But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, As then your force did. Take that life, 'beseech you,

Which I so often owe: but your ring first;
And here the bracelet of the truest princess,
That ever swore her faith.

Post. Kneel not to me;

The power, that I have on you, is to spare you; The malice towards you, to forgive you: Live, And deal with others better.

Cym. Nobly doom'd:

We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;
Pardon's the word to all.

Arv. You holp us, sir,

As you did mean indeed to be our brother;
Joy'd are we, that you are.

Post. Your servant, princes.-Good my lord of Rome,

Call forth your soothsayer: As I slept, methought,
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back,
Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows
Of mine own kindred: when I wak'd, I found
This label on my bosom; whose containing
Is so from sense in hardness, that I can
Make no collection of it; let him show
His skill in the construction.

Luc. Philarmonus,-
Sooth. Here, my good lord.

Luc. Read, and declare the meaning. Sooth. [Reads. When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate, and flourish in peace and plenty.

Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp;
The fit and apt construction of thy name,
Being Leo-natus, doth import so much:
The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
[To Cymbeline.

Which we call mollis aer; and mollis aer
We term it mulier : which mulier, I divine,
Is this most constant wife; who, even now,
Answering the letter of the oracle,
Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about
With this most tender air.

Cym. This hath some seeming.

Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point Thy two sons forth; who, by Belarius stolen, For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd, To the majestic cedar join'd; whose issue Promises Britain peace and plenty.

Cym. Well,

My peace we will begin :-And, Caius Lucius,
Although the victor, we submit to Cæsar,
And to the Roman empire; promising

To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
We were dissuaded by our wicked queen;
Whom heavens, in justice, (both on her, and
hers,)

Have laid most heavy hand.

Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tune The harmony of this peace. The vision Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant Is full-accomplish'd: For the Roman eagle, From south to west on wing soaring aloft, Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o'the sun So vanish'd: which foreshow'd our princely eagle, The imperial Cæsar, should again unite His favour with the radiant Cymbeline, Which shines here in the west.

Cym. Laud we the gods;

And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
From our bless'd altars! Publish we this peace
To all our subjects. Set we forward: Let
A Roman and a British ensign wave
Friendly together: so through Lud's town march;
And in the temple of great Jupiter
Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.-
Set on there:-Never was a war did cease,
Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a

peace.

[Exeunt.

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 accited home,
From weary wars against the barbarous Goths:
That, with his sons, a terror to our foes,
Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd 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 honour'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.
Sat. How fair the tribune speaks to calm my
thoughts!

Bas. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy
In thy uprightness and integrity,"
And so I love and honour thee and thine,
Thy noble brother Titus, and his sons,
And her, to whom my thoughts are humbled all,
Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament,
That I will here dismiss my loving friends;
And to my fortunes, and the people's favour,
Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd.

[Exeunt the Followers of Bassianus. Sat. Friends, that have been thus forward in my right,

I thank you all, and here dismiss you all;
And to the love and favour of my country
Commit myself, my person, and the cause.

[Exeunt the Followers of Saturninus.
Rome, be as just and gracious unto me,
As I am confident and kind to thee.-
Open the gates, and let me in.

Bas. Tribunes! and me, a poor competitor. [Sat. and Bas. go into the Capitol, and excunt with Senators, Marcus, &c.

SCENE II.-The same.

Enter a Captain, and Others. Cap. Romans, make way: The good Andronicus,

Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion,
Successful in the battles that he fights,
With honour and with fortune is return'd,
From where he circumscribed with his sword,
And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome.

Flourish of trumpets, &c. Enter MUTIUS and MARTIUS: after them, two Men bearing a coffin covered with black; then QUINTUS and LUCIUS. After them, TITUS ANDRONICUS; and then TAMORA, with ALARBUS, CHIRON, DEMETRIUS, AARON, and other Goths, prisoners; Soldiers and People, following. The Bearers set down the coffin, and TITUS speaks. Tit. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds!

Lo, as the bark, that hath discharg'd her fraught,
Returns with precious lading to the bay,
From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage,
Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs,
To re-salute his country with his tears;
Tears of true joy for his return to Rome.-
Thou great defender of this Capitol,
Stand gracious to the rites that we intend!-
Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons,
Half of the number that king Priam had,
Behold the poor remains, alive, and dead!
These, that survive, let Rome reward with love;
These, that I bring unto their latest home,
With burial amongst their ancestors:

Here Goths have given me leave to sheath my sword.

Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own,
Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet,
To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx?-
Make way to lay them by their brethren.

[The tomb is opened.
There greet in silence, as the dead are wont,
And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars!
O sacred receptacle of my joys,
Sweet cell of virtue and nobility,

How many sons of mine hast thou in store,
That thou wilt never render to me more!

Luc. Give us the proudest prisoner of the
Goths,

That we may hew his limbs, and, on a pile,
Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh,
Before this earthly prison of their bones;
That so the shadows be not unappeas'd,
Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth.

Tit. I give him you; the noblest that survives, The eldest son of this distressed queen.

Tam. 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 common-weal
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.

Tit. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me. These are their brethren, whom you Goths beheld

Alive, and dead; and for their brethren slain, Religiously they ask a sacrifice:

To this your son is mark'd; and die he must, To appease their groaning shadows that are gone. Luc. Away with him! and make a fire straight; And with our swords, upon a pile of wood, Let's hew his limbs, till they be clean consum'd. [Exeunt Lucius, Quintus, Martius, and Mutius, with Alarbus.

Tam. O cruel, irreligious piety!
Chi. Was ever Scythia half so barbarous?
Dem. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.
Alarbus goes to rest; and we survive
To tremble under Titus' threatening look.
Then, madam, stand resolv'd; but hope withal,
The self-same gods, that arm'd the queen of Troy
With opportunity of sharp revenge
Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent,
May favour Tamora, the queen of Goths,
(When Goths were Goths, and Tamora was
queen,)

To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes.
Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and

MUTIUS, with their swords bloody.

Luc. See, lord and father, how we have perform'd

Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd, And entrails feed the sacrificing fire,

Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky. Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren, And with loud "larums welcome them to Rome. Tit. Let it be so, and let Andronicus Make this his latest farewell to their souls. [Trumpets sounded, and the coffins laid in the tomb.

In peace and honour rest you here, my sons; Rome's readiest champions, repose you here, Secure from worldly chances and mishaps! Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, Here grow no damned grudges; here are no

storms,

No noise, but silence and eternal sleep:

Enter LAVINIA.

In peace and honour rest you here, my sons!
Lav. In peace and honour live lord Titus long;
My noble lord and father, live in fame!
Lo! at this tomb my tributary tears
1 render, for my brethren's obsequies;
And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy
Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome:
O, bless me here with thy victorious hand,
Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud.
Tit. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly re-
serv'd

The cordial of mine age to glad my heart!—

Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days,
And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise!
Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS, SATURNINUS,
BASSIANUS, and Others.

Mar. Long live lord Titus, my beloved brother,

Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome!
Tit. Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother
Marcus.

Mar. 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 aspir'd to Solon's happiness,
And triumphs over chance, in honour's bed.-
Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome,
Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been,
Send thee by me, their tribune, and their trust,
This palliament of white and spotless hue;
And name thee in election for the empire,
With these our late-deceased emperor's sons:
Be candidatus then, and put it on,
And help to set a head on headless Rome.

Tit. 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.
Mar. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the
empery.

Sat. Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou tell?

Tit. Patience, prince Saturnine. Sat. Romans, do me right;— Patricians, draw your swords, and sheath them

not

Till Saturninus be Rome's emperor :— Andronicus, 'would thou were shipp'd to hell, Rather than rob me of the people's hearts.

Luc. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good That noble-minded Titus means to thee!

Tit. Content thee, prince; I will restore to thee The people's hearts, and wean them from the selves.

Bas. 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.

Tit. People of Rome, and people's tribunes here,

I ask your voices, and your suffrages;
Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus?
Trib. To gratify the good Andronicus,
And gratulate his safe return to Rome,
The people will accept whom he admits.

Tit. 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 common-weal:
Then if you will elect by my advice,
Crown him, and say,-Long live our emperor !
Mar. 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!
[A long flourish.

Sat. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours 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 emperess, Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart, And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse: Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee?

Tit. 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 common-weal,
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.
Sat. 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.

emperor:

Tit. Now, madam, are you prisoner to an [To Tamora. To him, that for your honour and your state, Will use you nobly, and your followers.

Sat. 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 com'st 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 displeas'd with this?

Lav. Not I, my lord; sith true nobility
Warrants these words in princely courtesy.
Sat. Thanks, sweet Lavinia.-Romans, let us
go;

mine.

Bas. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is [Seizing Lavinia. Tit. How, sir? Are you in earnest then, my lord?

Bas. Ay, noble Titus; and resolv'd withal, To do myself this reason and this right.

[The emperor courts Tamora in dumb show. Mar. Suum cuique is our Roman justice: This prince in justice seizeth but his own. Luc. And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live.

Tit. Traitors, avaunt! Where is the emperor's guard?

Treason, my lord; Lavinia is surpris'd.
Sat. Surpris'd! By whom?

Bas. By him that justly may

Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. [Exeunt Marcus and Bassianus, with Lavinia.

Mut. Brothers, help to convey her hence away, And with my sword I'll keep this door safe.

[Exeunt Lucius, Quintus, and Martius. Tit. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back. Mut. My lord, you pass not here. Tit. What, villain boy! Barr'st me my way in Rome?

[Titus kills Mutius. Mut. Help, Lucius, help!

Re-enter LUCIUS.

Luc. My lord, you are unjust; and, more

than so,

In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son.
Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine:
My sons would never so dishonour me:
Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor.

Luc. Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife,

That is another's lawful promis'd love. [Exit. Sat. No, Titus, no; the emperor needs her not,

Not 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 of
But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus,
Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine,
That said'st, I begg'd the empire at thy hand.
Tit. O monstrous! what reproachful words
are these?

Sat. 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.

Tit. These words are razors to my wounded heart.