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for her with his sword;

       A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy;

       One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons,

       To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome.

      TITUS.

       These words are razors to my wounded heart.

      SATURNINUS.

       And therefore, lovely Tamora, Queen of Goths,—

       That, like the stately Phoebe ‘mongst her nymphs,

       Dost overshine the gallant’st dames of Rome,—

       If thou be pleas’d with this my sudden choice,

       Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride

       And will create thee empress of Rome.

       Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice?

       And here I swear by all the Roman gods,—

       Sith priest and holy water are so near,

       And tapers burn so bright, and everything

       In readiness for Hymenaeus stand,—

       I will not re-salute the streets of Rome,

       Or climb my palace, till from forth this place

       I lead espous’d my bride along with me.

      TAMORA.

       And here in sight of heaven to Rome I swear,

       If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths,

       She will a handmaid be to his desires,

       A loving nurse, a mother to his youth.

      SATURNINUS.

       Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon.—Lords, accompany

       Your noble emperor and his lovely bride,

       Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine,

       Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered:

       There shall we consummate our spousal rites.

       [Exeunt SATURNINUS and his Followers; TAMORA and her Sons; AARON and Goths.]

      TITUS.

       I am not bid to wait upon this bride.—

       Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone,

       Dishonour’d thus, and challenged of wrongs?

       [Re-enter MARCUS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS.]

      MARCUS.

       O Titus, see, O, see what thou hast done!

       In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son.

      TITUS.

       No, foolish tribune, no; no son of mine,—

       Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed

       That hath dishonoured all our family;

       Unworthy brother and unworthy sons!

      LUCIUS.

       But let us give him burial, as becomes;

       Give Mutius burial with our bretheren.

      TITUS.

       Traitors, away! He rests not in this tomb:—

       This monument five hundred years hath stood,

       Which I have sumptuously re-edified:

       Here none but soldiers and Rome’s servitors

       Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls:—

       Bury him where you can, he comes not here.

      MARCUS.

       My lord, this is impiety in you:

       My nephew Mutius’ deeds do plead for him;

       He must be buried with his bretheren.

      QUINTUS & MARTIUS.

       And shall, or him we will accompany.

      TITUS.

       And shall! What villain was it spake that word?

      QUINTUS.

       He that would vouch it in any place but here.

      TITUS.

       What, would you bury him in my despite?

      MARCUS.

       No, noble Titus; but entreat of thee

       To pardon Mutius, and to bury him.

      TITUS.

       Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest,

       And with these boys mine honour thou hast wounded:

       My foes I do repute you every one;

       So trouble me no more, but get you gone.

      MARTIUS.

       He is not with himself; let us withdraw.

      QUINTUS.

       Not I, till Mutius’ bones be buried.

       [MARCUS and the Sons of TITUS kneel.]

      MARCUS.

       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;

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