and die he must,
To appease their groaning shadows that are

gone.

101. "prodigies on earth"; it was supposed that the ghosts of unburied people appeared, to solicit the rites of funeral.—H. N. H.

Luc. Away with him! and make a fire straight;
And with our swords, upon a pile of wood,
Let's hew his limbs till they be clean consumed.
[Exeunt the sons of Andronicus with Alarbus.
Tam. O cruel, irreligious piety!

Chi. Was ever Scythia half so barbarous?
Dem. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.
Alarbus goes to rest, and we survive

130

To tremble under Titus' threatening look. Then, madam, stand resolved; but hope withal, The self-same gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy

With opportunity of sharp revenge

Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent,

May favor Tamora, the queen of Goths,

When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen,

To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes.

140

Re-enter the sons of Andronicus, with their swords

bloody.

Luc. See, lord and father, how we have perform'd Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd, And entrails feed the sacrificing fire,

Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky.

Remaineth nought but to inter our brethren, And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome. Tit. Let it be so; and let Andronicus

138. “his tent”; Theobald reads "her tent" (alluding to Hecuba beguiling Polymnestor into the tent where she and the other Trojan captives were).—I. G.

Make this his latest farewell to their souls.

[Trumpets sounded, and the coffin laid in the tomb. In peace and honor rest you here, my sons; 150 Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in rest,

Secure from worldly chances and mishaps!
Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells,
Here grow no damned drugs; here are no

storms,

No noise, but silence and eternal sleep:

In peace and honor rest you here, my sons!

Enter Lavinia.

160

Lav. In peace and honor live Lord Titus long;
My noble lord and father, live in fame!
Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears
I render, for my brethren's obsequies;
And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy
Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome:
O, bless me here with thy victorious hand,
Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud!
Tit. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserved
The cordial of mine age to glad my heart!
Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days,

And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise!

154. "drugs"; Q. 1, “drugges"; Q. 2, "grudgges"; Ff., "grudges." -I. G.

167. To "outlive an eternal date" is, though not philosophical, yet poetical sense. He wishes that her life may be longer than his, and her praise longer than fame.-H. N. H.

Enter, below, Marcus Andronicus and Tribunes; re-enter Saturninus and Bassianus, attended.

Marc. Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother, Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome! 170 Tit. Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Marcus. Marc. And welcome, nephews, from successful

wars,

You that survive, and you that sleep in fame!
Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all,
That in your country's service drew your
swords:

But safer triumph is this funeral pomp,
That hath aspired to Solon's happiness,
And triumphs over chance in honor's bed.
Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome,
Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, 180
Send thee by me, their tribune and their trust,
This palliament of white and spotless hue;
And name thee in election for the empire,
With these our late-deceased emperor's sons:
Be candidatus then, and put it on,

you

And help to set 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 Be chosen with proclamations to-day, To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life, And set abroad new business for you all? Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years, 189. To "don" is to do on, that is, put on.-H. N. H.

190