Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him speak.
Luc. Then, noble auditory, be it known to you,
That curfed Chiron and Demetrius

Were they that murdered our Emperor's brother;
And they they were that ravished our fifter:
For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded,
Our father's tears defpis'd, and bafely cozen'd
Of that true hand, that fought Rome's quarrel out,
And fent her enemies into the grave.
Laftly, my felf unkindly banifhed,

(The gates fhut on me) and turn'd weeping out,
To beg relief among Rome's enemies,

Who drown'd their enmity in my true tears,
And op'd their arms t' embrace me as a friend:
And I am turn'd forth, be it known to you,
That have preferv'd her welfare in my blood,
And from her bofom took the enemy's point,
Sheathing the fteel in my advent'rous body.
Alas, you know I am no vaunter, 1;
My fears can witnefs, dumb although they are,
That my report is juft, and full of truth.
But foft, methinks I do digrefs too much,
Citing my worthlefs praife: oh pardon me,
For when no friends are by, men praise themselves.
Mar. Now is my tongue to fpeak: behold this child,
Of this was Tamora delivered,

The iffue of an irreligious Moor,

Chief architect and plotter of these woes;
The villain is alive in Titus' house,

9 'Damn'd' as he is, to witnefs this is true.
Now judge what caufe had Titus to revenge
Thefe wrongs, unfpeakable, paft patience,
Or more than any living man could bear.

Now you have heard the truth, what fay you, Romans?
Have we done aught amifs? fhew us wherein,
And from the place where you behold us now,
The poor remainder of Andronicus,

We'll hand in hand all head-long caft us down,

2 they it were 9 And... old edit. Theob, emend.

And

And on the ragged ftones beat out our brains,
And make a mutual clofure of our house:
Speak, Romans, fpeak, and if you say we shall,
Lo hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall.

Æm. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome,
And bring our Emperor gently in thy hand,
Lucius our Emperor: for well I know,

The common voice doth cry it shall be fo.
Mar. Lucius, all hail, Rome's royal Emperor!
Go, go into old Titus' forrowful houfe,
And hither hale that misbelieving Moor,
To be adjudg'd fome direful flaughtering death,
As punishment for his moft wicked life.
Lucius, all hail, Rome's gracious Governor!

Luc. Thanks, gentle Romans: may I govern fo,
To heal Rome's harm, and drive away her woe!
But, gentle people, give me aim a while,
For nature puts me to a heavy task:
Stand all aloof: but, uncle, draw you near,
To fhed obfequious tears upon this trunk:
Oh take this warm kifs on thy pale cold lips,
These forrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'd face;
The last true duties of thy noble fon.

Mar. Ay, tear for tear, and loving kifs for kifs,
Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips:

O were the fum of thefe that I fhould pay
Countless and infinite, yet would I

pay them.

Luc. Come hither, boy, come, come, and learn of us To melt in showers; thy grandfire lov'd thee well; Many a time he danc'd thee on his knee;

Sung thee afleep, his loving breaft thy pillow:
Many a matter hath he told to thee,

Meet and agreeing with thy infancy;
In that refpect then, like a loving child,
Shed yet some small drops from thy tender spring,
Because kind nature doth require it fo;

Friends should affociate friends, in grief and woe:
Bid him farewel, commit him to the grave,

I do

Do

Do him that kindness, and take leave of him.

Boy. O grandfire, grandfire! ev'n with all my heart, Would I were dead, fo you did live againO Lord, I cannot fpeak to him for weepingMy tears will choak me, if I ope my mouth.

Enter Romans with Aaron.

Rom. You fad Andronici, have done with woes,
Give sentence on this execrable wretch,
That hath been breeder of thefe dire events.

Luc. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish him:
There let him stand, and rave and cry for food:
If any one relieves or pities him,

For the offence he dies: this is our doom.
Some stay to see him faftned in the earth.

Aar. O why should wrath be mute, and fury dumb? I am no baby, I, that with bafe prayers

I fhould repent the evil I have done:
Ten thoufand worfe than ever yet I did,
Would I perform, if I might have my will:
If one good deed in all my life I did,

I do repent it from my very foul.

Luc. Some loving friends convey the Emp'ror hence,
And give him burial in his father's grave.
My father and Lavinia fhall forthwith
Be closed in our houfhold's monument:
As for that heinous tygrefs Tamora,

No funeral rites, nor man in mournful weeds,
No mournful bell fhall ring her burial;

But throw her forth to beafts and birds of prey:
Her life was beaft-like, and devoid of pity,

2

And being fo, she shall have like want of it.
See juftice done on Aaron that damn'd Moor,
From whom our heavy haps had their beginning;
Then afterwards, we'll order well the state,
That like events may ne'er it ruinate.

[Exeunt omnes.

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