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.

TITUS

Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me.

These are their brethren whom your Goths beheld

Alive and dead, and for their brethren slain

Religiously they ask a sacrifice.

To this your son is marked, and die he must

T’appease their groaning shadows that are gone.

LUCIUS

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.

Exeunt Titus’ sons with Alarbus

TAMORA ⌈rising⌉

O cruel irreligious piety!

CHIRON

Was never Scythia half so barbarous.

DEMETRIUS

Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.

Alarbus goes to rest, and we survive

To tremble under Titus’ threat’ning took.

Then, madam, stand resolved; but hope withal

The selfsame gods that armed 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 her bloody wrongs upon her foes.

Enter Quintus, Marcus, Mutius, and Lucius, the sons of Andronicus, again, with bloody swords

LUCIUS

See, lord and father, how we have performed

Our Roman rites. Alarbus’ limbs are lopped

And entrails feed the sacrificing fire,

Whose smoke like incense doth perfume the sky.

Remaineth naught but to inter our brethren

And with loud ’larums welcome them to Rome.

TITUS

Let it be so, and let Andronicus

Make this his latest farewell to their souls.

⌈Flourish.⌉ Then sound trumpets and lay the ⌈coffins⌉ in the tomb

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 drugs, here are no storms,

No noise, but silence and eternal sleep.

In peace and honour rest you here, my sons.

Enter Lavinia

LAVINIA

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,

(Kneeling) And at thy feet I kneel with tears of joy

Shed on this earth for thy return to Rome.

O, bless me here with thy victorious hand,

Whose fortunes Rome’s best citizens applaud.

TITUS

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.

⌈Lavinia rises⌉

MARCUS ⌈aloft⌉

Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother,

Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome!

TITUS

Thanks, gentle Tribune, noble brother Marcus.

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.

TITUS

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 today,

Tomorrow 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.

MARCUS

Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery.

SATURNINUS

Proud and ambitious Tribune, canst thou tell?

TITUS

Patience, Prince Saturninus.

SATURNINUS

Romans, do me right.

Patricians, draw your swords, and sheathe them not

Till Saturninus be Rome’s emperor.

Andronicus, would thou were shipped to hell

Rather than rob me of the people’s hearts!

LUCIUS

Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good

That noble-minded Titus means to thee.

TITUS

Content thee, Prince. I will restore to thee

The people’s hearts, and wean them from themselves.

BASSIANUS

Andronicus, I do not flatter thee

But honour thee, and will do till I die.