The moft lamentable Romaine
Tragedie of Titus Andronicus: As it was plaid
by the right honorable the Earle of Darbie, Earle
ot Pembrooke, and Earle of Sufflex
their Servants.

Enter the Tribunes and Senatours aloft : And then enter
Saturninus and his followers at one door, and Baffianus and his
followers, with Drum and Trumpets.

Saturninus.

Noble Patricians, Patrons of my right,
Defend the justice of my cause with arms.
And Countrymen my louing followers,
Plead my successful title with your words :
I am his first borne sonne, that was the last
That were the Imperiall Diadem of Rome.
Then let my fathers honourlie in me,
Nor wrong mine age with this indignitie.
Baffianus,

Romaines, friends, followers, favourers of my right,
If ever Baffianus Caesars sonne,
Were gracious in the eyes of royall Rome,
Keepe then this passage to the Capitoll,
And suffer not dishonour to approach,
The imperiall seat to vertue consecrate
To justice, continence, and Nobility:
But let defert in pure election shine,
And Romaines fight for freedome in your choice.

A 2

March

The most lamentable Tragedie

Marcus Andronicus with the Crowne.

Princes that strive by factions and by friends
Ambitiously for Rule and Emperie,
Know that the people of Rome for whom we stand
A speciall Partie, haue by common voyce,
In election for the Romaine Emperie
Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius,
For many good and great deferts to Rome :

A nobler man, a brauer warriour,
Lines not this day within the Citty walls.
He by the Senate is accited home,
From weary warres against the barbarous Gothes,
That with his Sonnes (a terror to our foes)
Hath yoakt a nation strong, traind vp in Armes.
Tenne yeares are spent since first he vndertooke
This cause of Rome, and chafised with Armes
Our enemies pride: Five times he hath returnd
Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant Sonnes

In Coffins from the field,
And now at last, laden with honours spoiles
Returnest the good Andronicus to Rome,
Renowned Titus flourishing in Armes,
Let vs intreat by honour of his name,
Whome worthily you would haue now fucceede,
And in the Capitoll and Senates right,
Whome you pretend to honour and adore,
That you withdraw you, and abate your strength,
Dismiffle your followers, and as furers should,
Plead your deferts in peace and humblenes.

Saturninus.

How faire the Tribune speaks to calme my thoughts.

Bajusannus.

Marcus Andronicus, so I doe affie,

In

of Titus Andronicus.

In thy vprightnes and integrity,
And so I loue and honour thee and thine,
Thy noble brother Titus and his Sonnes,
And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all,
Gracious Lausnia, Romes rich Ornament,
That I will heere dismiffle my louing friends :
And to my fortunes and the peoples fauour,
Commit my caufe in ballance to be wald.

Exit Soultiers.

Saturninus.

Friends, that haue beene thus forward in my right,
I thanke you all, and heere dismiffle you all,
And to the loue and fauour of my Country,
Commit my selfe, my person, and the cause.
Rome be as just and gracious vnto me,
As I am confident and kinde to thee.
Open the gates and let me in.

Bajusannus, Tribunes and me a poore Competitor.

They goe vp into the Senate houfe.

Enter a Captaine.

Romaines make way, the good Andronicus,
Patron of vertue, Romes best Champion:
Succesfull in the battailles that he fightes,
With honour and with fortune is returnd,
From where he fircumfcribed with his sword,
And brought to yoake the enemies of Rome.

Sound Drummes and Trumpets, and then enter two of Titus
Sonnes, and then two men bearing a Coffin复合d with blacke, then
two other Sonnes, then Titus Andronicus, and then Tamora the
Queene of Gothes and her two Sonnes, Chiron and Demetrius,
with Aron the More, and others, as many as can be, herفت downe
the Coffin, and Titus speaks.

A 3.

Titus

The most lamentable Trage die

Titus. Haile Rome, victorious in thy mourning in the weeds,
Loe as the barke that hath discharged his fraught,
Returns with precious lading to the bay,
From whence at first she wayed her anchorage:
Commeth Andronicus bound with Lawrell bowes,
To refalute his country with his teares,
Teares of true ioy for his returne to Rome,
Thou great defender of this Capitoll,
Stand gracious to the rites that we intend.
Romaines, of five and twenty valiant Sonnes,
Halfe of the number that king Priam had,
Behold the poor remaines alive and dead!
Thefe that furuiue, let Rome reward with loue:
Thefe that I bring vnto their latest home,
With buriall amongst their aunceftors.
Heere Gothes haue giuen me leaue to sheath my Sword,
Titus vnkinde, and careles of thine owne,
Why sufferst thou thy Sonnes vnburied yet,
To houer on the dreadfull shore of Stix?
Make way to lay them by their bretheren.

They open the Tombe,

There greetein silence as the dead are wont,
And sleepe in peace, flaine in your Countries warres:
O sacred receptacle of my ioyes,
Sweet Cell of vertue and Nobilitie,
How many Sonnes of mine haft thou in store,
That thou wilt neuer render to me more?
Lucius. Giue vs the proudest prifoner of the Gothes,
That we may hew his limbes, and on a pile
Ad manu fratrum, sacrifice his flesh:
Before this earthy prifon of their bones,
That so the shadowes be not vnapeaf'd,
Nor we disturbd with prodigies on earth.

Titus

of Titus Andronicus.

Titus. I giue him you, the nobleft that furuſſen,
The eldeſt ſonne of his diſtrefſed Queene.
Tamo. Stay Romaine brethren, gracious conquerer,
Victorious Titus, rue the teares I shed,
A mother's teares in paſſion for her ſonne:
And if thy ſonnes were euer decre to thee,
Oh thinke my ſonne to be as decre to mee.
Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome
To beautiſe thy triumphs, and returne
Captiue to thee, and to thy Romaine yoake,
But muſt my ſonnes be ſlaughtered in the streetes,
For valiant doings in their Countries cauſe?
O if to fight for king and common weale,
Were piety in thine, it is in thefe:

Andronicus. ſtaine not thy tombe with blood.
Wilt thou draw neere the nature of the Gods?
Draw neere them then in being mercifull.
Sweet mercy is Nobilitie true badge,
Thrice noble Titus spare my first borne ſonne.

Titus. Patient your ſelſe Madam, and pardon me.
These are their brethren, whome you Gothes beheld
Aliue and dead, and for their bretheren flaine,
Religioſly they aske a ſacrifice:
To this your ſonne is markt and die he muſt,
Tappeaſe their groning ſhadowes that are gone.
Lucius. Away with him and make a fire straight,
And with our ſwords vpon a pile of wood,
Let's hew his limbes till they be cleane consumde.

Exit Titus ſonnes with Alarbus.

Tamora. O cruell irreligiouſ piety,
Chiron. Was euer Scythia halſe so barbarous?
Deme. Oppofe not Scythia to ambitious Rome,
Alarbus goes to reſt, and we furuiue,
To tremble vnder Titus threatening looke.

Than

The most lamentable Tragedie

Then Madam stand resolu'd, but hope withall,
The selfe fame Gods that arm'de the Queene of Troy
With oportunitie of sharpe revenge
Vpon the Thracian Tyrant in his Tent,
May fauour Tamora the Queene of Gothes,
(When Gothes were Gothes, and Tamora was Queene)
To quit the bloody wrongs vpon her foes.

Enter the Sonnes of Andronicus againe.

Lucius, See Lord and father how we haue perform'd
Our Romaine rightes, Alarbus limbs are lopt,
And intrals feede the sacrifling fire,
Whose smoke like incense doth perfume the skie.
Remaineth nought but to interre our brotheren,
And with lowd larums welcome them to Rome.

Titus. Let it be so, and let Andronicus
Make this his latest farewell to theyr soules.

Sound trumpets, and lay the Coffin in the Tombe.
In peace and honour reft you heere my Sonnes,
Romes readieſt Champions, repofe you here in reſt,
Secure from worldly chaunces and mishaps :
Here lurks no treason, here no enuie ſwels,
Here grow no damned grudgges, here are no ſtormes,
No noyfe, but ſilence and eternall ſleepe,
In peace and honour reſt you heere my Sonnes.

Enter Lauinia.

Lavinia. In peace and honour, liue Lord Titus long,
My noble Lord and Father liue in fame:
Loe at this Tombe my tributarie teares,
I render for my brotherens obſequies :
And at thy feete I kneele, with teares of joy
Shed on the earth for thy returre to Rome.
O bleſſe me heere with thy vijtorious hand,
Whose fortunes Romes beſt Citizens applauld.

Titus. Kind Rome, that haſt thus louingly reſerude

The

of Titus Andronicus.

The cordiall of mine age to glad my hart,
Lauinia liue, outliue thy fathers dayes,
And Fames eternall date for vertues praisè.

Marcus. Long liue Lord Titus, my beloved brother,
Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome.

Titus. Thankes gentle Tribune, noble brother Marcus
Marcus. And welcome Nephews from ſucceſſul wars,
You that ſuruiue, and you that ſleepe in fame:

Faire Lords your fortunes are alike in all,
That in your Countries ſeruice drew your ſwords.
But ſafer triumph is this ſunerall pompe,
That hath aſpirde to Solons happines,
And triumphs ouer chaunce in honors bed.

Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome,
Whose friend in iuſtice thou haſt euерbene,
Send thee by me their Tribune and their truſt,
This Palliament of white and ſpittleſſe hue,
And name thee in election for the Empire,
With these our late deceaſed Emperours ſonnes :

Be Candsidatus then, and put it on,
And help to ſet a head on headles Rome.

Titus. A better head her glorious body fits,
Then his, that shakes for age and feeblenes :
What ſhould I d'on this robe and trouble you,
Be choſen with proclamations to day,
To morrow yeeld vp rule, reſign my life,
And ſet abroad new buſines for you all.
Rome I haue bene thy ſouldier forty yeares,
And led my Countries ſtrength ſuccesſulſ,
And buried one and twenty valiant ſonnes,
Knighted in Field, ſaine manfully in Armes,
In right and ſeruice of their noble Countrie :
Giue me a ſtaffe of Honour for mine age,
But not a ſcepter to controule the world,

B

Vpright

The most lamentable Tragedie

Vpright he held it Lords, that held it laft,

Marcus. Titus, thou Chalt obtaine and aske the Emperie.

Satyr. Proud and ambitious Tribune canst thou tell?

Titus. Patience Prince Saturninus.

Satyr. Romaines doe me right.

Patricians draw your Swords and sheath them not

Till Saturninus be Romes Emperour :

Andronicus would thou wert chipt to hell,

Rather then rob me of the peoples harts.

Lucius. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good

That noble minded Titus meanes to thee.

Titus. Content thee Prince, I will restore to thee

The peoples harts, and weane them from them felues.

Bassan. Andronicus, I doe not flatter thee,

But honour thee, and will do till I die :

My faction if thou strengthen then with thy friend,

I will most thankfull be, and thanks to men

Of noble mindes, is honorable meede.

Titus. People of Rome, and peoples Tribunes here,

I aske your voyces and your suffrages,

Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus?

Tribunes. To gratifie the good Andronicus,

And gratulate his safe returne to Rome,

The people will accept who he he admits.

Titus. Tribunes I thanke you, and this fute I make,

That you create your Emperours eldest fonne,

Lord Saturnine, whose vertues will I hope,

Reflect on Rome as Tytans rayes on earth,

And ripen iustice in this common weale :

Then if you will elect by my aduife,

Crowne him, and fay, long line our Emperour.

Marcus. An. With voyces and applaufe of euery font,

Patricians and Plebeans we create

Lord Saturninus Romes great Emperour.

And

of Titus Andronicus.

And fay, Long line our Emperour Saturnine.

Saturnius. Titus Andronicus, for thy fauours done,

Tovs in our election this day,

I giue thee thankes in part of thy deferts,

And will with deeds requite thy gentlenes :

And for an onlet Titus to aduance

Thy name, and honorable familie,

Launia will I make my Empresse,

Romes to all Miftris, Miftris of my hart,

And in the sacred Pathan her espouse :

Tell me Andronicus doth this motion please thee?

Titus. It doth my worthy Lord, and in this match,

I hold me highly honoured of your Grace.

And heere in fight of Rome, to Saturnine,

King and Commander of our common weale,

The wide worlds Emperour, doe I confecrate,

My Sword, my Chariot, and my prisoners,

Preſents well worthy Romes imperiall Lord :

Receive them then, the tribute that I owe,

Mine honours Ensignes humbled at thy feete.

Satur. Thankes noble Titus, Father of my life,

How proud I am of thee, and of thy gifts

Rome ſhall record, and when I do forget

The least of these vnſpeakable deferts,

Romans forget your fealtie to me.

Titus. Now Madam are you prifoner to an Emperour,

To him that for your honour and your ſtate,

Will vſe you nobly and your followers.

Satur. A gooly Lady, truſt me of the hue

That I would choose, were I to choose a new :

Cleere vp faire Queene that cloudy countenance,

Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheere,

Thou comſt not to be made a ſcorne in Rome:

Princely ſhall be thy vſage euery way.

B 2

Rest

The most lamentable Trage die

Rest on my word, and let not discontent
Daunt all your hopes: Madame he comforts you,
Can make you greater then the Queene of Gothes,
Lauinia you are not displeased with this.

Lauinia. Not I my Lord, is this true Nobilitie,
Warrants these words in princely curtesie.

Satur. Thankes sweete Lauinia, Romans let vs goe,
Raunsomles heere we set our prisoners free,

Proclaime our honours Lords with trumpe and Drum.

Bassianus. Lord Titus by your leaue, this maid is mine.

Titus. How fir, are you in earneft then my Lord?

Baffia. I noble Titus, and refolu'd withall,

To doe my selfe this reafon and this right.

Marcus. Summ equiquam is our Romane iustice,
This Prince in iustice ceazeth but his owne.

Lucius. And that he will and shall, if Lucius lieue.

Titus. Traytors auaunt, where is the Emperours gard?

Treason my Lord, Lauinia is surprifde.

Satur. Surprifde, by whome?

Baffia. By him that iustly may

Bearc his betrothid, from all the world away.

Mutius. Brothers helpe to convey her hence away,
And with my sword He keepe this doore safe.

Titus. Follow my Lord, and Ile soone bring her back.

Mutius. My Lord you paffenot heere.

Titus. What villaine boy, barf't me my way in Rome?

Mutius. Helpe Lucius helpe.

He kills him.

Lucius. My Lord you are vnjuft, and more then so,

In wrongfull quarrell you haue flaine your fonne.

Titus. Nor thou, nor he are any fonnes of mine,
My fonnes would neuer so dishonour me.

Traytor restore Lauinia to the Emperour.

Lucius. Dead if you will but not to be his wife,
That is anothers lawfull promitt loue.

Enter

of Titus Andronicus,

Enter aloft the Emperour with Tamora and her two
fonnes, and Aron the Moore.

Emperour, No Titus, no, the Emperour needs her not,
Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stocke:
Ile truſt by leisure him that mocks me once,
Thee neuer, nor thy trayterous haughty ſonnes,
Confederates all thus to dishonour me.

Was none in Rome to make a ſtale

But Saturnine? Full well Andronicus

Agree these deeds, with that proud bragge of thine,
That laid ſt I begd the Empire at thy hands.

Titus. O monſtious, what reproch full words are these?

Satur. But goe thy wayes, goe giue that changing peeece,
To him that flouriſt for her with his ſword :

A valiant ſonne in law thou ſhalt enioy,
One, ſit to bandy with thy lawleſſe ſonnes,
To ruffle in the Common-wealth of Rome.

Titus. These words are razors to my wounded hart.

Satur. And therefore louely Tamora Queene of Gothes,
That like the ſtately Thebe mongſt her Nimphs,
Doſt ouerſhine the gallant ſt Dames of Rome,
If thou be pleaf'd with this my ſodaine choyſe,
Behold I choofe thee Tamora for my Bride,
And will create thee Emperefle of Rome.

Speake Queene of Gothes doſt thou applaud my choyſe?

And heere I ſweare by all the Romaine Gods,
Sith Priest and holy water are ſo neere,

And tapers burne ſo bright, and euery thing.

In readines for Hymencus stand,
I will not refalute the streets of Rome,

Or clime my Pallace, ſtil from forth this place,
I lead eſpouſde my Bride along with me.

Tamora. And heere in fight of heavens to Rome I ſweare,
If Saturnine aduance the Queene of Gothes,

B 3

Shea

The most lamentable Tragedie

She will a handmaid be to his desires,

A louing Nurse, a Mother to his youth.

Sat. Ascend faire Queene, Panthean Lords, accompany
Your noble Emperour and his louely Bride,
Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine,
Whose wifdome hath her Fortune conquered,
There shall we consummate our spoufall rites.

Exeunt omnes.

Titus. I am not bid to waite vpon this Bride,
Titus when wert thou wont to walke alone,
Difhonoured thus and challenged of wrongs?

Enter Marcus and Titus fonnes.

Marcus. O Titus see ! O see what thou haſt done !
In a bad quarrell ſaine a vertuous ſonne.

Titus. No foolish Tribune, no: No ſonne of mine,
Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the decede,
That haſh diſhonoured all our Family,
Vnworthy brother, and vnworthy ſonnes.

Lucius. But let vs giue him buriall as becomes:
Giue Mutius buriall with our bretheren.

Titus. Traytors away, he reſts not in this tombe :
This monument ſive hundreth yeares hath ſtood,
Which I haue ſumptuouſly reedified :
Heerenone but Souldiers and Romes Seruitors,
Repoſe in fame: None basely ſaine in braules,
Bury him where you can he comes not heere.

Marcus. My Lord this is impiety in you,
My Nephew Mutius deeds do plead for him,
He muſt be buried with his bretheren.

Titus two ſonnes speakes.
And ſhall, or him we will accompany.

Titus. And ſhall! What villaine was it ſpake that word?
Titus ſonne speakes.
He that would vouch it in any place but heere.

Titus.

of Titus Andronicus.

Titus. What would you bury him in my despight?

Marcus. No noble Titus but intreat of thee,
To pardon Mutius, and to bury him.

Titus. Marcus, Euen thou haſt ſtroke vpon my creſt,
And with these boyes mine honour thou haſt wounded,
My foes I doe repute you euery one.

So troul me no more, but get you gone.

3. ſonne. He is not with himsselfe, let vs withdraw.

2. ſonne. Not I till Mutius bones be buried.

The brother and the ſonnes kneeles.

Marcus. Brother, for in that name doth nature plead

2. ſonne. Father, and in that name doth nature ſpeake.

Titus. Speake thou no more if all the reſt will ſpeede.

Mar. Renowned Titus more then half my ſoule.

Lucius. Deare Father, ſoule and ſubſtance of vs all.

Marc. Suffer thy brother Marcus to interre

His noble nephew heere in vertues neſt,
That died in honour and Launius caufe.

Thou art a Romaine be not barbarous :

The Greekes vpon aduife did bury Aix

That flew himſelfe : and wive Laertes ſonne,

Did graciously plead for his Funerals:

Let nor young Mutius then that was thy ioy,
Bebard his entrance heere.

Titus. Rife Marcus, rife,
The diſmalſt day is this that ere I saw,
To be diſhonored by my ſonnes in Rome:
Well bury him, andbury me the next.

They put him in the Tombe.

Lucius, There lie thy bones sweet Mutius with thy friends
Till we with Trophees do adorne thy tombe.

They all kneele and say,

No man ſhed teares for noble Mutius,
He liues in fame that dide in vertues caufe.

Exit

The most lamentable Trage die

Exit all but Marcus and Titus.

MARCUS. My Lord to step out of these drerie dumps,
How comes it that the subtile Queene of Gothes,
Is of a sodaine thus aduanced in Rome?

Titus. I know not Marcus: but I know it is,
(Whether by deuife or no) the heauens can tell,
Is she not then beholding to the man,
That brought her for this high good turne so farre?

Enter the Emperor, Tamora and her two fonnes, with the Moore at one doore. Enter at the other doore Baf>sianus and Lauinia with others.

Saturn. So Baf>sianus, you hau>e plaid your prize,
God giue you ioy fir of your gallant Bride.

Bast. And you of yours my Lord. I say no more,
Nor wiſh no leſſe, and ſo I take my leaue.

Satur. Traytor, if Rome haue law, or we haue power,
Thou and thy faſtion ſhall repent this Rape.

Baffia. Rape call you it my Lord, to ceaſe my owne,
My true betrothed loue, and now my wife?
But let the lawes of Rome determine all,
Meane while I am poſſeſt of that is mine.

Satur. Tis good fir, you are very ſhort with vs,
But if we liue weele be as ſharpe with you.

Baf>sian. My Lord, what I haue done as beſt I may,
Anſwere I muſt, and ſhall do with my life,
Onely thus much I giue your Grace to know,
By all the duties that I owe to Rome,
This noble Gentleman, Lord Titus heere,
Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd,
That in the ſcue of Lauinia,

With his owne hand did ſlay his youngeſt ſonne,
In zeale to you, and highly mou'd to wrath.

To

of Titus Andronicus.

To be contrould in that he frankly gaue,
Receae him then to ſauour Saturnine,
That hath expreſt himſelfe in all his deedes
A Father and a friend to thee and Rome.

Titus. Prince Baf>sianus leaue to plead my deeds,
Tis thou, and thofe, that haue diſhonoured me,
Rome and the righteous heauens be my iudge,
How I haue lou'd and honoured Saturnine.

Tamora. My worthy Lord if euer Tamora,
Were gracious in thofe princely eyes of thine,
Then heare me ſpeake indifferently for all:
And at my ſute (ſweete) pardon what is paſt.

Satur. What Madam, be diſhonoured openly,
And basely put it vp without revenge?

Tamora. Not ſo my Lord, the Gods of Rome forſend
I should be Author to diſhonour you.
But on mine honour dare I vndertake,
For good Lord Titus innocence in all :
Whofe fury not diſſembled ſpeakes his griefes :
Then at my ſute looke graciously on him,
Loose not ſo noble a friend on vaine ſuppoſe,
Nor with ſowre lookses affliet his gentle heart.

My Lord, be rul>d by me, be wonne at laſt,
Diſſemble all your griefes and diſcontents,
You are but newly planted in your THRONE,
Leaſt then the people, and Patricians too,
Vpon a iuſt ſuruay take Titus part,
And ſo ſupplant vs for ingratude,
Which Rome reputes to be a hainous ſinne.
Yeeld at intreats, and then let me alone
Ile finde a day to maſſacre them all,
And race their faſtion and their familie,
The cruell Father, and his traytious ſonnes,
To whome I ſued for my deere ſonnes life.

C.

And

The most lamentable Tragedie

And make them know what tis to let a Queene
Kneele in the streetes, and beg for grace in vaine.
Come, come, sweet Emperour, (come Andronicus)
Take vp this good old man, and cheere the heart,
That dies in tempeſt of thy angry frowne.

King. Rife Titus, rife, my Empereſſe hath preuail'd.

Titus. I thanke your maietie, and her my Lord.
These ſe words, these lookes, infuse new life in me.

Tamora. Titus I am incorporate in Rome,
A Roman now adopted happily,
And muſt aduife the Emperour for his good,
This day all quarrels die Andronicus,
And let it be mine honour good my Lord,
That I haue reconcile'd your friends and you,
For you Prince Baſſianus, I haue paſt
My word and promife to the Emperour,
That you will be more milde and traſtable.
And feare not Lords: and you Lauinia,
By my aduife all humbled on your knees,
You shall aske pardon of his Maietie.

All. Wedoe, and vow to heauen, and to his highnes,
That what we did, was mildly as we might,
Tending our Sifters honour and our wne.

Marc. That on mine honour heere I do proteſt.

King. Away and talke not, trouble vs no more.

Tamora. Nay, nay, sweet Emperour, we muſt all be friends
The Tribune and his Nephews kneele for grace,
I will not be denied, sweet hart looke back.

King. Marcus, for thy ſake and thy brothers heere,
And at my louely Tamoras intreats,
I doe remit these young mens haynous faults,

Stand vp: Lauinia, though you left me like a churle,
I found a friend, and ſure as death I ſwore,
I would not part a Batchiler from the prieſt.

Come,

of Titus Andronicus,

Come, if the Emperours court can feaſt two Brides,
You are my gueſt Lauinia, and your friends:
This day ſhall be a lone-day Tamora.

Titus. Tomorrow and it please your Maietie,
To hunt the Panther and the Hart with me,
With horne and hound, weele giue your grace bon iour.

Saturn. Be it so Titus, and gramercy to.

Exeunt.

found Trumpets, manet Moore.

Aron. Now climeth Tamora Olympus tope,
Safe out of Fortunes ſhot, and fits aloft,
Secure of thunders crack or lightning ſlath,
Aduanc'd aboue pale enuies threatening reach,
As when the golden ſunne salutes the morne,
And hauing gilt the Ocean with his beames,
Gallops the Zodiacke in his gliftering coach,
And ouer-lookes the higheſt piercing hills.

So Tamora.

Vpon her wit doth earthly honour waite,
And vertue stoopes and trembles at her frowne.
Then Aron arme thy hart, and fit thy thoughts,
To mount aloft with thy Emperiall Miftris,
And mount her pitch, whome thou in triumph long
Haſt prisoner held, ſettred in amorous chaines,
And ſafter bound to Arons charming eyes,
Then is Prometheus tide to Caucasus.

Away with ſlauiſh weedes and idle thoughts,
I will be bright and ſhine in pearle and gold,
To waite vpon this new made Empereſſe.
To wake faſd I? to wanton with this Queene,
This Goddeſſe, this Semerimis, this Queene,
This Syren, that will charme Romes Saturnine,
And ſee his ſnipwracke, and his Common-weales.
Hollo, what ſtorme is this?

Enter Chiron and Demetrius brauing.

C 2

Demet.

The most lamentable Tragedie

Demet. Chiron thy yeres wantswit, thy wit want edge
And manners to intrude where I am grac d,
And may for ought thou knoweft affected be.

Chiron. D: metrius, thou dooft ouerweene in all,
And so in this, to beare me downe with braues,
Tis not the difference of a yere or two

Makes me lefte gracious, or thee more fortunate :
I amas able, and as fit as thou,

To ferue, and to deferue my Miftris grace,

And that my fword vpon thee shall approue,

And plead my paffions for Laninias loue.

Moore Clubs, clubs, these louers will not keep the peace.

Deme. Why boy, although our mother (vnaduizd)

Gaue you a daunsing rapier by your fide,

Are you so defprat growne to threat your friends?

Goetoo: haue your lath glued within your fheath,

Till you know better how to handle it.

Chiron. Meane while fir, with the little skill I haue,

Full well ſhalt thou perceiue how much I dare.

Demet. I boy, grow ye so braue?

they draw.

Apon. Why how now Lords ?

So neere the Emperours pallace dare you draw,
And maintaine such a quarrell openly ?

Full well I wote, the ground of all this grudge,
I would not for a million of gold,

The caufe were knowne to them it moſt concernes.

Nor would your noble mother for much more

Be so diſhonored in the Court of Rome.

For ſhame put vp.

Demet. Not I, till I haue ſheathd

My rapier in his bosome, and withall

Thrust theſe reprochfull ſpeeches downe his throat,

That he hath breathd in my diſhonour he ere.

Chiron. For that I am prepaid, and full refolution,

Foule

of Titus Andronicus.

Foule ſpoken Coward, that thundrest with thy tongue,
And with thy weapon nothing durſt performe.

Moore. Away I fay.

Now by the Gods that warlike Gothes adore,

This petty brabble will vndoo vs all:

Why Lords, and thinke you not how dangerous

It is to iet vpon a Princes right?

What is Laninia then become ſolooſe,

Or Bafsianus ſodegenerate,

That for her loue ſuch quarrels may be brocht,

Without controulement, iuſtice, or reuence?

Young Lords beware, and ſhould the Empresse know,

This diſcords ground, the muſicke would not pleafe.

Chiron. I care not I, knew ſhe and all the world,

I loue Laninia more then all the world.

(choife)

Demet. Youngling learne thou to make ſome meaner

Lauinia is thine elder brothers hope.

Moore. Why are ye mad ? or know ye not in Rome,
How furious and impatient they be,

And cannot brooke competitors in loue ?

I tell you Lords, you doe but plot your deaths,

By this deuife.

Chiron. Aron, A thouſand deaths would I propoſe,
To atchieue her whome I do loue.

Aron. To atchieue her, how ?

Demetri. Why, makes thou it ſo ſtrange?

Shee is a woman, therefore may be woo'd,

Shee is a woman, therefore may be wonne,

Shee is Laninia therefore muſt be lou'd.

What man, more water glideth by the mill

Then wots the Miller of, and eafie it is,

Of a cut loaſe to ſleale a ſhie we know :

Though Bafsianus be the Emperours brother,

Better then he haue worne Vulpus badge.

C 3

Moore

The most lamentable Tragedie

Moore. I, and as good as Saturnine may.
Demet. Then why should he difpaire that knowes to
With words, faire lookes, and liberality? (court it)
What haft not thou fuil often strucke a Doe,
And borne her cleanly by the Keepers nofe?

Moore. Why then it seems some certaine snatch or so
Would serve your turnes.

Chiron. I so the turne were serued.

Demet. Aron thou haft hit it.

Moore. Would you had hit it too,
Then should not we be tirde with this adoo.

Why harke yee, harke yee, and are you such fooles,
To square for this ? would it offend you then
That both should speede?

Chiron. Faith not me.

Demet. Nor me, so I were one.

Aron. For shame be friends, and ioyne for that you iat,
Tis pollicie and stratageme muft doe

That you affe<sup>ct</sup>, and so muft you resolue,
That what you cannot as you would atchieue,
You muft perforce accompliſh as you may :
Take this of me, Lucrece was not more chaſt
Then this Lauinia, Baſſanus loue.

A ſpeedier courſe this ling'ring languifhment
Muſt we perſue, and I haue found the path :
My Lords, a ſolemne hunting is in hand,
There will the louely Roman Ladies troope :
The forreſt walkes are wide and ſpacious,
And many vnſrequented plots there are,

Fitted by kinde for rape and villanie :
Single you thither then this dainty Doe,
And ſtrike her home By force if not by words,
This way or not at all, ſtand you in hope,
Come, come, our Empresse with her ſacred wit

To

of Titus Andronicus.

To villanie and vengeance conſecrate,
Will we acquaint with all that we intend,
And ſhe ſhall file our engines with aduife,
That will not ſuffer you to ſquare your ſelues,
But to your wishes height aduance you both.
The Emperours court is like the house of fame,
The pallace full of tongues, of eyes, of eares :
The woods are ruthles, dreadfull, deafe, and dull :
There ſpeake, and ſtrike braue boyes, and take your turnes.
There ſerue your luſt, ſhadowed from heauens eye,
And reuell in Lauinias treaſurie.

Chiron. Thy counſell lad smells of no cowardife.

Demet. Sit fas aut neſas, till I finde the ſtreame,
To coole this heat, a charme to calme their fits.

Per Stigia, per manes Vehor.

Excuse.

Enter Titus Andronicus and his three ſonnes, making
a noyſe with hounds and borne.

Titus. The hunt is vp, the morne is bright and gray,
The fields are fragrant, and the woods are greene,
Vncouple heere, and let vs make a bay,
And wake the Emperour, and his louely Bride,
And rouze the Prince, and ring a hunters peale,
That all the court may eccho with the noyſe.
Sonnes let it be your charge, as it is ours,
To attend the Emperours perſon carefully :
I haue bene troubled in my ſleep this night,
But dawning day new comfort hath inſpirde.

Heere a cry of houndes, and winde hornes in a peale, then enter
Saturninus, Tamora, Baſſanus Lauinia, Chiron, De-
metrius, and their Attendants.

Titus. Many good morrowes to your maiestie,
Madam to you as many and as good.

I promiſed your Grace, a Hunters peale,

Satur.

The most lamentable Tragedie

Saturnine. And you haue rung it lustily my Lords,
Somewhat to early for new married Ladies,

Baffia. Lauinia, how say you? (more.)
Lauinia. I say no: I haue bene broad awake two hours &

Satur. Come on then, horse and Chariots let vs haue,
And to our sport; Madam, now shall ye see,
Our Romaine hunting.

Marcus. I haue doggs my Lord,
Will rouze the proudest Panther in the Chafe,
And clime the highest promontory top.

Titus. And I haue horse will follow where the game
Makes way, and runnes like swallowes ore the plaine.

Deme. Chiron we hunt not we, with horse nor hound
But hope to plucke aldainty Doe to ground. Exeunt

Enter Aron alone.

Moore. He that had wit would thinke that I had none,
Tobury so much gold vnder a tree,
And neuer after to inherite it.

Let him that thinks of me so abieftly,
Know that this gold muſt coine a stratageme,
Which cunningly effected, will beget
A very excellent peece of vill any:
And for repofe ſweet gold for their vnreſt,
That haue their almes out of the Emprefle Cheſt.

Enter Tamora alone to the Moore.

Tamora. My louely Aron, wherefore look'ft thou sad,
When euery thing doth make a gleefull boat?

The birds chaunt melody on euery bush,
The Snake lies rolled in the chearefull ſunne,
The Greene leaes quiuer with the cooling winde,
And make a checkerd ſhadow on the ground :
Vnder their ſweet shade, Aron let vs fit,
And whilſt the babling Echoe mocks the hounds,

Replying ſtrilly to the well tun'd hornes,

As

of Titus Andronicus.

As if a double hunt were heard at once,
Let vs fit downe and marke their yellowing noy ſe :

And after conflict ſuch as was ſuppofde
The wandring Prince and Dido once enioyed,
When with a happy ſorme they were ſurpride,

And curtaínd with a counſaile-keeping Caue,
Wemay each wreathed in the others armes,
(Our pastimes done) poſſeſſe a golden ſlumber,
Whiles hounds and hornes, and ſweet melodious birds
Be vnto vs as is a Nurtſes ſong.

Of Lullabie, to bring her Babe a ſleepe.

Aron. Madame, though Venuſs gourne your desires,
Saturne is dominator ouer mine:

What signifies my deadly standing eye,
My ſilence, and my cloudy melancholy,
My ſleece of Woolly haire that now vncurles,
Euen as an Adder when the dotk vnrowle
To do ſome fatall execution?

No Madam, theſe are no veneriall ſignes,
Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,
Blood and reuenge are hammering in my head.

Harke Tamora the Emprefle of my ſoule,
Which neuer hopes more heauen then reſts in thee,
This is the day of doome for Baffianus,
His Pli'ome! muſt looſe her tongue to day,
Thy ſonnes make pillage of her chaſtity,
And wash their hands in Baffianus blood.
Sceſt thou this letter, take it vp I pray thee,
And give the King this fatall plonted ſcrowle,
Now queſtion me no more we are eſpied,
Heere comes a parcell of our hopefull booty,
Which dreads not yet their lives deſtruction.

Enter Baffianus and Lauinia

Tamora. Ah my ſweete Moore, ſweeter to me then life!

D

Moore.

The most lamentable Tragedie

Moore. No more great Empresse, Bafsinus comes,
Be croile with him, and Ile goe fetch thy sonnes
To backe thy quarrell what so ere they be.
Bafia. Who haue we heere? Romes royall Empresse,
Vnfurnisht of our well befeeming troupe ?

Or is it Dian habited like her,
Who hath abandoned her holy Groues,
To see the generall hunting in this Forreft?

Tamora. Sawcie controuler of our private steps,
Had I the power, that some say Dian had,
Thy temples should be planted preſently,
With hornes as was Aſteons, and the hounds,
Should drive upon his new transformed limbes,
Vnmannerly intruder as thou art.

Laninia. Vnder your patience gentle Empresse,
Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning,
And to be doubted that your Moore and you,
Are ſingled forth to try experiments :

Ione ſhield your husband from his hounds to day,
Tis pitty they ſhould take him for a Stag.

Bafſtan. Belceue me Queene your ſwarty Cymerion,
Doth make your honour of his bodies hue,
Spotted, detested, and abhominable.

Why are you ſequeſtred from all your traine ?
Dismounted from your snow white goodly ſteed,
And wandred hither to an obscure plot,
Accompanied with a barbarous Moore,

If ſoule desire had not conducted you ?

Laninia. And being intercepted in your ſport,
Great reaſon that my noble Lord be rated
For ſaſuines, I pray you let vs hence,
And let her ioy her Rauen cuilloured loue,
This valley fit the purpose paſſing well.

Bafſia. The King my brother ſhall haue notice of this.

Laninia.

of Titus Andronicus.

Laninia. I, for these slips haue made him noted long,
Good King to be ſomightily abufed.

Queene. Why I haue patience to endure all this.

Enter Chiron and Demetrius.

Dem. How now deere foueraigne & our gracious mother
Why doth your Highnes looke for pale and wan?

Queene. Haue I not reaſon thinke you to looke pale
These two haue tyced me bither to this place,
A barren, detested vale you see it is,

The trees though Sommer, yet forlorne and leane,
Orecome with moſſe and balefull Miſſelto.

Heere neuer ſhines the Sunne, heere nothing breeds,
Vnleſſe the nightly Owle or fatall Rauen :

And when they ſhowd me this abhorred pit,
They told me heere at dead time of the night,
A thousand ſeinds, a thousand hilling ſnakes,
Ten thousand ſwelling toades, as many vrchins,
Would make ſuch feare full and confused cries,
As any mortall body hearing it

Should ſtraite fall mad, or else die ſuddainely.

No sooner had they told this helliſt tale,
But ſtrait they told me they would bade me heere,
Vnto the body of a diſmall Ewe,

And leaueme to this miſerable death.

And then they calld me ſoule adultereſſe,
Laſciuious Goth, and all the bitterest tearmes,
That euere care did heare to ſuch effect.

And had you not by wondrous fortune come,
This vengeance on me had they executed :
Reuenge it as you loue your mothers life,
Or be ye not henceforth cald my children.

Demet. This is a witnes that I am thy ſonne. ſab him.

Chiron. And this for me ſtrook home to ſhow my ſtrength

Laninia, I come Semeramis, may Barberous Tamora.

D 2

For

The most lamentable Tragedie

For no name fits thy nature but thy owne.

Tamora. Giue me thy ponyard, you shall know my boyes
Your mothers hand shall right your mothers wrong.

Demet. Stay Madam, here is more belongs to her,
Firstly through the corner, then after burne the straw :
This minion flood upon her chaftie,
Vpon her Nuptiall vow, her loyalty.

And with that painted hope, braues your mightines,
And shall she carry this into her graue?

Chiron. And, if the doe, I would I were an Euenuke,
Drag hence her husband to some secrethe hole,
And make his dead trunke pillow to our luft.

Tamora. But when ye haue the honny we desire,
Let not this wisp out-lue vs both to sting.

Chiron. I warrant you Madam we will make that fure.
Come mistris, now perforce we will enjoy,
That nice preferued honestie of yours.

Launia. Oh Tamora, thou bearest a woman's face.

Tamora. I will not heare her speake, away with her.

Launia. Sweet Lords intreat her heare me but a word.

Demet. Liffen faire Madam, let it be your glory

To see her teares, but be your hart to them
As vnreleenting flint to drops of raine.

Launia. When did the Tigers young ones teach the dam
O doe not learne her wrath, the taught it thee,

The milke thou fuckst from her did turne to Marble,
Euen at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny,
Yet euery Mother breeds not fonnes alike,

Do thou intreat her shew a woman pitty. (baftard)

Chiron. What wouldst thou haue me proue my selfe a

Launia. Tis true, the Rauen doth not hatch a Larke,
Yet haue I heard, Oh could I finde it now,
The Lion moued with pitty, did indure

To haue his princely pawes parde all away.

Some

of Titus Andronicus.

Some say that Rauens foster forlorn children,
The whilft their owne birds famish in their nests :

Oh be to methough thy hard hart say no,
Nothing so kindle but something pittifull.

Tamora. I know not what it meanes, away with her.

Launia. Oh let me teach thee for my fathers sake,
That gaue thee life when well he might haue flaine thee,
Be not obdurate, open thy deafs cares.

Tamora. Hadst thou in person nere offended me,
Euen for his fake am I pittriblee.

Remember boyes I powrd forth teares in vaine,
To faue your brother from the sacrifice,

But fierce Andronicus would not relent,
Therefore away with her, and vse her as you will,
The worfe to her, the better lou'd of me.

Launia. Oh Tamora be calld a gentle Queene,
And with thine owne hands kill me in this place,
Fort is not life that I haue begd so long,

Poole I was flaine when Buffianus dide.

Tamora. What Bregt thou then? fond woman let me goe?

Launia. Tis prefent death I beg, and one thing more,
That womanhood denies my tongue to tell,

Oh keepe me from their worfe then killing luft,
And tumble me into some loathsome pit,

Where neuer man's eye may behold my body,
Doeth this and be a charitable murderer.

Tamora. So should I rob my sweet fonnes of their fee,
No, let them fatiffie their luft on thee.

Demet. Away, for thou haft staid vs heere too long.

Launia. No grace, no womanhood, ah beaftly creature,
The blot and enemy to our generall name,

Confusion fall— (husband)

Chiron. Nay then Ile stop your mouth, bring thou her
This is the hole where Aron bid vs hide him.

D 3

Tamora

The most lamentable Tragedie

Tamora. Farewell my fonnes see that you make her lye,
Nerelet my hart know merry cheere indeed,

Till all the Adronie be made away:
Now will I hence to seeke my louely Moore,
And let my spleenefull fonnes this Trull defloure,

Enter Aron with two of Titus fonnes.

Come on my Lords, the better foote before,
Straight will I bring you to the lothsome pit,
Where I espied the Panther faft aſleepe.

Quintus. My fight is very dull what ere it bodes.

Mart. And mine I promife you, were it not for ſhame,
Well could I leave our ſport to ſleepe a while.

Quin. What art thou fallen? what subtile hole is this,
Whose mouth is couered with rude growing briers,

Vpon whose leaues are drops of new ſhed blood,
As fresh as morning's dew diffild on flowers,
A very fatall place it seems to me,

Speake brother haſt thou hurt thee with the fall?

Mart. Oh brother, with the diſmalſt obieſt,

That euer eye with fight made hart lament.

Aron. Now will I fetch the King to finde them heere;
That he thereby may haue a likely geſſe,

How these were they that made away his brother,

Exit

Martis. Why doſt not comfort me and help me out,
From this vnhollow and blood ſtained hole.

Quint. I am surprisſed with an vncoth ſeare,
A chilling ſweat oreruns my trembling ioynts,

My hart ſuſpects more then mine eie can ſee.

Mart. To proue thou haſt a true diuining hart,
Aron and thou looke downe into this den,
And ſee a ſearefull fight of blood and death.

Quint. Aron is gone, and my compassionate hart,
Will not permit mine eyes once to behold,

The thing whereat it trembles by ſurmiſe a

Oh

of Titus Andronicus,

Oh tell me how it is, for nere till now
Was I a child, to ſeare I know not what.

Martius. Lord Baſiſanus lies embrewed heere,
All on a heape like to a ſlaughtred Lambe,
In this detefted darke blood drinking pit.

Quintus. If it be darke how doſt thou know tis he?

Martius. Vpon his bloody finger he doth weare
A precious ring, that lightens all the hole:

Which like a taper in ſome monument,
Doth ſhine vpon the dead mans earthly checke,
And ſhewes the ragged intrailes of this pit:

So pale did ſhine the Moone on Piramus,
When he by night lay bath'd in Maiden blood,
O brother helpe me with thy fainting hand,
If ſeare hath made thee faint, as mee it hath,
Out of this ſell denouring receptacle,
As hate ſull as Oſtus miſſe mouth.

Quin. Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out,
Or wanting ſtrength to doe thee ſo much good,
I may bepluckt into the swallowing wombe,
Of this deepe pit, poore Baſiſanus graue:

I haue no ſtrength to plucke thee to the brink.

Martius. Nor I no ſtrength to clime without thy help.
Quin. Thy hand orce more, I will not looke againe,
Till thou art here aſlopt, or I below,
Thou canſt not come to me, I come to thee.

Enter the Emperour, Aron the Moore.

Satur. Along with me, Ile see what hole is heere,
And what he is that now is leapt into it.

Say, who art thou that lately didſt descend,
Into this gaping hollow of the earth?

Martius. The vnhappie ſonne of old Andronicus,
Brought hither in a molt valuckie houre,

To

The most lamentable Tragedie

To finde thy brother Baffianus dead.

Saturnin. My brother dead, I know thou doft but ieſt,
He and his Lady both are at the Lodge,
Vpon the north side of this pleafant chafe,
Tis not an houre ſince I left him there.

Mart. We know not where you left them all alive,
But out alas, heere haue we found him dead.

Enter Tamora, Andronicus and Lucius.

Tamora. Where is my Lord the King?

King. Here Tamora, though grieud with killing griefe,

Tamora. Where is thy brother Baffianus?

King. Now to the bottome doſt thou ſearch my wound,
Poore Baffianus heere lies murthered.

Tamora. Then all toolate I bring this fatal writ,
The complot of this timeles Tragedie,

And wonder greatly that mans face can fold,
In pleafing ſmiles ſuch murderous tyrannie.

She gineth Saturnine a Letter.

Saturninus reads the Letter.

And if we miffed to meete him hanoſely,
Sweet huntſman Baffianus is we meane,
Doe thou ſomuch as dig the graue for him,
Thou knowſt our meaning, looke for thy reward.
Among the nettles at the Elder tree,
Which ouer-shades the mouth of that ſame pit,
Where we decreed to bury Baffianus,
Doe this and purchase us thy laſting friends.

King. Oh Tamora was euer heard the like?

This is the pit, and this the elder tree,
Looke firſ if you can finde the huntſman out,

That ſhould haue murthered Baffianus heere.

Aron. My gracious Lord heere is the bag of gold.

King

of Titus Andronicus.

King. Two of thy whelpes, fell curs of bloody kinde,
Haue heere bereſt my brother of his life:

Sirs drag them from the pit vnto the prifon,
There let them bide vntill we haue deuifd
Some neuer heard-of tortering paine for them.

Tamora. What are they in this pit, oh wondrous thing!
How easily murder is difcouered?

Titus. High Emperour vpon my feeble knee,
I beg this boone, with teares not lightly ſhed,
That this ſell fault of my accuſed ſonnes,
Accuſed, if the faults be prou'd in them.

King. If it be prou'd! you ſee it is apparant,
Who found this letter, Tamora was it you?

Tamora. Andronicus him ſelſe did take it vp.

Titus. I did my Lord, yet let me be their baile,
For by my Fathers reuerent tombe I yow
They ſhall be ready at your Highnes will,
To aunſwere their ſuſpition with their lives.

King. Thou ſhalt not baile them, ſee thou follow me.
Some bring the murthered body, ſome the murtherers,
Let them not ſpeake a word, the guilt is plaine,
For by my ſoule, were there worſe end then death,
That end vpon them ſhould be executed.

Tamora. Andronicus I wil entreat the King,
Feare not thy ſonnes, they ſhall do well enough.

Titus. Come Lucius come, stay not to talke with them.

Enter the Empresse ſonnes, with Lauinia, her hands cut off
and her tongue cut out, and rauifht.

Demet. So now goe tell and if thy tongue can ſpeake,
Who twas that cut thy tongue and rauifht thee.

Chiron. Write downe thy minde, bewray thy meaning ſo,
And if thy ſtumpes will let thee play the ſcribe.

Demet. See how with ſignes and tokens ſhe can ſcrowle.

Chiron. Goe home, call for sweet water, wath thy hands.

Demet.

The most lamentable Tragedie

Deme. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash,
And so lets leaue her to her silent walkes.

Chiron. And were my cause, I should goe hang my selfe,
Deme. If thou hadst hands to helpe thee knit the cord.

Enter Marcus from hunting.

Who is this my Neece that flies away so fast?
Cofen a word, where is your husband ?
If I do dreame would all my wealth would wake me,
If I doe wake, some Planet strike me downe,
That I may slumber in eternall sleepe.
Speake gentle Neece, what sterne vngentle hands,
Hath lopt and hewd, and made thy body bare,
Of her two l ranches, those sweet ornaments
Whose circling shadowes, Kings haue fought to sleepe in,
And might not gaine so great a happines
As half thy loue: Why dooft not speake to me ?
Alas, a crimson river of warme blood,
Like to a bubling fountaine flird with winde,
Doth rife and fall betweene thy Rosed lips,
Comming and going with thy honny breath.
But fure some Teres, hath defloured thee,
And leaft thou shouldst deter them, cut thy tongne.
Ah now thou turnst away thy face for thame.
And notwithstanding all this toffe of blood,
As from a Conduit with their iffuing spouts,
Yet doe thy cheekes looke red as Titans face,
Blushing to be encountered with a clowdo.
Shall I speake for thee, shall I say is so ?
Oh that I knew thy hart, and knew the beaft,
That I might raile at him to eafe my minde.
Sorrow concealed, like an Ouen stopt,
Doth burne the hart to cinders where it is.
Faire Philomells she but loft her tongue,
And in a tedious sampler fowed her minde.

But

of Titus Andronicus.

But louely Neece, that meane is cut from thee;
A craftier Teres haft thou met,
And he hath cut those pretty fingers off,
That could haue better fowed then Philomel.
Oh had the monster seene those Lilly hands,
Tremble like Aspen leaues vpon a Lute,
And make the filken strings delight to kiffe them,
He would not then haue toucht them for his life.
Or had he heard the heauenly Harmony,
Which that sweet tongue hath made :
He would haue dropt his knife and fell sleepe,
As Cerberus at the Thracian Poets feete.
Come let vs goe, and make thy father blinde,
For such a fight will blinde a fathers eye.
One houres storme will drown the fragrant meades,
What will whole months of teares thy Fathers eyes?
Doe not draw backe, for we will mourne with thee,
Oh could our mourning eafe thy mifery.

Exeunt

Enter the Indes and Senatours with Titus two Sonnes bound,
passing on the Stage to the place of execution, and Titus going be-
fore pleading.

Titus. Heare me grave fathers, noble Tribunes stay,
For pitty of mine age, whofe youth was spent
In dangerous warres, whilst you securely flept.
For all my blood in Romes great quarrell shed,
For all the frosty nights that I haue watcht,
And for these bitter teares, which now you see,
Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheekes,
Be pittifull to my condemned Sonnes,
Whose foules is not corrupted as tis thought.
For two and twenty fonnes I neuer wept,
Because they died in honours lofty bed.

Andronicus lyeth downe, and the Indes paffe by him.

E 2

For

The most lamentable Tragedie

For these, Tribunes, in the dust I write
My harts deepe languor, and my soules sad teares:
Let my teares stanch the earths drie appetite,
My fonnes sweet blood, will make it shame and blush:
O earth, I will befriend thee more with raine
That shall distill from these two ancient ruines,
Then youthfull Aprill shall with all his showres,
In Summers drought, Ile drop vpon thee still,
In Winter with warme teares He melt the snows,
And keepe eternall spring time on thy face,
So thou refuse to drinke my deere fonnes blood.

Enter Lucius, with his weapon drawne.
Oh greuerent Tribunes, oh gentle aged men,
Vnlike my fonnes, reuerse the doome of death,
And let me say (that never wept before)
My teares are now preuailing Oratours.
Lucius. Oh noble father you lament in vaine,
The Tribunes heare you not, no man is by,
And you recount your sorrowes to a stone.
Titus. Ah Lucius for thy brothers let me plead,
Graue Tribunes, once more I intreat of you.
Lucius. My gracious Lord, no Tribune heares you speak.
Titus. Why us no matter man, if they did heare
They would not marke me, or if they did marke,
All booreleſſe vnto them.
Therefore I tell my sorrowes bootles to the ſtones,
Who though they cannot anſwere my diſtrefſe,
Yet in some ſort they are better then the Tribunes,
For that they will not intercept my tale:
When I doe weepe, they humbly at my feete,
Receive my teares, and ſeeme to weepe with me,
And were they but attired in graue weedes,
Rome could afford no Tribune like to these.

A

of Titus Andronicus,

A ſtone is soft as waxe, Tribunes more hard then ſtones:
A ſtone is silent, and offendeth not,
And Tribunes with their tongues doomemen to death.
But wherefore ſtandt thou with thy weapon drawne?
Lucius. To rescue my two brothers from their death,
For which attempt the Iudges haue pronounſt
My euerlaſting doome of baniſhment.
Titus. O happy man, they haue befriended thee:
Why foolish Lucius, doſt thou not perceaue
That Rome is but a wildernes of Tigers?
Tigers muſt prey, and Rome affords no prey.
But me and mine: how happy art thou then,
From these deucourers to be baniſhed?
But who comes with our brother Marcus heere?

Enter Marcus and Lavinia.

Marcus. Titus, prepare thy noble eyes to weepe,
Or if not so, thy noble heart to breake:
I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.
Titus. Will it consume me? Let me feeit then,
Marc. This was thy daughter,
Titus. Why Marcus so ſhe is.
Lucius. A ye me, this obieſt kills me.
Titus. Faint harted boy, ariſe and looke vpon her,
Speake Lavinia, what accuſed hand,
Hath made thee handleſſe in thy Fatherſ fight?
What foole hath added water to the Sea?
Or brought a faggot to bright burning Troy?
My griefe was at the height before thou camſt,
And now like Nylus it diſdaineth bounds:
Giue me a ſword Ile chop off my hands too,
For they haue fought for Rome, and all in vaine:
And they haue nurſt this woe, in feeding life:
In booreleſſe prayer haue they bene held vp,
And they haue ſeru'd me to effectleſſe vſe.

E 3.

Now

The most lamentable Tragedie

Now all the service I require of them,
Is that the one will helpe to cut the other?
Tis well *Launia* that thou haft no hands,
For hands to do Rome seruice, is but vaine.

*Lucius.* Speake gentle fifter who hath marterd thee?
*Marcus.* O that delightfull engine of her thoughts,
That blabd them with such pleafing eloquence,
Is torne from forth that pretty hollow cage,
Where like a sweet mellodious bird it ſung,
Sweet varied notes inchaunting euery eare.

*Lucius.* Oh ſay thou for her, who hath done this deed?
*Marc.* Oh thus I found her straying in the Parke,
Seeking to hide her ſelfe as doth the Deare
That hath receaude some vnrecurring wound.

*Titus.* It was my Deare, and he that wounded her,
Hath hurt me more then had he kild me dead:
For now I stand as one vpon a Rock,
Inuirond with a wildernes of Sea,
Who markest the waxing tide, grow wae by wane,
Expecting euer when some enuious ſurge,
Will in his brinifh bowels ſwallow him.
This way to death my wretched ſonnes are gone,
Heere stands my other ſonne, a banifht man,
And heere my brother weeping at my woes,
But that which giues my ſoule the greatest ſpurne,
Is deere *Launia*, deerer then my ſoule.
Had I but ſeenethy picture in this plight,
It would haue madded me: what ſhall I doe,
Nowe I beholde thy liely body ſo?
Thou haft no hands to wipe away thy teares,
Nor tongue to tell me who hath marterd thee:
Thy husband he is dead, and for his death
Thy brothers are condemnde, and dead by this.

*Tooke Marcus, ah ſonne Lucius looke on her,*

When

of Titus Andronicus.

When I did name her brothers, then fresh teares
Stood on her cheekes, as doth the honny dew,
P von a gathred Lillie almoſt withered. (husband,

*Marc.* Perchance ſhe weepes becauſe they kild her
Perchance becauſe the knowes him innocent.

*Titus.* If they did kill thy husband then be ioy full,
Because the law hath tane reuenge on them.
No, no, they would not doe so ſoule a decede,
Witnes the ſorrow that their ſifter makes.
Gentle *Launia* let me kiffe thy lips,
Or make some ſigne how I may do thee caſe:
Shall thy good Vncle, and thy brother *Lucius*,
And thou and I fit round about some Fountaine,
Looking all downewards to behold our cheekes
How they are flaind in meadowes yet not dry,
With miery ſlime left on them by a flood?
And in the Fountaine ſhall we gaze so long,
Till the fresh ſaſte be taken from that cleerenes,
And made a brine pit with our bitter teares ?
Or ſhall we cut away our hands like thine ?
Or ſhall we bite our tongues, and in oumbe ſtews
Paſſe the remainder of our hatefull daies?
What ſhall we doe ? let vs that haue our tongues
Ploſe some deuife of further miſery
To make vs wondred at in time to come.

*Lucius.* Sweet father caſe your teares, for at your grieſe
See how my wretched ſifter ſobs and weeps.

*Mart.* Patience deere Neece, good *Titus* drie thine eyes.
*Titus.* Ah *Marcus, Marcus*. Brother well I wote,
Thy napkin cannot drinke a teare of mine,
For thou poore man haſt drownd it with thine owne.

*Lucius.* Ah my *Launia* I will wipe thy cheekes.
*Titus.* Mark *Marcus* marke, I vndeſtand her ſignes,
Had ſhe a tongue to ſpeak, now would ſhe ſay

That

## The moft lamentable Trage die

That to her brother which I said to thee.
His Napkin with her true teares all be wet,
Can do no feruice on her sorrow full cheekes.
Oh what a sympathy of woe is this!
As farre from helpe as Limbo is from bliffe.

*Enter Aronthe Moore alone.*

Moore. Titus Andronicus, my Lord the Emperour,
Sends thee this word, that if thou loue thy Sonnes,
Let Marcus, Lucius, or thy selfe old Titus,
Or any one of you, chop off your hand,
And send it to the King, he for the same,
Will send thee hither both thy Sonnes aliume,
And that shall be the raunsome for their fault.

Titus. Oh grcious Emperour, oh gentle Aron,
Did euer Ranen sing so like a Larke,
That giues sweet tydings of the Sunnes vprife?
With all my hart, Ile send the Emperour my hand,
Good Aron wilt thou help to chop it off?

Lucius. Stay Father, for that noble hand of thine,
That hath throwne downe so many enemies,
Shall not be sent: my hand will ferue the turne,
My youth can better spare my blood then you,
And therefore mine shall faue my brothers liues.

Marc. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome,
And reard aloft the bloody Battleaxe,
Wrighting destruption on the enemies Castle?
Oh none of both but are of high desert:
My hand hath bene but idle, let it ferue
To raunsome my two nephewes from their death,
Then have I kept it to a worthy end.

Moore. Nay come agree whose hand shall goe along,
For feare they die before their pardon come.

Marcus. My hand shall goe.

Lucius. By heauen it shall not goe.

Titus

## of Titus Andronicus.

Titus. Sirs I strike no more, such withred hearbs as these
Are meete for plucking vp, and therefore mine.

Lucius. Sweet Father, if I shall be thought thy Sonne,
Let me redeeme my brothers both from death.

Marcus. And for our fathers fake, and mothers care,
Now let me show a brothers loue to thee.

Titus. Agree betweene you, I will spare my hand.

Lucius, Then Ile goe fetch an Axe.

Marc. But I will vse the Axe.

Exeunt.

Titus. Come hither Aron, Ile deceiue them both,
Lend me thy hand, and I will giue thee mine.

Moore. If that be cald deceit, I will be honest,
And neuer whilst I liue deceiue men so:
But Ile deceiue you in another sort,
And that you leay ere halfe an houre paffe.

*Hee cuts off Titus hand.*

*Enter Lucius and Marcus againe.*

Titus. Now stay your strike, what shall be is dispatcht:

Good Aron give his Maiestie my hand,
Tell him it was a hand that warded him

From thouand dangers: bid him bury it;

More hath it merrited: That let it haue.

As for my Sonnes, say I account of them,
As viewels purchaft at an eafe price,

And yet deere too, becaufe I bought mine owne.

Aron. I goe Andronicus, and for thy hand,
Looke by and by to haue thy Sonnes with thee.

Their heads I meane: Oh how this villany,
Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it.

Let fooles doe good, and faire men call for grace,
Aron will haue his soule blacke like his face,

F

Exit,
Titus

The most lamentable Trage die

Titus. O heere I lift this one hand vp to heauen,
And bow this feeble ruine to the earth,
If any power pitties wretched teares,
To that I call : what would thou kneele with me?
Doe then deare heart, for heauen shall heare our prayers,
Or with our sighs weele breath the welkin dimme,
And staine the funne with fogge as sometime cloudes,
When they do hug him in their melting bosomes.

Marcus. Oh brother speake with poſtibilities,
And do not breake into these deepe extreames.
Titus. Is not my forrow deepe, hauing no bottome?

Then be my paffios bottomleſſe with them.

Marchus. But yet let reafon gouerne thy lament.

Titus. If there were reafon for these miſeries,
Then into limits could I binde my woes:
When heauen doth weepe, doth not the earth or ſlow?

If the windes rage, doth not the ſea wax mad,
Threatning the welkin with his bigſwolne face?

And wilt thou haue a reaſon for this coile ?

I am the ſea. Harke how her ſighes doe flow :

Shee is the weeping welkin, I the earth :

Then muſt my Sea be moued with her ſighes,

Then muſt my earth with her continuall teares,

Become a deluge : ouerflowed and drowned :

For why, my bowels cannot hide her woes,

But like a drunkard muſt I vomit them.

Then giue me leaue, for loosers will haue leaue,

To eafe their stomackes with their bitter tongues.

Enter a meſſenger with two heads and a hand.

Meffen. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid,
For that good hand thou ſentſt the Emperour :
Heere are the heads of thy two noble ſonnes,

And

of Titus Andronicus.

And heeres thy hand in ſorne to thee ſent backe :

Thy griefes their ſports: Thy reſolution mockt :

That woe is me to thinke vpon thy woes,

More then remembrance of my fathers death.

Marc. Now let hot Ætna coole in Cicilie,

And be my hart an euer-burning hell :

These miſeries are more then may be borne.

To weepe with them that weepe, doth eafe some deale,

But ſorrow flouted at, is double death.

Luci. Ah that this fight should make so deepe a wound,

And yet deteſted life not ſhrinke thereat :

That euer death ſhould let life beare his name,

Where life hath no more intereſt but to breath.

Marc. Alas poore hart that kiffe is comfortleſſe,

As frozen water to a starued ſnake.

Titus. When will this ſeaſe ſlumber haue an end?

Mar. Now farewell flatterie, die Andronicus,

Thou doſt not ſlumber, ſee thy two ſonnes heads,

Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter heere ?

Thy other baniſt ſonne with this deere fight

Strucke pale and bloodleſſe, and thy brother I,

Euen like a ſtony Image, cold and numme.

Ah now no more will I centroule my griefes,

Rent of thy filuer haire, thy other hand

Gnawing with thy teeth, and be this diſmall fight

The cloſing vp of our moſt wretched eyes :

Now is a time to ſtorme, why art thou still?

Titus. Ha, ha, ha.

Marc. Why doſt thou laugh ? it fits not with this houre.

Titus. Why I haue not another teare to ſhed :

Besides, this ſorrow is an enemie,

And would vſurp vpon my watry eyes,

And make them blinde with tributarie teares.

Then which way ſhall I finde Reuenges Caue?

Exit.

For

The most lamentable Tragedie

For these two heads does seeme to speake to me,
And threat me, I shall neuer come to bliffe,
Till all these mischiefes be returned againe,
Even in their throats that have committed them.
Come let me see what taske I haue to do,
You heauie people, circle me about,
That I may turne me to each one of you,
And weare vnto my soule to right your wrongs,
The vow is made, come Brother take a head,
And in this hand the other will I beare.
And Laninia thouhalt be employed in these Armes,
Beare thou my hand sweet wench betweene thy teeth:
As for thee boy, goe get thee from my fight,
Thou art an Exile, and thou muſt not stay,
Hie to the Gothes, and raife an army there,
And if you loue me, as I thinke you doe,
Let's kiffle and part, for we haue much to do.
Excuse.

Lucius. Farwell Andronicus my noble Father:
The wofulſt man that euer liude in Rome:
Farewell proud Rome till Lucius come againe,
He loues his pledges dearer then his life:
Farewell Laninia my noble fister,
O would thou wert as thou to fore haſt bene,
But now nor Lucius nor Laninia liues
But in obliuion and hatefull griefes :
If Lucius liue he will requite your wrongs,
And make proud Saturnine and his Empresse
Beg at the gates like Tarquin and his Queene.
Now will I to the Gothes and raife a power,
To be reueng'd on Rome and Saturnine.

Exo Lucius.

Enter

of Titus Andronicus.

Enter Lucius ſonne and Laninia running after him, and
the boy flies from her with his booke under
his arme.

Enter Titus and Marcus.

Puer. Helpe Grandſier helpe, my Aunt Laninia,
Followes me euery where I know not why.
Good Vncle Marcus ſee how ſwift he comes,
Alas! weet Aunt, I know not what you meane.
Marcu. Stand by me Lucius, doe not feare thine aunt.
Titus. She loues thee boy too well to do thee harme.
Puer. I when my father was in Rome ſhe did.
Marcus. What meanes my Neece Laninia by these ſignes?
Titus. Feare her not Lucius ſomewhat doth ſhe meane.
See Lucius ſee, how much ſhemakes of thee:
Some whether would ſhe haue thee goe with her.
Ah boy, Cornelia neuer with more care
Red to her ſonnes then ſhe hath red to thee,
Sweet Poetry, and Tullies Oratour :
Canſt thou not geſſe w h erefore ſhe plies thee thus?
Puer. My Lord I know not I, nor can I geſſe,
Vnleſſe ſome fit or frenzie do poffeſſe her:
For I haue heard my Grandſier ſay full oft,
Extremitie of griefes would make men mad.
And I haue red that Hecuba of Troy,
Ran mad through forrow, that made me to feare
Although my Lord, I know my noble Aunt,
Loues me as deare as ere my mother did,
And would not but in ſury fright my youth,
Which made me downe to throw my booke and ſtlic,
Caſſes perhaps, but pardon me sweet Aunt,
And Madam, if my Vncle Marcus goe,

F 3

The most lamentable Tragedie

I will most willingly attend your Ladyship.

Marc. Lucius I will.

Titus, How now Lauinia, Marcus what meanes this?
Some booke there is that she desires to fee:
Which is it girle of these? open them boy,
But thou art deeper read and better skild,
Come and take choyfe of all my Library,
And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heauens
Reueale the dambd contriuer of this deede.

Why lifts she vp her armes in sequence thus ?

Marc. I thinke she meanes that there was more then one
Confederate in the fact, I more there was :
Or else to heauen she heaes them for reuenge.

Titus. Lucius what booke is that she toffeth so?

Puer. Grandfier tis Ouids Metamorphosis,
My mother gaue it me.

Marc. For loue of her that's gone,
Perhaps she culd it from among the rest.

Titus. Soft, so busily she turnes the leaes,
Helpe her, what would she finde? Lauinia shall I read?
This is the tragicke tale of Philomel,
And treates of Terens treason and his rape,
And rape I feare was roote of thine annoy.

Marc. See brother see note how she quotes the leaes;
Titus. Lauinia, were thou thus surpriz'd sweet girle,
Rauiſht and wrongd as Philomela was,

For'd in the ruthleſſe, vaſt, and gloomy woods ?
See, see, I ſuch a place there is where we did hunt,
(O had we neuer, neuer hunted there)

Patternd by that the Poetheere deſcribes,
By nature made for murthers and for rapes.
Marc. O why should nature build so foule a den,

Vnleſſe the Gods delight in tragedies ?

Tit. Giue ſignes fweet girle for heere are none but friends.

What

of Titus Andronicus,

What Romane Lord it was durſt do the deede ?
Or ſlonke not Saturnine, as Tarquin erſt,

That left the Campe to ſinne in Lucrece bed.

Marc. Sit downe fweet Neece, brother fit downe by me,
Appollo, Pallas, Ioue, or Mercury,
Inſpire me that I may this treaſon finde.

My Lord looke heere, looke heere Lauinia.

He writes his Name with his ſtaffe, and guides it
with ſeete and mouth.

This ſandie plot is plaine, guide if thou canſt

This after me, I haue writ my name,

Without the helpe of any hand at all.

Curiſt be that hart that forſt vs to this ſhift:

Write thou good Neece, and heere diſplay at laſt,
What God will haue diſcouered for reuenge,

Heauen guide thy pen to print thy ſorrowes plaine,
That we may know the traytors and the truth.

She takes the ſtaffe in her mouth, and guides it with her
ſtumpes, and writes.

Titus. Oh doe ye read my Lord what ſhe hath writ,
Stuprum, Chiron, Demetrius.

Marc. What, what, the luſt full ſonnes of Tamora,
Performers of this hainous bloody deede?

Titus. Magni Dominator poli,
Tam lentus auoris ſcelera, tam lentus vides?

Marc. Oh calme the gentle Lord, although I know
There is enough written vpon this earth,
Toſtirre a mutenie in the mildeſt thoughts,
And arme them mindes of exclaimes.

My Lord kneele downe with me, Lauinia kneele,

And

The most lamentable Tragedie

And kneele sweete boy, the Romaine Hectors hope,
And weare with me, as with the wofull feere,
And father of that chaft dishonoured Dame,
Lord Iunus Brutus weare for Lucrece rape,
That we will prosecute by good aduise
Mortall reuenge vpon thefe trayterous Gothes,
And see their blood, or die with this reproch.

Titus. Tis sure enough, and you knew how,
But if you hunt theſe Beare whelpes then beware,
The Dam will wake, and if the winde you once,
Shee's with the Lyon deepely ſtill in league,
And lulls him whilft the playeth on her back.
And when he ſleepes will he do what he lift.
You are a young huntsman Marcus, let it alone,
And come I will goe get a leafe of braſſe,
And with a gad of ſtele will write theſe words,
And lay it by : the angry Northerne winde,
Will blow theſe lands like Sibels leaves abroad,
And wheres your leſſon then, boy what ſay you?

Puer. I say my Lord, that if I were a man,
Their mothers bed-chamber should not be ſaſe,
For theſe bad bond-men to the yoake of Rome.

Marc. I that's my boy, thy father hath full oft,
For his vngrateful full country done the like.

Puer. And Vnckle so will I, and if I liue.

Titus. Come goe with me into mine Armorie,
Lucius Ile fit thee, and withall, my boy
Shall carry from me to the Emprefle ſonnes,
Prefents that I intend to ſend them both,
Come, come, thoule do thy meſſage, wilt thou not?

Puer. I with my dagger in their boſo mes Grandſier.

Titus. No boy not so, Ile teach thee another course,
Lauinia come, Marcus looke to my house,
Lucius and Ile goe braue it at the Court.

of Titus Andronicus.

Imarry will we fir, and weele be waited on.

Exeunt.

Marc. O heauens ! can you heare a good man grone
And not relent, or not compaffion him?

Mareus attend him in his extaſſe,
That hath more ſcars offorrow in his hart,

Then foe-mens markes vpon his battred shield,
But yet ſo iuſt, that he will not reuenge,

Reuenge the heauens for old Audronicus.

Exiſt.

Enter Aron, Chiron and Demetrius at one dore, and at another dore young Lucius and another, with a bundle of weapons, and verſes written upon them.

Chiron. Demetrius heeres the ſonne of Lucius,
He hath ſome meſſage to deliuer vs.

Aron. I ſomemad meſſage from his mad Grandfather.

Puer. My Lords, with all the humblenes I may,

Igreete your honours from Audronicus,

And pray the Romane Gods confound you both.

Deme. Gramercie louely Lucius, what's the newes?

Puer. That you are both decipherd, that's the newes,
For villaines markt with rape. May it please you,
My Grandſier well aduide hath ſent by me,

The goodlieſt weapons of his Armorie,
To gratifie your honourable youth

The hope of Rome, for so he bad me ſay :

And so I do, and with his gifts preſent
Your Lordships, when euer you haue neede,
You may be armed and appointed well,

And so I leaue you both : like bloody villaines.

Exiſt.

Deme. What's heere? a ſcrole, and written round about?

Let's fee,

Integre vitæ ſeleſiſque purus, non eget maury iaculis nec arcus.

Chiron, O tis a verſe in Horace, I know it well.

G

I

The most lamentable Tragedie

I read it in the Grammer long agoe.

Moore. In lift, a verse in Horace, right, you haue it,
Now what a thing it is to be an Affe.

Heeres no found left, the old man hath found their gilt,
And sends the weapons wrapt about with lines,
That wound (beyond their feeling) to the quick;

But were our witty Empresse well a foote,
She would applaud Andronicus conceit,
But let her reft in her vnreft a while.

And now young Lords, waft not a happy Barre,
Led vs to Rome strangers, and more then so
Captives to be advanced to this height?

It did me good before the Pallace gate,

To braue the Tribune in his brothers hearing.

Demet. But me more good to see so great a Lord,
Bafely infuinate, and send vs gifts.

Moore. Had he not reason Lord Demetritus,
Did you not vſe his daughter very friendly?

Demet. I would we had a thousand Romane Dames
At such a bay, by turne to ſerue our luff.

Chiron. A charitable wifh and full of loue.

Moore. Heere lacks but your mother for to ſay A men.

Chiron. And that would ſhe for twenty thousand more.

Demet. Come let vs goe and pray to all the Gods
For our beloved mother in her paines.

Moore. Pray to the deuils, the gods haue giuen vs ouer.

Trumpets found.

Dem. Why do the Emperors trumpets flourifh thus?

Chiron. Belike for joy the Emperour hath a fonne.

Demet. Soft, who comes heere?

Enter Nurse with a blacke a Moore childe.

Nur. Good morrow Lords, O tell me did you fee Aron the
Aron. Well, more or leſſe, or nere a w ſt at all,

(Moore
Heere

of Titus Andronicus,

Heere Aron is, and what with Aron now?

Nurse. Oh gentle Aron, we are all vndone,
Now helpe, or woe betide thee euermore.

Aron. Why what a catterwalling doſt thou keepe,
What doſt thou wrap and fumble in thine armes?

Nurse. O that which I would hide from heavens eye,
Our Empresse ſhame, and ſtately Romes diſgrace,
She is deliuered Lords, ſhe is deliuered.

Aron. To whome?

Nurse. I meane ſhe is brought a bed.

Aron. Wel God giue her good reſt, what hath he ſent her?

Nurse. A deuill.

Aron. Why then ſhe is the Deuils Dam, a joy full ilſue,

Nurse. A ioyles, diſmall, blacke, and ſorrow full ilſue,

Heere is the babe as loath ſome as a toad,

Amongst the fajreſt breeders of our clime,
The Empresse ſends it thee, thy ſtampe, thy ſeale,

And bidst thee chriften it with thy daggers point.

Aron. Zounds ye whose, is black ſo bafe a hue?
Sweet blows, you are a beautious bloſſome ſure.

Demet. Villaine what haſt thou done?

Aron. That which thou canſt not vndoe.

Chiron. Thou haſt vndone our mother.

Aron. Villaine, I haue done thy mother.

Demet. And therein helſiſh dog thou haſt vndone,
Woe to her chance, and dambd her loathed choyce,
Accurſt the offspring of ſo foule a fiend.

Chiron. It shall not liue.

Aron. It shall not die.

Nurse. Aron it muſt, the mother wils it so.

Aron. What muſt it Nurſe ? then let no man but J,
Doe execution on my ſleſh and blood.

Dem. Ile broach the tadpole on my Rapiers point,
Nurse giue it me, my ſword shall ſoone dispatch it.

G2

Aron

The most lamentable Tragedie

Aron. Sooner this sword shall plow thy bowels vp,
Stay murtherous villaines, will you kill your brother ?
Now by the burning tapers of the skie,
That thone so brightly when this boy was got,
He dies vpon my Semitars sharpe point,
That touches this my firſt borne ſonne and heire .

I tell you younglings, not *Enceladus*,
With all his threatening band of *Typhons* broode,
Nor great *Alcides*, nor the God of warre,
Shall ceaze this prey out of his fathers hands :

What, what, ye fanguine ſhallow harted boyes,
Yee white-limbde walls, ye ale-house painted ſignes,
Cole-blacke is better then another hue,
In that it ſcornes to beare another hue:

For all the water in the Ocean,
Can neuer turne the Swans blacke legs to white,
Although ſhe laue them hourly in the flood :

Tell the Emprefle from me I am ot age
To keepe mine owne, excuse it how ſhe can.

Demet. Wilt thou betray thy noble miſtris thus?

Aron. My miſtris is my miſtris, this my ſelfe,
The vigour, and the picture of my youth :

This before all the world do I preferre,
This mauger all the world will I keepe ſafe,
Or ſome of you shall ſmoake for it in Rome.

Demet. By this our mother is for euer ſhamde.

Chiron. Rome will deſpife her for this foule eſcape.

Nurſe. The Emperour in his rage will doome her death.

Chiron. I bluſh to thinke vpon this ignomie.

Aron, Why there's the priuledge your beauty beares:
Fie trecherous hue, that will betray w ith bluſhing
The cloſe enaſts and counſels of the hart :

Heeres a young lad framde of another leere,
Looke how the blacke ſlaue ſmiles vpon the father,

As

of Titus Andronicus.

As who ſhould ſay, old Lad I am thine owne.

He is your brother Lords, ſenſibly ſed

Of that ſelfe blood that firſt gaue life to you,
And from that wombe where you imprifoned were,

He is infranchiſed and come to light:

Nay he is your brother by the ſurer ſide,
Although my ſcale be ſtamped in his face.

Nurſe. Aron what ſhall I ſay vnto the Emprefle?

Demet. Aduife thee Aron, what is to be done,
And we will all ſub ſcribe to thy aduife:

Sauethou the childe so we may all be ſafe.

Aron. Then ſit we downe and let vs all confult.

My ſonne and I will hauethe winde of you:

Keepe there, now talke at pleafure of your ſafety.

Demet. How many women ſaw this childe of his?

Aron. Why ſo braue Lords, when we ioyne in league

I am a Lambe, but if you braue the *Moore*,
The chafed Bore, the mountaine Lyoneſſe,
The Ocean ſwells not ſo as *Aron* ſtormes :

But ſay againe, how many ſaw the childe?

Nurſe, Cornelia, the midwife and my ſelfe,
And no one ſelbe but the deliuered Emprefle.

Aron. To the Emprefle, the Midwife, and your ſelfe,
Two may keepe counſell when the thirds away :

Go to the Emprefle, tell her this I ſaid,
Weeke, week, so ćries a Pigge prepared to the ſpit.

He kilbs her.

Demet. What meanſt thou Aron, wherefore didt thou this

Aron. O Lord fir, tis a deed of pollicie,
Shall ſhe liue to betray this gilt of ours?

A long tongu'd babling Goffip, no Lords no:

And now be it knowne to you my full intent.

Not farre, one *Muliteus* my Country-man
His wife but yeſternight was brought to bed,

His childe is like to her, faire as you are :

G 3

Goc

The most lamentable Trage die

Goe packe with him, and giue the mother gold,
And tell them both the circumstance of all,
And how by this their childe shall be aduaunft,
And be receiued for the Emperours heyre,
And substituted in the place of mine,
To calme this tempeſt whirling in the Court,
And let the Emperour dandle him for his owne.
Harkeye Lords, ye see I haue giuen her phisſick,
And you muſt needes beſtow her funerall,
The fields are neere, and you are gallant Groomes:
This done, see that you take no longer daies
But ſend the Midwife preſently to me.
The Midwife and the Nurſe well made away,
Then let the Ladies tattle what they pleaſe.

Chiron. Aron I see thou wilt not truſt the ayre with ſecrets.

Deme. For this care of Tamora,

Herselfe and hers are highly bound to thee.

Exeunt

Aron. Now to the Gothes, as Swiſt as Swallow flies,
There to diſpoſe this treaſure in mine armes,
And ſecretly to greete the Emprefſe friends:

Come on you thick-lipt-ſlaue, Ile beare you hence,
For it is you that puts vs to our ſhifts:

Ile make you feed on berries, and on rootes,
And feede on curds and whay, and ſucke the Goate,
And cabbin in a Caue, and bring you vp

To be a warriour, and command a Campe.

Exit.

Enter Titus, old Marcus, young Lucius, and other gentlemen
with bowes, and Titus beares the arrowes with
Letters on the ends of them.

Titus. Come Marcus, come, kinfmen this is the way,
Sir boy let me see your archerie,

Looke yee draw home enough and is there ſtraight,

Terraſ

of Titus Andronicus.

Terras Aſtreare liquisit, be you remembred Marcus.

Shees gone, ſhees fled, firſ take you to your tooles,
You Cofens ſhall goe found the Ocean,
And caſt your nets, happily you may finde her in the ſea,
Yet thereſs as little iuſtice as at Land:

No Publius and Sempronius, you muſt doe it,
Tis you muſt dig with mattocke, and with ſpade,
And pierce the inmoſt center of the earth,

Then when you come to Plutoeſ Region,
Ipray you deliuer him this petition,
Tell him it is for iuſtice and for aide,

And that it comes from old Andronicus,
Shaken with ſorrowes in vngratefull Rome.

Ah Rome, well, well, I made thee miſerable,
What time I threw the peoples ſuffrages
On him that thus doth tyraonize ore me.

Goe get you gone, and pray be carefull all,
And leaue you not a man of watre vnſearcht,
This wicked Emperour may haue ſhipt her hence,

And kinfmen then we may goe pipe for iuſtice,

Marc. O Publius is not this a heauie caſe

To fee thy noble Vncle thus diſtraſt?
Publ. Therefore my Lords it highly vs concernes,
By day and night t'attend him carefully:

And feede his humour kindely as we may,
Till time beget ſome carefull remedie.

Marc. Kinfhen, his ſorrowes are paſt remedie.

Joyne with the Gothes, and with reuenge full warre,
Take wreake on Rome for this ingratitude,
And vengeance on the traytor Saturnine.

Titus. Publ ius how now, how now my Maſters,
What haue you met with her?

Publ. Nomy good Lord, but Plutoe ſends you word,
If you will haue reuenge from hell you ſhall,

M arrie

The most lamentable Tragedie

Marrie for Iustice she is so employd,
He thinkes with Ioue in heauen, or some where else,
So that perforce you must needs stay a time.
Titus. He doth me wrong to feed me with delayes,
Ile diue into the burning lake below,
And pull her out of Acaron by the heeles.
Marcus we are but shrubs, no Cedars we,
Nobig-bond-men, framd of the Cyclops size,
But mettal Marcus, steele to the very backe,
Yet wrung with wrongs more then our backs ean beare:
And sith there's no iustice in earth nor hell,
We will folicite heauen, and moue the Gods,
To send downe Iustice for to w reake our wrongs:
Come to this geare, you are a good Archer Marcus.

He gires them the Arrowes.

Ad Iouem, that's for you, here ad Apollonem,
Ad Martem, that's for my selfe,
Here boy to Pallas, here to Mercury,
To Saturnine, to Cains, not to Saturnine,
You were as good to shoote against the winde.
Too it boy, Marcus loose when I bid,
Of my word, I haue written to effect,
Theres not a God left vnfollicited.

Marcus Kinſmen, shoot all your ſhafts into the Court,
We will affliet the Emperour in his pride.

Titus. Now Mailters draw, oh well faid Lucius,
Good boy in Virgoes lap, giue it Pallas.

Marc. My Lord, I aime a mile beyond the Moone
Your letter is with Impiter by this.

Titus. Ha, ha, Publius, Publius, what haſt thou done?
See, see, thou haſt shot off one of Taurus hornes.

Mareus. This was the sport my Lord, when Publius shot,
The Bull being gald, gaue Ares such a knocke,
That downe fell both the Rams hornes in the Court,

And

of Titus Andronicus.

And who should finde them but the Empresse villaine:
She laught, and told the Moore he should not choose
But giue them to his maifter for a preſent.

Titus. Why there it goes, God giue your Lordſhip ioy.

Enter the Clowne with a basket and two Pidgions init.

Titus. Newes, newes from heauen,
Marcus the poaſt is come.
Sirra what tydings, haue you any letters ?

Shall I haue iustice, what faies Iupiter ?

Clowne. Ho the Ibbetmaker, hee fayes that he hath taken them downe againe, for the man muſt not be hangd till the next weeke.

Titus. But what faies Iupiter I aske thee?

Clowne. Alas fir I know not Iupiter :

I neuer dranke with him in all my life:

Titus. Why villaine art not thou the Carrier?

Clowne. I of my pidgions fir, nothing els.

Titus. Why, didst thou not come from heauen?

Clowne. From heauen ! alas fir, I neuer came there,
God forbid I should be so bold, to preſſe to heauen in my
young dayes.

Why I am going with my pidgions to the tribunall Plebs, to
take vp a matter of brawle, betwixt my Vncle, and one of
the Emperialis men.

Marcus. Why fir, that is as fit as can be to ſerve for your
Oration, and let him deliuer the pidgions to the Emperour
from you.

Titus. Tell mee can you deliuer an Oration to the Em-
perour with a grace?

Clowne. Nay truely fir, I could neuer ſay grace in all my
life.

Titus. Sirra come hither, make no more adoe,

H

But

## The most lamentable Tragedie

But give your Pidgions to the Emprour,
By me thou haft have iustice at his hands,
Hold, hold, meane while here's mone for thy charges,
Giv me pen and inke.
Sarra, can you with a grace deliuer a Supplication?
Clowne. I fir.

Titus. Then here is a supplication for you, and when you
come to him, at the first approach you must kneele, then kiffle
his foote, then deliver vp your Pidgions, and then look for
your reward.
He be at hand fir, see you doe it branelie.

Clowne. I warrant you fir, let me alone.

Titus. Sirra haft thou a knife? Come let me see it.
Here Marcus, fold it in the Oration,
For thou haft made it like an humble Suppliant.
And when thou haft giuen it the Emperour,
Knocke at my dore, and tell me what he sayes.

Clowne. God be with you fir, I will. Exit.

Titus. Come Marcus let vs goe, Publius follow me.

Exeunt.

Enter Emperour and Empresse, and her two sons, the
Emperour brings the Arrowes in his hand
that Titus shot at him.

Satur. Why Lords, what wrongs are these? was euer Icene
An Emperour in Rome thus ouerborne,
Troubled, confronted thus, and for the extent
Of egall iustice, vsde in such contempt?
My Lords, you know the mightfull Gods,
How euer these diffusers of our peace
Buzin the peoples cares, there nought hath paft,
But euen with la w against the wilfull fonnes

Of

## of Titus Andronicus.

Of old Andronicus. And what and if
His forrowes haue so ouerhelmde his wits?
Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreakes,
His fits, his frenzie, and his bitternes?

And now he writes to heauen for his redresse,
See heeres to Ioue, and this to Mercury,
This to Apollo, this to the God of warre:
Sweet scrowles to flie about the streets of Rome,
What this but Libelling against the Senate,
And blazoning our vnjustice euery where?
A goodly humour, is it not my Lords?

As who would say, in Rome no iustice were:
But if I lie, his fained extafies

Shall be no shelter to these outrages,
But he and his shall know that iustice liues
In Saturninus health, whome if he sleepe,
Heele so awake, as he in fury shall

Cut off the proud'ft confpiratour that liues,
Tamora. My gracious Lord, my louely Saturnine,
Lord of my life, commaunder of my thoughts,
Calme thee, and beare the faults of Titus age,
Th' effects of forrow for his valiant fonnes,

Whose loſſe hath pearſt him deepe, and ſcard his hart,
And rather comfort his diſtrefled plight,
Then prosecute the meaneſt or the beſt

For these contempts: Why thus it ſhall become
Hie witted Tamora to gloſe with all:

But Titus I haue touched thee to the quicke,
Thy life blood out: if Aron now be wife,
Then is all ſafe, the Anchor's in the port.

Enter Clowne.

How now good fellow wouldst thou ſpeak with vs?

Clowne. Yea for ſooth, and your Miltership be Emperiall.

Tame.

H 2

The most lamentable Tragedie

Tamora. Empresse I am, but yonder fits the Emperour.
Clowne. Tis he, God and Saint Stephen giue you good den,
I haue brought you a letter and a couple of pigions heere.

Here reads the Letter.

Satur. Goetake himaway and hang him preſently.
Clowne. How much money muſt I haue ?
Tamora. Come ſirra, you muſt be hanged.
Clowne. Hang'd, be Lady then I haue brought vp a neck
to a faire end.

Exit.

Satur. Dispightfull and intollerable wrongs,
Shall I endure this monſtrous villany ?
I know from whence this fame deuife proceedes:
May this be borne, as if his rayterous ſonnes,
That dide by law formurther of our brother,
Haue by my meaneſe bene butchered wrongfully?
Goe dragge the villaine hither by the haire,
Nor age, nor honour, ſhall shape priuledge,
For this proud mocke I le be thy fling ter man,
Sly fantricke wretch, that holpſt to make me great,
In hope thy ſelſe ſhould gouerne Rome and me.

Enter Nuntius Emilius.

Saturn. What newes with thee Emilius ?
Emil. Armemy Lords, Rome neuer had more cauſe,
The Gothes haue gathered head, and with a power
Of high refolued men, bent to the ſpoyle,
They hither march amaine, vnder conduct
Of Lucius, ſonne to old Andronicus
Who threats in course of this reuenge to doe

As

of Titus Andronicus.

As much as euer Coriolanus did.
King Is warlike Lucius Generall of the Gothes,
These tydings nip me, and I hang the head
As flowers with froſt, or graſſe beat downe with ſtormes;
I now begins our forrow to approach,
Tis he the common people loue so much,
My ſelſe hath often heard them ſay,
When I haue walked like a private man,
That Lucius banifhment was wrongfully,
And they haue wifht that Lucius were their Emperour.

Tamora. Why ſhould y ou ſeare, is not your Citty ſtrong?
King. I but the Citizens ſauour Lucius,
And will revolt from me to ſuccour him.

Tamora. King, be thy thoughts imperious like thy name.
Is the Sunne dimd, that Gnats do flie in it?
The Eagle ſuffers little birds to fling,
And is not carefull what they meane thereby,
Knowing that with the ſhadow of his wings,
He can at pleaſure ſtint their melodie.
Euen so may eſt thou the giddy men of Rome,
Then cheare thy ſpirit, for know thou Emperour,
I will enchaunt the old Andronicus,
With words more ſweet and yet more dangerous
Then baites to ſilh, or honny ſtalkes to ſheepe,
When as the one is wounded with the baite,
The other rotted with delicious ſeede.

King. But he will not entreat his ſonne for vs.
Tamor. If Tamora entreat him then he will,
For I can ſmooth and fill his aged eare,
With golden promifes, that were his heart
Almost imp regnable, his old yeares deafe,
Yet ſhould both care and hart obey my tongue.
Goethou before to be our Embarſadour,
Say that the Emperour requeſts a partly

H 3

Of.