He by the Senate is accited home

From weary wars against the barbarous Goths,

That with his sons, a terror to our foes,

Hath yoked a nation strong, trained 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 returned

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 succeeded,

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.

SATURNINUS

How fair the Tribune speaks to calm my thoughts.

BASSIANUS

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 weighed.

⌈Exeunt his soldiers and followers⌉

SATURNINUS

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 his soldiers and followers⌉

(To the Tribunes and Senators)

Rome, be as just and gracious unto me

As I am confident and kind to thee.

Open the gates and let me in.

BASSIANUS

Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor.

⌈Flourish.⌉ They go up into the Senate House. Enter a Captain

CAPTAIN

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 returned

From where he circumscribed with his sword

And brought to yoke the enemies of Rome.

Sound drums and trumpets, and then enter Martius

and Mutius, two of Titus’ sons, and then ⌈men

bearing coffins⌉ covered with black, then Lucius and

Quintus, two other sons; then Titus Andronicus ⌈in

his chariot⌉ and then Tamora the Queen of Goths

and her sons Alarbus, Chiron, and Demetrius, with

Aaron the Moor and others as many as can be.

Then set down the ⌈coffins⌉, and Titus speaks

TITUS

Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds!

Lo, as the bark that hath discharged his freight

Returns with precious lading to the bay

From whence at first she weighed her anchorage,

Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel bows,

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.

They open the tomb

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 hast thou of mine in store

That thou wilt never render to me more!

LUCIUS

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 disturbed with prodigies on earth.

TITUS

I give him you, the noblest that survives,

The eldest son of this distressed Queen.

TAMORA ⌈kneeling⌉

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 slaughtered in the streets

For valiant doings in their country’s cause?

O, if to fight for king and commonweal