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Noble patricians, patrons of my right, Defend the justice of my cause with arms, And, countrymen, my loving followers, Plead my successive title with your swords: I am his first-born son, that was the last That wore the imperial diadem of Rome; Then let my father’s honours live in me, Nor wrong mine age with this indignity.
Noble patricians, supporters of my cause, Defend the justice of my claim with force, And, fellow Romans, my loyal followers, Support my right to rule with your swords: I am the first-born son of the late Emperor of Rome; The last to wear the imperial crown of Rome. So let my father’s honor live on through me, And do not dishonor me by denying my right.
Romans, friends, followers, favorers of my right, If ever Bassianus, Caesar’s son, Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome, Keep then this passage to the Capitol And suffer not dishonour to approach The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate, To justice, continence and nobility; But let desert in pure election shine, And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice.
Romans, friends, followers, supporters of my cause, If ever Bassianus, Caesar’s son, Was beloved by the people of royal Rome, Keep open the way to the Capitol, And do not let dishonor reach The imperial seat, a symbol of virtue, Justice, self-control, and nobility; Let true merit shine in the election, And Romans, fight for the freedom to choose.
Princes, that strive by factions and by friends Ambitiously for rule and empery, Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand A special party, have, by common voice, In election for the Roman empery, Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius For many good and great deserts to Rome: A nobler man, a braver warrior, Lives not this day within the city walls: He by the senate is accit’d home From weary wars against the barbarous Goths; That, with his sons, a terror to our foes, Hath yoked a nation strong, train’d up in arms. Ten years are spent since first he undertook This cause of Rome and chastised with arms Our enemies’ pride: five times he hath return’d Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons In coffins from the field; And now at last, laden with horror’s spoils, Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms. Let us entreat, by honour of his name, Whom worthily you would have now succeed. And in the Capitol and senate’s right, Whom you pretend to honour and adore, That you withdraw you and abate your strength; Dismiss your followers and, as suitors should, Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness.
Princes, who compete through factions and friends Ambitiously for rule and power, Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand, Have, by unanimous vote, Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius, For his many good and great deeds for Rome: A nobler man, a braver warrior, Does not live today within the city walls: He has been called home by the Senate From his long campaigns against the barbarous Goths; He, with his sons, a terror to our enemies, Has subdued a mighty nation, trained in arms. Ten years have passed since he first took up this cause For Rome, and punished our enemies’ arrogance; Five times he has returned to Rome, Wounded and carrying his valiant sons, Killed in battle, in coffins from the field; And now, at last, bearing the spoils of war, Returns the noble Andronicus to Rome, Renowned Titus, celebrated in battle. Let us beg, in honor of his name, Whom you would now have as your emperor, And in the Capitol and the Senate’s right, Whom you claim to honor and admire, That you step aside and lessen your strength; Dismiss your followers and, as proper suitors should, Present your case in peace and humility.
How fair the tribune speaks to calm my thoughts!
How well the Tribune speaks to calm my thoughts!
Marcus Andronicus, so I do ally In thy uprightness and integrity, And so I love and honour thee and thine, Thy noble brother Titus and his sons, And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all, Gracious Lavinia, Rome’s rich ornament, That I will here dismiss my loving friends, And to my fortunes and the people’s favor Commit my cause in balance to be weigh’d.
Marcus Andronicus, I too align myself With your honesty and integrity, And I honor you and your family, Your noble brother Titus and his sons, And her to whom my thoughts are devoted, The gracious Lavinia, Rome’s beautiful jewel, That I will now send away my loving friends, And commit my cause to the favor of the people To be judged fairly.
Friends, that have been thus forward in my right, I thank you all and here dismiss you all, And to the love and favor of my country Commit myself, my person and the cause.
Friends, who have been so forward in supporting my cause, I thank you all and now dismiss you, And to the love and favor of my country I now commit myself, my person, and my cause.
Rome, be as just and gracious unto me As I am confident and kind to thee. Open the gates, and let me in.
Rome, be as just and kind to me As I am confident and loyal to you. Open the gates, and let me enter.
Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor.
Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor.
Romans, make way: the good Andronicus. Patron of virtue, Rome’s best champion, Successful in the battles that he fights, With honour and with fortune is return’d From where he circumscribed with his sword, And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome.
Romans, make way: the good Andronicus. Patron of virtue, Rome’s best champion, Successful in the battles that he fights, With honour and with fortune is return’d From where he circumscribed with his sword, And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome.
Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds! Lo, as the bark, that hath discharged her fraught, Returns with precious jading to the bay From whence at first she weigh’d her anchorage, Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs, To re-salute his country with his tears, Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. Thou great defender of this Capitol, Stand gracious to the rites that we intend! Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons, Half of the number that King Priam had, Behold the poor remains, alive and dead! These that survive let Rome reward with love; These that I bring unto their latest home, With burial amongst their ancestors: Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my sword. Titus, unkind and careless of thine own, Why suffer’st thou thy sons, unburied yet, To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx? Make way to lay them by their brethren.
Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds! Look, like the ship that’s unloaded from its cargo, Returns to port with a tired ship to rest From where it first dropped anchor, Comes Andronicus, crowned with laurel leaves, To greet his country with his tears, Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. You, great protector of this Capitol, Be kind to the ceremonies we’re performing! Romans, of five and twenty brave sons, Half of the number that King Priam had, See the sad remains, both alive and dead! These survivors, let Rome honor with love; These I bring to their final resting place, Buried with their ancestors: Here the Goths have allowed me to sheath my sword. Titus, uncaring and neglectful of yourself, Why do you allow your sons, still unburied, To hover on the scary shore of the River Styx? Make way to lay them next to their brothers.
There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, And sleep in peace, slain in your country’s wars! O sacred receptacle of my joys, Sweet cell of virtue and nobility, How many sons of mine hast thou in store, That thou wilt never render to me more!
There greet in silence, as the dead are used to, And sleep in peace, slain in your country’s wars! O sacred resting place of my joys, Sweet home of virtue and nobility, How many sons of mine have you in store, That you will never give back to me again!
Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths, That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh, Before this earthy prison of their bones; That so the shadows be not unappeased, Nor we disturb’d with prodigies on earth.
Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths, That we may chop his limbs, and on a pile Sacrifice his flesh to the spirits of our brothers, Before this earthly tomb of their bones; So that the spirits are not left unsatisfied, Nor we disturbed by omens on earth.
I give him you, the noblest that survives, The eldest son of this distressed queen.
I give him to you, the noblest that survives, The eldest son of this grieving queen.
Stay, Roman brethren! Gracious conqueror, Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, A mother’s tears in passion for her son: And if thy sons were ever dear to thee, O, think my son to be as dear to me! Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome, To beautify thy triumphs and return, Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke, But must my sons be slaughter’d in the streets, For valiant doings in their country’s cause? O, if to fight for king and commonweal Were piety in thine, it is in these. Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood: Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods? Draw near them then in being merciful: Sweet mercy is nobility’s true badge: Thrice noble Titus, spare my first-born son.
Wait, Roman brothers! Gracious conqueror, Victorious Titus, have mercy for the tears I shed, A mother’s tears, in grief for her son: And if your sons were ever dear to you, Oh, think my son to be as dear to me! Isn’t it enough that we are brought to Rome, To celebrate your triumphs and return, Captive to you and to your Roman rule, But must my sons be slaughtered in the streets, For brave actions in their country’s cause? Oh, if fighting for king and country Was a righteous act in you, it is in them. Andronicus, stain not your tomb with blood: Will you approach the nature of the gods? Then approach them by being merciful: Sweet mercy is the true symbol of nobility: Thrice noble Titus, spare my first-born son.
Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me. These are their brethren, whom you Goths beheld Alive and dead, and for their brethren slain Religiously they ask a sacrifice: To this your son is mark’d, and die he must, To appease their groaning shadows that are gone.
Be patient, madam, and forgive me. These are their brothers, whom you Goths saw Alive and dead, and for their brothers slain They respectfully ask for a sacrifice: To this your son is chosen, and die he must, To appease their grieving shadows that are gone.
Away with him! and make a fire straight; And with our swords, upon a pile of wood, Let’s hew his limbs till they be clean consumed.
Take him away! and build a fire quickly; And with our swords, on a pile of wood, Let’s cut him into pieces until he is completely burned.
O cruel, irreligious piety!
Oh cruel, irreligious piety!
Was ever Scythia half so barbarous?
Was Scythia ever half so barbarous?
Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome. Alarbus goes to rest; and we survive To tremble under Titus’ threatening looks. Then, madam, stand resolved, but hope withal The self-same gods that arm’d the Queen of Troy With opportunity of sharp revenge Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent, May favor Tamora, the Queen of Goths-- When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen-- To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes.
Don’t oppose Scythia to ambitious Rome. Alarbus is dead; and we’re left To tremble under Titus’ threatening gaze. So, madam, stand firm, but also hope The same gods that gave the Queen of Troy The chance for sharp revenge On the Thracian tyrant in his tent, Might also favor Tamora, the Queen of Goths-- When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen-- To repay the bloody wrongs done to her enemies.
See, lord and father, how we have perform’d Our Roman rites: Alarbus’ limbs are lopp’d, And entrails feed the sacrificing fire, Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky. Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren, And with loud ’larums welcome them to Rome.
Look, father, see how we’ve performed Our Roman rites: Alarbus’ limbs are cut off, And his entrails feed the sacrificial fire, Whose smoke, like incense, fills the sky. All that’s left is to bury our brothers, And with loud alarms, welcome them to Rome.
Let it be so; and let Andronicus Make this his latest farewell to their souls.
Let it be so; and let Andronicus Make this his final farewell to their souls.
In peace and honour rest you here, my sons; Rome’s readiest champions, repose you here in rest, Secure from worldly chances and mishaps! Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, Here grow no damned grudges; here are no storms, No noise, but silence and eternal sleep: In peace and honour rest you here, my sons!
In peace and honor rest here, my sons; Rome’s greatest champions, rest here in peace, Safe from the world’s chances and misfortunes! Here there is no treason, no envy here, No grudges, no storms, No noise, just silence and eternal sleep: In peace and honor rest here, my sons!
In peace and honour live Lord Titus long; My noble lord and father, live in fame! Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears I render, for my brethren’s obsequies; And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy, Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome: O, bless me here with thy victorious hand, Whose fortunes Rome’s best citizens applaud!
Long live Lord Titus in peace and honor; My noble lord and father, live in fame! Look, at this tomb I give my tears For my brothers’ funeral rites; And at your feet I kneel, shedding joyful tears, Poured on the earth, for your return to Rome: O, bless me here with your victorious hand, Whose success the best citizens of Rome celebrate!
Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserved The cordial of mine age to glad my heart! Lavinia, live; outlive thy father’s days, And fame’s eternal date, for virtue’s praise!
Kind Rome, who has so lovingly kept The joy of my old age to make my heart glad! Lavinia, live; outlive your father’s years, And the eternal fame that comes with virtue’s praise!
Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother, Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome!
Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother, Gracious victor in the eyes of Rome!
Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Marcus.
Thank you, kind tribune, noble brother Marcus.
And welcome, nephews, from successful wars, You that survive, and you that sleep in fame! Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all, That in your country’s service drew your swords: But safer triumph is this funeral pomp, That hath aspired to Solon’s happiness And triumphs over chance in honour’s bed. Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, Send thee by me, their tribune and their trust, This palliament of white and spotless hue; And name thee in election for the empire, With these our late-deceased emperor’s sons: Be candidatus then, and put it on, And help to set a head on headless Rome.
And welcome, nephews, from your victorious wars, You who survived, and you who sleep in glory! Fair lords, your fortunes are the same in every way, For both of you fought for your country: But a safer victory is this funeral procession, Which has reached the happiness of Solon And triumphs over chance in honor’s bed. Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, Whose friend in justice you’ve always been, Send you by me, their tribune and their trust, This white and spotless robe; And nominate you for the empire, Along with the late-deceased emperor’s sons: Be a candidate then, and put it on, And help put a head on headless Rome.
A better head her glorious body fits Than his that shakes for age and feebleness: What should I don this robe, and trouble you? Be chosen with proclamations to-day, To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life, And set abroad new business for you all? Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years, And led my country’s strength successfully, And buried one and twenty valiant sons, Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms, In right and service of their noble country Give me a staff of honour for mine age, But not a sceptre to control the world: Upright he held it, lords, that held it last.
A better head fits her glorious body Than his who shakes with age and weakness: Why should I wear this robe, and trouble you? Be chosen with public proclamations today, Tomorrow give up rule, resign my life, And set new business before you all? Rome, I have been your soldier for forty years, Leading my country’s strength successfully, And buried twenty-one brave sons, Knighted on the battlefield, slain honorably in battle, In service to their noble country Give me an honor staff for my old age, But not a scepter to rule the world: The last man who held it, held it upright, lords.
Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery.
Titus, you shall have the empire you ask for.
Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou tell?
Proud and ambitious tribune, can you really tell?
Patience, Prince Saturninus.
Patience, Prince Saturninus.
Romans, do me right: Patricians, draw your swords: and sheathe them not Till Saturninus be Rome’s emperor. Andronicus, would thou wert shipp’d to hell, Rather than rob me of the people’s hearts!
Romans, do me justice: Nobles, draw your swords: and don’t put them away Until Saturninus is crowned emperor of Rome. Andronicus, I wish you were sent to hell, Rather than take the people’s loyalty from me!
Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good That noble-minded Titus means to thee!
Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good That noble Titus means to do for you!
Content thee, prince; I will restore to thee The people’s hearts, and wean them from themselves.
Calm down, prince; I will give you back The people’s loyalty, and make them turn against themselves.
Andronicus, I do not flatter thee, But honour thee, and will do till I die: My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, I will most thankful be; and thanks to men Of noble minds is honourable meed.
Andronicus, I don’t flatter you, But I honor you, and will do so until I die: If you strengthen my side with your friends, I will be very grateful; and gratitude from noble men Is a noble reward.
People of Rome, and people’s tribunes here, I ask your voices and your suffrages: Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus?
People of Rome, and tribunes here, I ask for your votes and your support: Will you give them to Andronicus, as a friend?
To gratify the good Andronicus, And gratulate his safe return to Rome, The people will accept whom he admits.
To honor the good Andronicus, And celebrate his safe return to Rome, The people will accept whoever he approves.
Tribunes, I thank you: and this suit I make, That you create your emperor’s eldest son, Lord Saturnine; whose virtues will, I hope, Reflect on Rome as Titan’s rays on earth, And ripen justice in this commonweal: Then, if you will elect by my advice, Crown him and say ’Long live our emperor!’
Tribunes, I thank you: and this is my request, That you make your emperor’s eldest son, Lord Saturninus; whose virtues will, I hope, Reflect on Rome like the rays of the sun on the earth, And bring justice to this country: Then, if you follow my advice, Crown him and say ’Long live our emperor!’
With voices and applause of every sort, Patricians and plebeians, we create Lord Saturninus Rome’s great emperor, And say ’Long live our Emperor Saturnine!’
With voices and cheers from everyone, Nobles and commoners, we make Lord Saturninus the great emperor of Rome, And say ’Long live our Emperor Saturninus!’
Titus Andronicus, for thy favors done To us in our election this day, I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts, And will with deeds requite thy gentleness: And, for an onset, Titus, to advance Thy name and honourable family, Lavinia will I make my empress, Rome’s royal mistress, mistress of my heart, And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse: Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee?
Titus Andronicus, for the favors you’ve done For us in this election today, I thank you for part of your service, And will repay your kindness with actions: And to start, Titus, to honor Your name and noble family, I will make Lavinia my empress, Rome’s royal mistress, the mistress of my heart, And marry her in the sacred Pantheon: Tell me, Andronicus, do you like this idea?
It doth, my worthy lord; and in this match I hold me highly honour’d of your grace: And here in sight of Rome to Saturnine, King and commander of our commonweal, The wide world’s emperor, do I consecrate My sword, my chariot and my prisoners; Presents well worthy Rome’s imperial lord: Receive them then, the tribute that I owe, Mine honour’s ensigns humbled at thy feet.
I do, my noble lord; and in this marriage I feel greatly honored by your grace: And here, in front of Rome, to Saturninus, King and ruler of our country, The emperor of the whole world, I dedicate My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners; Gifts worthy of Rome’s imperial ruler: Accept them, then, the tribute I owe, With my honor’s symbols humbled at your feet.
Thanks, 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 unspeakable deserts, Romans, forget your fealty to me.
Thank you, noble Titus, father of my life! How proud I am of you and your gifts Rome will remember, and when I forget Even the smallest of these incredible services, Romans, forget your loyalty to me.
[To TAMORA] Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor; To him that, for your honour and your state, Will use you nobly and your followers.
[To TAMORA] Now, madam, you are a prisoner to an emperor; To the man who, for your honor and your position, Will treat you nobly, along with your followers.
A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue That I would choose, were I to choose anew. Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance: Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer, Thou comest not to be made a scorn in Rome: Princely shall be thy usage every way. Rest on my word, and let not discontent Daunt all your hopes: madam, he comforts you Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths. Lavinia, you are not displeased with this?
A beautiful lady, trust me; of the kind I would choose, if I had to choose again. Cheer up, fair queen, don’t look so sad: Though the luck of war has caused this change of mood, You have not come to be mocked in Rome: You will be treated like royalty in every way. Trust me, and let not unhappiness Discourage you: madam, the one who comforts you Can make you more powerful than the Queen of the Goths. Lavinia, you don’t mind this, do you?
Not I, my lord; sith true nobility Warrants these words in princely courtesy.
Not at all, my lord; since true nobility Justifies these words in royal courtesy.
Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go; Ransomless here we set our prisoners free: Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum.
Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let’s go; We’ll set our prisoners free without ransom: Let’s announce our honors, lords, with trumpet and drum.
Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine.
Lord Titus, with your permission, this woman is mine.
How, sir! are you in earnest then, my lord?
What, sir! Are you serious, my lord?
Ay, noble Titus; and resolved withal To do myself this reason and this right.
Yes, noble Titus; and I’m determined To make this right, and claim what’s mine.
’Suum cuique’ is our Roman justice: This prince in justice seizeth but his own.
"To each his own" is our Roman law: This prince, in justice, takes only what is his.
And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live.
And he will, and shall, if Lucius lives.
Traitors, avaunt! Where is the emperor’s guard? Treason, my lord! Lavinia is surprised!
Traitors, begone! Where is the emperor’s guard? Treason, my lord! Lavinia has been taken!
Surprised! by whom?
Taken! By whom?
By him that justly may Bear his betroth’d from all the world away.
By the one who rightly may Take his betrothed away from the whole world.
Brothers, help to convey her hence away, And with my sword I’ll keep this door safe.
Brothers, help to take her away, And with my sword, I’ll guard this door.
Follow, my lord, and I’ll soon bring her back.
Follow, my lord, and I’ll bring her back soon.
My lord, you pass not here.
My lord, you can’t go this way.
What, villain boy! Barr’st me my way in Rome?
What, you worthless boy! Are you blocking my way in Rome?
Help, Lucius, help!
Help, Lucius, help!
My lord, you are unjust, and, more than so, In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son.
My lord, you’re wrong, and even worse, In this unfair fight, you’ve killed your son.
Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine; My sons would never so dishonour me: Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor.
Neither you nor he are my sons; My sons would never dishonor me like that: Traitor, give Lavinia back to the emperor.
Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife, That is another’s lawful promised love.
Dead, if you want; but she won’t be his wife, That’s a love promised to someone else.
No, Titus, no; the emperor needs her not, Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock: I’ll trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once; Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons, Confederates all thus to dishonour me. Was there none else in Rome to make a stale, But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus, Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine, That said’st I begg’d the empire at thy hands.
No, Titus, no; the emperor doesn’t need her, Not her, not you, not anyone from your family: I’ll trust the man who mocks me once, But never you, or your traitorous, arrogant sons, All of you working together to dishonor me. Was there no one else in Rome to disgrace, But Saturninus? You’ve made it clear, Andronicus, That these actions match your boast, That I begged you for the empire.
O monstrous! what reproachful words are these?
Oh, monstrous! What insulting words are these?
But go thy ways; go, give that changing piece To him that flourish’d for her with his sword A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy; One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons, To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome.
But go ahead; go, give that traitor to the one Who fought for her with his sword You’ll have a brave son-in-law; One fit to join forces with your lawless sons, To cause trouble in the empire of Rome.
These words are razors to my wounded heart.
These words are like daggers to my wounded heart.
And therefore, lovely Tamora, queen of Goths, That like the stately Phoebe ’mongst her nymphs Dost overshine the gallant’st dames of Rome, If thou be pleased with this my sudden choice, Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride, And will create thee empress of Rome, Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice? And here I swear by all the Roman gods, Sith priest and holy water are so near And tapers burn so bright and every thing In readiness for Hymenaeus stand, I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, Or climb my palace, till from forth this place I lead espoused my bride along with me.
And so, beautiful Tamora, queen of the Goths, Who outshines the finest ladies of Rome Like the goddess Phoebe among her nymphs, If you’re pleased with my sudden choice, Look, I choose you, Tamora, as my bride, And will make you empress of Rome. Speak, Queen of Goths, do you approve of my choice? And here, I swear by all the Roman gods, Since the priest and holy water are so close And the candles burn so bright, and everything Is ready for the wedding ceremony, I won’t enter the streets of Rome again, Or go to my palace, until I bring My bride out of this place with me.
And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome I swear, If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths, She will a handmaid be to his desires, A loving nurse, a mother to his youth.
And here, in front of heaven, I swear to Rome, If Saturninus makes me the Queen of Goths, I will serve him faithfully, A loving nurse, a mother to his children.
Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon. Lords, accompany Your noble emperor and his lovely bride, Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine, Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered: There shall we consummate our spousal rites.
Come up, beautiful queen, to the Pantheon. Lords, join Your great emperor and his lovely wife, Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturninus, Whose wisdom has won her fortune: There we will complete our wedding ceremony.
I am not bid to wait upon this bride. Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, Dishonour’d thus, and challenged of wrongs?
I wasn’t invited to wait on this bride. Titus, when did you ever walk alone, Dishonored like this, and blamed for wrongs?
O Titus, see, O, see what thou hast done! In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son.
Oh Titus, look, oh look what you’ve done! In a bad argument, you killed a virtuous son.
No, foolish tribune, no; no son of mine, Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed That hath dishonour’d all our family; Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons!
No, foolish tribune, no; he’s not my son, Not you, nor these, who are accomplices in the act That has dishonored our whole family; Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons!
But let us give him burial, as becomes; Give Mutius burial with our brethren.
But let’s give him a proper burial, as we should; Bury Mutius with our brothers.
Traitors, away! he rests not in this tomb: This monument five hundred years hath stood, Which I have sumptuously re-edified: Here none but soldiers and Rome’s servitors Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls: Bury him where you can; he comes not here.
Traitors, get out of here! He won’t rest in this tomb: This monument has stood for five hundred years, Which I have lavishly rebuilt: Here only soldiers and Rome’s servants Rest in honor; no one dishonorably slain in fights: Bury him where you will; he doesn’t come here.
My lord, this is impiety in you: My nephew Mutius’ deeds do plead for him He must be buried with his brethren.
My lord, this is sacrilege on your part: My nephew Mutius’ actions speak for him He must be buried with his brothers.
And shall, or him we will accompany.
And he will be, or we will join him.
’And shall!’ what villain was it that spake that word?
"And he will be!" What villain said that word?
He that would vouch it in any place but here.
He who would say it anywhere but here.
What, would you bury him in my despite?
What, do you mean to bury him against my will?
No, noble Titus, but entreat of thee To pardon Mutius and to bury him.
No, noble Titus, but we ask you To forgive Mutius and bury him.
Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest, And, with these boys, mine honour thou hast wounded: My foes I do repute you every one; So, trouble me no more, but get you gone.
Marcus, even you have struck at my pride, And, with these boys, you have wounded my honor: I consider you all my enemies; So, stop bothering me and leave.
He is not with himself; let us withdraw.
He’s not himself; let’s leave.
Not I, till Mutius’ bones be buried.
Not me, until Mutius’ bones are buried.
Brother, for in that name doth nature plead,--
Brother, for in that name nature pleads,--
Father, and in that name doth nature speak,--
Father, and in that name nature speaks,--
Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed.
Don’t say more, if the others want to hurry.
Renowned Titus, more than half my soul,--
Renowned Titus, more than half of my soul,--
Dear father, soul and substance of us all,--
Dear father, the soul and substance of us all,--
Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter His noble nephew here in virtue’s nest, That died in honour and Lavinia’s cause. Thou art a Roman; be not barbarous: The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax That slew himself; and wise Laertes’ son Did graciously plead for his funerals: Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy Be barr’d his entrance here.
Let your brother Marcus bury His noble nephew here, in a place of honor, Who died for the cause of virtue and Lavinia. You are a Roman; don’t be barbaric: The Greeks, when Ajax killed himself, buried him And wise Laertes’ son graciously asked for his funeral: Let not young Mutius, who was your joy, Be denied his place here.
Rise, Marcus, rise. The dismall’st day is this that e’er I saw, To be dishonour’d by my sons in Rome! Well, bury him, and bury me the next.
Rise, Marcus, rise. This is the worst day I’ve ever seen, To be dishonored by my sons in Rome! Fine, bury him, and bury me next.
There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends, Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb.
There lie your bones, sweet Mutius, with your friends, Until we decorate your tomb with trophies.
[Kneeling] No man shed tears for noble Mutius; He lives in fame that died in virtue’s cause.
[Kneeling] No one shed tears for noble Mutius; He lives in fame, who died for virtue’s cause.
My lord, to step out of these dreary dumps, How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths Is of a sudden thus advanced in Rome?
My lord, to get out of these sad feelings, How did the clever Queen of the Goths Suddenly rise to power in Rome?
I know not, Marcus; but I know it is, Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell: Is she not then beholding to the man That brought her for this high good turn so far? Yes, and will nobly him remunerate.
I don’t know, Marcus; but I know it is, Whether by design or not, only the heavens can tell: Is she not then indebted to the man Who brought her this far for such a great favor? Yes, and he will be rewarded nobly.
So, Bassianus, you have play’d your prize: God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride!
So, Bassianus, you’ve won your prize: God bless you, sir, on your fine bride!
And you of yours, my lord! I say no more, Nor wish no less; and so, I take my leave.
And you with yours, my lord! I won’t say more, Nor wish less; and now, I take my leave.
Traitor, if Rome have law or we have power, Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape.
Traitor, if Rome has any law or we have power, You and your group will pay for this crime.
Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own, My truth-betrothed love and now my wife? But let the laws of Rome determine all; Meanwhile I am possess’d of that is mine.
Crime, you call it, my lord, to take what’s mine, My betrothed love and now my wife? But let the laws of Rome decide everything; Meanwhile, I hold what’s rightfully mine.
’Tis good, sir: you are very short with us; But, if we live, we’ll be as sharp with you.
Fine, sir: you’re being very blunt with us; But, if we live, we’ll be just as harsh with you.
My lord, what I have done, as best I may, Answer I must and shall do with my life. Only thus much I give your grace to know: By all the duties that I owe to Rome, This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here, Is in opinion and in honour wrong’d; That in the rescue of Lavinia With his own hand did slay his youngest son, In zeal to you and highly moved to wrath To be controll’d in that he frankly gave: Receive him, then, to favor, Saturnine, That hath express’d himself in all his deeds A father and a friend to thee and Rome.
My lord, what I’ve done, I’ve done as best I could, And I’ll answer for it with my life. Only this I want you to know: By all my duties to Rome, This noble man, Lord Titus here, Is wronged in both his opinion and honor; He saved Lavinia And, in the process, killed his youngest son, Out of zeal for you and in great anger At being denied what he freely gave: Accept him, then, into your favor, Saturnine, Since he’s shown by all his actions To be a father and a friend to you and Rome.
Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds: ’Tis thou and those that have dishonour’d me. Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge, How I have loved and honour’d Saturnine!
Prince Bassianus, stop defending my actions: It’s you and those who’ve dishonored me. Let Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge, For how I’ve loved and honored Saturnine!
My worthy lord, if ever Tamora Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine, Then hear me speak in indifferently for all; And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past.
My worthy lord, if ever I was gracious in your eyes, Then listen to me plead for all sides; And at my request, please pardon what’s past.
What, madam! be dishonour’d openly, And basely put it up without revenge?
What, madam! Be dishonored in front of everyone, And just let it go without revenge?
Not so, my lord; the gods of Rome forfend I should be author to dishonour you! But on mine honour dare I undertake For good Lord Titus’ innocence in all; Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs: Then, at my suit, look graciously on him; Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose, Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart.
Not at all, my lord; the gods of Rome forbid That I should ever be the cause of dishonoring you! But I swear on my honor that I’ll stand for Good Lord Titus’ innocence in all this; His rage, unhidden, shows his suffering: So, at my request, look kindly on him; Don’t lose such a noble friend over a mistaken belief, And don’t hurt his gentle heart with your harsh looks.
be won at last; Dissemble all your griefs and discontents: You are but newly planted in your throne; Lest, then, the people, and patricians too, Upon a just survey, take Titus’ part, And so supplant you for ingratitude, Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin, Yield at entreats; and then let me alone: I’ll find a day to massacre them all And raze their faction and their family, The cruel father and his traitorous sons, To whom I sued for my dear son’s life, And make them know what ’tis to let a queen Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain.
Be won over at last; Hide all your anger and unhappiness: You’ve only just taken your throne; Otherwise, the people, and the nobles too, Might see things clearly, side with Titus, And remove you for ingratitude, Which Rome sees as a terrible sin. Yield to their requests; then leave the rest to me: I’ll find a time to destroy them all And wipe out their faction and their family, The cruel father and his treacherous sons, For whom I begged for my dear son’s life, And make them understand what it means to let a queen Beg in the streets and ask for mercy in vain.
Come, come, sweet emperor; come, Andronicus; Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart That dies in tempest of thy angry frown.
Come, come, sweet emperor; come, Andronicus; Help this good old man, and lift the heart That dies under the weight of your angry glare.
Rise, Titus, rise; my empress hath prevail’d.
Rise, Titus, rise; my empress has convinced me.
I thank your majesty, and her, my lord: These words, these looks, infuse new life in me.
I thank your majesty, and her, my lord: These words, these looks, give me new strength.
Titus, I am incorporate in Rome, A Roman now adopted happily, And must advise the emperor for his good. This day all quarrels die, Andronicus; And let it be mine honour, good my lord, That I have reconciled your friends and you. For you, Prince Bassianus, I have pass’d My word and promise to the emperor, That you will be more mild and tractable. And fear not lords, and you, Lavinia; By my advice, all humbled on your knees, You shall ask pardon of his majesty.
Titus, I am now part of Rome, A Roman, happily adopted, And I must advise the emperor for his benefit. Today, all arguments end, Andronicus; And let it be my honor, good my lord, That I have made peace between you and your friends. As for you, Prince Bassianus, I’ve promised The emperor that you will be more gentle and reasonable. And don’t worry, lords, and you, Lavinia; Following my advice, all of you on your knees, You’ll ask for the emperor’s forgiveness.
We do, and vow to heaven and to his highness, That what we did was mildly as we might, Tendering our sister’s honour and our own.
We do, and swear to heaven and to his majesty, That what we did was as gentle as we could, Considering our sister’s honor and our own.
That, on mine honour, here I do protest.
That, on my honor, I swear here and now.
Away, and talk not; trouble us no more.
Enough, stop talking; don’t bother us anymore.
Nay, nay, sweet emperor, we must all be friends: The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace; I will not be denied: sweet heart, look back.
No, no, sweet emperor, we must all be friends: The tribune and his nephews kneel for mercy; I won’t be refused: sweetheart, look back.
Marcus, for thy sake and thy brother’s here, And at my lovely Tamora’s entreats, I do remit these young men’s heinous faults: Stand up. Lavinia, though you left me like a churl, I found a friend, and sure as death I swore I would not part a bachelor from the priest. Come, if the emperor’s court can feast two brides, You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends. This day shall be a love-day, Tamora.
Marcus, for your sake and your brother’s, And at my lovely Tamora’s request, I forgive these young men’s serious wrongs: Stand up. Lavinia, though you treated me harshly, I found a friend, and as sure as death I swore I wouldn’t let a bachelor separate from the priest. Come, if the emperor’s court can celebrate two brides, You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends. This day will be a day of love, Tamora.
To-morrow, an it please your majesty To hunt the panther and the hart with me, With horn and hound we’ll give your grace bonjour.
Tomorrow, if it pleases your majesty, To hunt the panther and the stag with me, With horn and hound we’ll greet you, your grace.
Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too.
So be it, Titus, and thank you as well.