« ForrigeFortsæt »
I have surely seen him:
His favour is familiar to me.-
Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace,
And art mine own.-I know not why,nor wherefore,
To say, live, boy: ne'er thank thy master; live:
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
Fitting my bounty, and thy state, I'll give it;
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
The noblest ta'en.
I humbly thank your highness.
Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad;
And yet, I know, thou wilt.
No, no: alack,
There's other work in hand; I see a thing
Bitter to me as death: your life, good master,
Must shuffle for itself.
The boy disdains me,
He leaves me, scorns me: Briefly die their joys,
That place them on the truth of girls and boys.—
Why stands he so perplex'd?
What would'st thou, boy?
I love thee more and more; think more and more
What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on?
Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend?
Imo. He is a Roman; no more kin to me,
Than I to your highness; who, being born your
Am something nearer.
Wherefore ey'st him so?
Imo. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please
To give me hearing.
Ay, with all my heart,
And lend my best attention. What's thy name?
Imo. Fidele, sir.
Cym. Thou art my good youth, my page;
I'll be thy master: Walk with me; speak freely.
(Cymbeline and Imogen converse apart.)
Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death?
One sand another
Not more resembles: That sweet rosy lad,
Who died, and was Fidele:-What think yon?
Gui. The same dead thing alive. [forbear;
Bel. Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not;
Creatures may be alike: were't he, I am sure
He would have spoke to us.
But we saw him dead.
Bel. Be silent; let's see further.
It is my mistress: (Aside.)
Since she is living, let the time run on,
To good, or bad. (Cymb. and Imo. come forward.)
Come, stand thou by our side;
Make thy demand aloud.—Sir, (to Ťach.) step
Give answer to this boy, and do it freely;
Or, by our greatness, and the grace of it,
Which is our honour, bitter torture shall [him.
Winnow the truth from falsehood.-On, speak to
Imo. My boon is, that this gentleman may render
Of whom he had this ring.
What's that to him? (Aside.)
Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say,
How came it yours?
Iach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that
Which, to be spoke, would torture thee.
Iach. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that,
Torments me to conceal. By villany [which
I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel:
Whom thou didst banish; and (which more may
As it doth me,) a nobler sir ne'er liv'd
'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more,
Cym. All that belongs to this.
That paragon, thy daughter,
For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits
Quail to remember,-Give me leave;-I faint.
Cym. My daughter! what of her? Renew thy
I had rather thou should'st live while nature will,
Than die ere I hear more: strive, man,
Iach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock
That struck the hour!) it was in Rome, (accurs'd
The mansion where!) 'twas at a feast, (Ò 'would
Our viands had been poison'd! or, at least,
Those which I heav'd to head!) the good Posthumus,
(What should I say? he was too good to be
Where ill men were; and was the best of all
Among'st the rar'st of good ones,) sitting sadly,
Hearing us praise our loves of Italy
For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast
Of him that best could speak for feature, laming
The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva,
Postures beyond brief nature; for condition,
A shop of all the qualities that man
Loves woman for; besides, that hook of wiving,
Fairness which strikes the eye :—
I stand on fire:
Come to the matter.
All too soon I shall,
Unless thou would'st grieve quickly.-This Post-
(Most like a noble lord in love, and one [humus,
That had a royal lover, took his hint;
And, not dispraising whom we prais'd, (therein
He was as calm as virtue) he began [made,
His mistress' picture; which by his tongue being
And then a mind put in't, either our brags
Were crack'd of kitchen tralls, or his description
Prov'd us unspeaking sots.
Nay, nay, to the purpose.
Iach. Your daughter's chastity-There it begins!
He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams,
And she alone where cold: Whereat, I, wretch!
Made scruple of his praise; and wager'd with him
Pieces of gold, 'gainst this, which then he wore
Upon his honour'd finger, to attain
In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring
By hers and mine adultery: he, true knight,
No lesser of her honour confident
Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring;
And would so, had it been a carbuncle
Of Phoebus' wheel; and might so safely, had it
Been all the worth of his car. Away to Britain
Post I in this design: Well may you, sir,
Remember me at court, where I was taught
Of your chaste daughter the wide difference
"Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thus quench'
Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain
'Gan in your duller Britain operate
Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent;
And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd,
That I return'd with simular proof enough
To make the noble Leonatus mad,
By wounding his belief in her renown
With tokens thus, and thus; averring notes
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet,
(O, cunning, how I got it!) nay, some marks
Of secret on her person, that he could not
But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,
I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon,-
Methinks, I see him now,-
Post: Ay, so thou dost, (Coming forward.)
Italian fiend!-Ah me, most credulous fool,
Egregious murderer, thief, any thing
That's due to all the villains past, in being,
To come !-O, give me cord, or knife, or poison,
Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out
For torturers ingenious: it is I
That all the abhorred things o'the earth amend,
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
That kill'd thy daughter:-villain-like, I lie;
That caus'd a lesser villain than myself,
A sacrilegious thief, to do't:-the temple
Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself.
Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
The dogs o'the street to bay me: every villain
Be call'd, Posthumus Leonatus; and
Be villany less than 'twas!-O Imogen!
My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen!
Peace, my lord; hear, hear
Post.Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page, There lie thy part. (Striking her: she falls.) O, gentlemen, help, help Mine, and your mistress:-O, my lord Posthumus! You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now:-Help, help!Mine honour'd lady! Cym. Does the world go round? Post. How come these staggers on me? Pis. Wake, my mistress! Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me To death with mortal joy.
How fares my mistress? Imo. O, get thee from my sight; Thou gav'st me poison: dangerous fellow, hence! Breathe not where princes are.
The tune of Imogen!
Pis. Lady, The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if That box I gave you was not thought by me A precious thing; I had it from the queen. Cym. New matter still?
It poison'd me.
Cor. O goda!I left out one thing, which the queen confess'd, Which must approve thee honest: If Pisanio Have, said she, given his mistress that confection Which I gave him for cordial, she is serv'd As I would serve a rat.
What's this, Cornelius?
Cor. The queen, sir, very oft impórtun'd me
To temper poisons for her; still pretending
The satisfaction of her knowledge, only
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs
Of no esteem: I, dreading that her purpose
Was of more danger, did compound for her
A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease
The present power of life; but, in short time,
All offices of nature should again
Do their due functions.-Have you ta'en of it?
Imo. Most like I did, for I was dead.
There was our error.
This is sure, Fidele. [you?
Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from
Think, that you are upon a rock; and now
Throw me again.
Hang there like fruit, my soul,
Post. Till the tree die! Cym. How now, my flesh, my child? What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act? Wilt thou not speak to me?
Your blessing, sir. (Kneeling.) Bel. Though you did love this youth, I blame ye not; (to Guiderius and Arviragus.)
You had a motive for it.
My tears, that fall,
Prove holy water on thee! Imogen,
Thy mother's dead.
I am sorry for't, my lord.
Cym. O, she was naught; and 'long of her it was,
That we meet here so strangely: But her son
Is gone, we know not how, nor where.
My lord, Now fear is from me, I'll speak truth. Lord Cloten, Upon my lady's missing, came to me With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth, and If I discover'd not which way she was gone, It was my instant death: By accident, I had a feigned letter of my master's Then in my pocket; which directed him To seek her on the mountains near to Milford; Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments, Which he inforc'd from me, away he posts With unchaste purpose, and with oaths to violate My lady's honour: what became of him, I further know not.
Let me end the story:
I slew him there.
Marry, the gods forefend! I would not thy good deeds should from my lips
Pluck a hard sentence: pr'ythee, valiant youth,
I have spoke it, and I did it.
Cym. He was a prince.
Gui. A most uncivil one: The wrongs he did me,
Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me
With language, that would make me spurn the sea,
If it could so roar to me: I cut off's head;
And am right glad, he is not standing here
To tell this tale of mine.
I am sorry for thee: By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must Endure our law: Thou art dead.
That headless man
I thought had been my lord.
Bind the offender,
And take him from our presence.
Stay, sir king;
This man is better than the man he slew,
As well descended as thyself; and hath
More of thee merited, than a band of Clotens
Had ever scar for.-Let his arms alone;
(To the guard.)
They were not born for bondage.
Why, old soldier,
Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,
By tasting of our wrath? How of descent
As good as we?
In that he spake too far.
Cym. And thou shalt die for't.
We will die all three:
But I will prove, that two of us are as good
As I have given out him.-My sons, I must,
For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech,
Though, haply, well for you.
Your danger is
Gui. And our good his.
Have at it then.By leave; Thou hadst, great king, a subject, who Was call'd Belarius. Cym. What of him? he is A banish'
He it is, that hath
Assum'd this age: indeed, a banish'd man;
I know not how, a traitor.
Take him hence;
The whole world shall not save him.
Not too hot: First pay me for the nursing of thy sons; And let it be confiscate all, so soon As I have receiv'd it. Cym.
Nursing of my sons?
Bel. I am too blunt, and saucy: Here's my knee; Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons; Then, spare not the old father. Mighty sir, These two young gentlemen, that call me father, And think they are my sons, are none of mine; They are the issue of your loins, my liege, And blood of your begetting.
How! my issue?
Bel. So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan,
Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd:
Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment
Itself, and all my treason; that suffer'd,
Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes
(For such, and so they are,) these twenty years
Have I train'd up: those arts they have, as I
Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as
Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile,
Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children
Upon my banishment: I mov'd her to't;
Having receiv'd the punishment before,
For that which I did then: Beaten for loyalty
Excited me to treason: Their dear loss,
The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd
Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir,
Here are your sons again: and I must lose
Two of the sweet'st companions in the world :-
The benediction of these covering heavens
Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy To inlay heaven with stars.
Thou weep'st, and speak'st.
The service, that you three have done, is more
Unlike than this thou tell'st: I lost my children;
If these be they, I know not how to wish
A pair of worthier sons.
Be pleas'd a while.-
This gentleman, whom I call Polydore,
Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius:
This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arvirágus,
Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp'd
In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand
Of his queen mother, which, for more probation,
I can with ease produce.
Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;
It was a mark of wonder.
This is he;
Who hath upon him still that natural stamp:
It was wise nature's end in the donation,
To be his evidence now.
O, what, am I
A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother
Rejoic'd deliverance more:-Bless'd may you be,
That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
You may reign in them now!-O Imogen,
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.
No, my lord; I have got two worlds by't.-O, my gentle brothers, Have we thus met? O never say hereafter, But I am truest speaker: you call'd me brother, When I was but your sister; I you brothers, When you were so indeed.
Did you e'er meet?
Arv. Ay, my good lord.
And at first meeting lov'd;
Continued so, until we thought he died.
Cor. By the queen's dram she swallow'd.
O rare instinct! [ment
When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridge-
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
Distinction should be rich in.-Where? how liv'd
And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
How parted with your brothers? how first met them?
Why fled you from the court? and whither? These,
And your three motives to the battle, with
I know not how much more, should be demanded;
And all the other by-dependencies
From chance to chance; but nor the time, nor place,
Will serve our long intergatories. See,
Posthumus anchors upon Imogen;
And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
On him, her brothers, me, her master; hitting
Each object with a joy; the counterchange
Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground,
And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.-
Thou art my brother; so we'll hold thee ever.
Imo. You are my father too; and did relieve me,
To see this gracious season.
Save these in bonds; let them be joyful too,
For they shall taste our comfort.
My good master,
Happy be you! Cym. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought, He would have well becom'd this place, and grac'd The thankings of a king.
I will yet do you service. Luc.
And here the bracelet of the truest princess,
That ever swore her faith.
Kneel not to me;
The power, that I have on you, is to spare you;
The malice towards you, to forgive you: Live,
And deal with others better.
I am, sir,
The soldier, that did company these three
In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for
The purpose I then follow'd:-That I was he,
Speak, Iachimo; I had you down, and might
Have made you finish,
I am down again, (Kneeling.) But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, As then your force did. Take that life, 'beseech you, Which I so often owe: but your ring first;
We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;
Pardon's the word to all.
You holp us, sir, As you did mean indeed to be our brother; Joy'd are we, that you are.
Post. Your servant, princes.-Good my lord of Call forth your soothsayer: As I slept, methought, Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back, Appear'd to me, with other spritely shews Of mine own kindred: when I wak'd, I found This label on my bosom; whose containing Is so from sense in hardness, that I can Make no collection of it; let him shew His skill in the construction. Luc.
Sooth. Here, my good lord. Read, and declare the meaning. Sooth. (Reads.) When as a lion's whelp shall, tə himself unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate, and flourish in peace and plenty.
Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp;
The fit and apt construction of thy name,
Being Leo-natus, doth import so much :
The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
Which we call mollis aer; and mollis aer
We term it mulier: which mulier, I divine,
Is this most constant wife; who, even now,
Answering the letter of the oracle,
Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about
With this most tender air.
Cym. This hath some seeming. Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point Thy two sons forth; who, by Belarius stolen, For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd, To the majestic cedar join'd; whose issue Promises Britain peace and plenty.
My peace we will begin :-And, Caius Lucias,
Although the victor, we submit to Cæsar,
And to the Roman empire; promising
To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
We were dissuaded by our wicked queen;
Whom heavens, in justice, (both on her, and hers,)
Have laid most heavy hand.
Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tune
The harmony of this peace. The vision
Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke
Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant
Is full accomplish'd: For the Roman eagle,
From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o'the sun
So vanish'd: which foreshew'd our princely eagle,
The imperial Cæsar, should again unite
His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
Which shines here in the west.
Cym. Laud we the gods; And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils From our bless'd altars! Publish we this peace To all our subjects. Set we forward: Let A Roman and a British ensign wave Friendly together: so through Lud's town march; And in the temple of great Jupiter Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.-Set on there :-Never was a war did cease, Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace. [Exeunt.
SCENE I.-Rome. Before the Capitol.
The tomb of the Andronici appearing; the Tribunes and Senators aloft, as in the Senate. Enter, below, SATURNINUS, and his Followers, on one side; and BASSIANUS and his Followers, on the other; with
drum and colours.
Sat. Noble patricians, patrons of my right,
Defend the justice of my cause with arms;
And, countrymen, my loving followers,
Plead my successive title with your swords:
I am his first-born son, that was the last
That wore the imperial diadem of Rome;
Then let my father's honours live in me,
Nor wrong mine age with this indignity.
Bas. Romans, friends, followers, favourers of
If ever Bassianus, Cæsar's son, [my right,
Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome,
Keep then this passage to the Capitol,
And suffer not dishonour to approach
The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate, To justice, continence, and nobility: But let desert in pure election shine; And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice. Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS, aloft, with the crown. Mar. Princes, that strive by factions, and by Ambitiously for rule and empery- [friends, Know, that the people of Rome, for whom we stand A special party, have, by common voice, In election for the Roman empery, Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius.
PUBLIUS, Son to Marcus the Tribune.
EMILIUS, a noble Roman.
SCENE,-Rome; and the Country near it.
AARON, a Moor, beloned by Tamora.
A Captain, Tribune, Messenger, and Clown; Romans.
Goths and Romans.
TAMORA, Queen of the Goths.
LAVINIA, Daughter to Titus Andronicus. A Nurse, and a black Child.
Kinsmen of Titus, Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Soldiers, and Attendants.
For many good and great deserts to Rome;
A nobler man, a braver warrior,
Lives not this day within the city walls:
He by the senate is accited home,
From weary wars against the barbarous Goths;
That, with his sons, a terror to our foes,
Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd in arms.
Ten years are spent, since first he undertook
This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms
Our enemies' pride: Five times he hath return'd
Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons
In coffins from the field;
And now, at last, laden with honour's spoils,
Returns the good Andronicus to Rome,
Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms.
Whom, worthily, you would have now succeed,
Let us entreat,-By honour of his name,
And in the Capitol and senate's right,
Whom you pretend to honour and adore,-
That you withdraw you, and abate your strength;
Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should,
Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness.
Sat. How fair the tribune speaks to calm my
Bas. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy In thy uprightness and integrity, And so I love and honour thee and thine, Thy noble brother Titus, and his sons, And her, to whom my thoughts are humbled all, Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament, That I will here dismiss my loving friends; And to my fortunes, and the people's favour,
Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd.
[Exeunt the Followers of Bassianus.
Sat. Friends, that have been thus forward in my
I thank you all, and here dismiss you all; [right,
And to the love and favour of my country
Commit myself, my person, and the cause.
[Exeunt the Followers of Saturninus.
Rome, be as just and gracious unto me,
As I am confident and kind to thee.-
Open the gates, and let me in.
Bas. Tribunes! and me, a poor competitor.
[Sat. and Bas. go into the Capitol, and exeunt
with Senators, Marcus, &c.
SCENE II.-The same.
Enter a Captain and others.
Cap. Romans, make way: The good Andronicus, Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion, Successful in the battles that he fights, With honour and with fortune is return'd, From where he circumscribed with his sword, And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome. Flourish of trumpets, &c. Enter MUTIUS and MARTIUS: after them, two men bearing a coffin covered with black; then QUINTUS and LUCIUS. After them, TITUS ANDRONICUS; and then TAMORA, with ALARBUS, CHIRON, DEMETRIUS, AARON, and other Goths, prisoners; Soldiers and People, following. The bearers set down the coffin, and TITUS speaks.
Tit. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning
Lo, as the bark, that hath discharg'd her fraught,
Returns with precious lading to the bay,
From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage,
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 :
Here Goths have given me leave to sheath 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.
(The tomb is opened.)
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 of mine hast thou in store,
That thou wilt never render to me more?
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.
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.
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 consum'd.
[Exeunt Lucius, Quintus, Martius, and
Mutius, with Alarbus.
Tam. O cruel, irreligious piety!
Chi. Was ever Scythia half so barbarons?
Dem. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.
Alarbus goes to rest; and we survive
To tremble under Titus' threatening look.
Then, madam, stand resolv'd; 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 favour Tamora, the queen of Goths,
(When Goths were Goths, and Tamora was queen,)
To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes.
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 earthly prison of their bones; That so the shadows be not unappeas'd, Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth.
Tit. I give him you; the noblest that survives, The eldest son of this distressed queen. [queror, Tam. Stay, Roman_brethren;-Gracious conVictorious 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; Bat must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets, For valiant doings in their country's cause? O if to fight for king and common-weal Were piety in thine, it is in these. Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood
Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and MUTIUS, 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 'Tarums welcome them to Rome.
Tit. Let it be so, and let Andronicus Make this his latest farewell to their souls. (Trumpets sounded, and the coffins laid in the tomb.) In peace and honour rest you here, my sons; Rome's readiest champions, repose you here, Secure from worldly chances and mishaps! Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, Here grow no damned grudges; here are no storms, No noise, but silence and eternal sleep :
In peace and honour rest you here, my sons!
Lav. In peace and honour 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 reserv'd
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!
Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS, SATURNINUS, BAS-
SIANUS, and others.
Mar. Long live lord Titus, my beloved brother, Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome!
Tit. Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Mar[wars,
Mar. And welcome, nephews, from successful 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 aspir'd to Solon's happiness, And triumphs over chance, in honour's bed.Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, 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: