ACT 1
Scene 1

...enemies of Rome.
Sound drums and trumpets, and then enter two of Titus’ sons (Lucius and Mutius) and then two men bearing a coffin covered with black, then two other sons (Martius and Quintus), then Titus Andronicus, 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 coffin, and Titus speaks.
Hail Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds!
Lo, as the bark that hath discharged his fraught
Returns with precious lading to the bay
From whence at first she weighed her anchorage,
Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs,
To resalute 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?

...prodigies on Earth.
I give him you, the noblest that survives,
The eldest son of this distressèd queen.

...my first-born son.
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.

...them to Rome.
Let it be so. And let Andronicus
Make this his latest farewell to their souls.

Sound trumpets, and lay the coffin in the tomb.
In peace and honor 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 damnèd drugs; here are no storms,
No noise, but silence and eternal sleep.
In peace and honor rest you here, my sons.

...best citizens applaud.
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.

...eyes of Rome.
Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Marcus.

...on headless Rome.
A better head her glorious body fits
Than his that shakes for age and feebleness.
To Tribunes and Senators aloft.
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 honor for mine age,
But not a scepter to control the world.
Upright he held it, lords, that held it last.

...canst thou tell?
Patience, Prince Saturninus.

...means to thee.
Content thee, prince. I will restore to thee
The people’s hearts and wean them from themselves.

...is honorable meed.
People of Rome, and people’s tribunes here,
I ask your voices and your suffrages.
Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus?

...whom he admits.
Tribunes, I thank you, and this suit I make:
That you create our 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.”

...motion please thee?
It doth, my worthy lord, and in this match
I hold me highly honored 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 imperious lord.
Receive them, then, the tribute that I owe,
Mine honor’s ensigns humbled at thy feet.

...fealty to me.
to Tamora
Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor,
To him that for your honor and your state
Will use you nobly, and your followers.

...maid is mine.
How, sir? Are you in earnest then, my lord?

...if Lucius live!
Traitors, avaunt! Where is the Emperor’s guard?

Enter Saturninus and his Guards.
Treason, my lord. Lavinia is surprised.

...this door safe.
to Saturninus
Follow, my lord, and I’ll soon bring her back.

...pass not here.
What, villain boy,
Barr’st me my way in Rome?
He stabs Mutius.

...slain your son.
Nor thou nor he are any sons of mine.
My sons would never so dishonor me.
Traitor, restore Lavinia to the Emperor.

...at thy hands.
O monstrous! What reproachful words are these?

...commonwealth of Rome.
These words are razors to my wounded heart.

...our spousal rites.
I am not bid to wait upon this bride.
Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone,
Dishonored thus and challengèd of wrongs?

...a virtuous son.
No, foolish tribune, no; no son of mine,
Nor thou, nor these confederates in the deed
That hath dishonored all our family.
Unworthy brother and unworthy sons!

...with our brethren.
Traitors, away! He rests not in this tomb.
This monument five hundred years hath stood,
Which I have sumptuously reedified.
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.

...we will accompany.
“And shall”? What villain was it spake that word?

...place but here.
What, would you bury him in my despite?

...to bury him.
Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest,
And with these boys mine honor thou hast wounded.
My foes I do repute you every one.
So trouble me no more, but get you gone.

...doth nature speak—
Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed.

...his entrance here.
Rise, Marcus, rise.

They rise.
The dismall’st day is this that e’er I saw,
To be dishonored by my sons in Rome.
Well, bury him, and bury me the next.

...advanced 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.

...thee and Rome.
Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds.
’Tis thou, and those, that have dishonored me.
Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge
How I have loved and honored Saturnine.
He kneels.

...empress hath prevailed.
rising
I thank your Majesty and her, my lord.
These words, these looks, infuse new life in me.

...a love-day, Tamora.
Tomorrow, an it please your Majesty
To hunt the panther and the hart with me,
With horn and hound we’ll give your Grace bonjour.

...and gramercy too.
Sound trumpets. All but Aaron exit.

ACT 2
Scene 2

...per manes vehor.
Enter Titus Andronicus and his three sons, and Marcus, making a noise with hounds and horns.
The hunt is up, the moon is bright and gray,
The fields are fragrant, and the woods are green.
Uncouple here, and let us make a bay
And wake the Emperor and his lovely bride,
And rouse the Prince, and ring a hunter’s peal,
That all the court may echo with the noise.
Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours,
To attend the Emperor’s person carefully.
I have been troubled in my sleep this night,
But dawning day new comfort hath inspired.
Many good morrows to your Majesty;—
Madam, to you as many, and as good.—
I promisèd your Grace a hunter’s peal.

...highest promontory top.
And I have horse will follow where the game
Makes way and runs like swallows o’er the plain.

...doe to ground.
They exit.

Scene 3

...found him dead.
Enter Tamora, Titus Andronicus, and Lucius.

...from the pit.
kneeling
High Emperor, upon my feeble knee
I beg this boon with tears not lightly shed,
That this fell fault of my accursèd sons—
Accursèd if the faults be proved in them—

...take it up.
I did, my lord, yet let me be their bail,
For by my father’s reverend tomb I vow
They shall be ready at your Highness’ will
To answer their suspicion with their lives.

...do well enough.
rising
Come, Lucius, come. Stay not to talk with them.
They exit, with Attendants leading Martius and Quintus and bearing the body of Bassianus.

ACT 3
Scene 1

...ease thy misery!
Enter the Judges and Senators with Titus’ two sons (Quintus and Martius) bound, passing on the stage to the place of execution, and Titus going before, pleading.
Hear me, grave fathers; noble tribunes, stay.
For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent
In dangerous wars whilst you securely slept;
For all my blood in Rome’s great quarrel shed,
For all the frosty nights that I have watched,
And for these bitter tears which now you see,
Filling the agèd wrinkles in my cheeks,
Be pitiful to my condemnèd sons,
Whose souls is not corrupted as ’tis thought.
For two-and-twenty sons I never wept
Because they died in honor’s lofty bed. Andronicus lieth down, and the Judges pass by him.
For these, tribunes, in the dust I write
My heart’s deep languor and my soul’s sad tears.
Let my tears stanch the earth’s dry appetite.
My sons’ sweet blood will make it shame and blush.
O Earth, I will befriend thee more with rain
That shall distil from these two ancient ruins
Than youthful April shall with all his showers.
In summer’s drought I’ll drop upon thee still;
In winter with warm tears I’ll melt the snow
And keep eternal springtime on thy face,
So thou refuse to drink my dear sons’ blood.

Enter Lucius with his weapon drawn.
O reverend tribunes, O gentle agèd men,
Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death,
And let me say, that never wept before,
My tears are now prevailing orators.

...to a stone.
Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead.—
Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you—

...hears you speak.
Why, ’tis no matter, man. If they did hear,
They would not mark me; if they did mark,
They would not pity me. Yet plead I must,
And bootless unto them.
Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones,
Who, though they cannot answer my distress,
Yet in some sort they are better than the Tribunes,
For that they will not intercept my tale.
When I do weep, they humbly at my feet
Receive my tears and seem to weep with me,
And were they but attirèd in grave weeds,
Rome could afford no tribunes like to these.
A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than stones;
A stone is silent and offendeth not,
And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.
But wherefore stand’st thou with thy weapon drawn?

...doom of banishment.
rising
O happy man, they have befriended thee!
Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive
That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers?
Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey
But me and mine. How happy art thou then
From these devourers to be banishèd.
But who comes with our brother Marcus here?

...to thine age.
Will it consume me? Let me see it, then.

...was thy daughter.
Why, Marcus, so she is.

...object kills me!
Faint-hearted boy, arise and look upon her.—
Speak, Lavinia. What accursèd hand
Hath made thee handless in thy father’s sight?
What fool hath added water to the sea
Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy?
My grief was at the height before thou cam’st,
And now like Nilus it disdaineth bounds.—
Give me a sword. I’ll chop off my hands too,
For they have fought for Rome and all in vain;
And they have nursed this woe in feeding life;
In bootless prayer have they been held up,
And they have served me to effectless use.
Now all the service I require of them
Is that the one will help to cut the other.—
’Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands,
For hands to do Rome service is but vain.

...some unrecuring wound.
It was my dear, and he that wounded her
Hath hurt me more than had he killed me dead.
For now I stand as one upon a rock,
Environed with a wilderness of sea,
Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave,
Expecting ever when some envious surge
Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.
This way to death my wretched sons are gone;
Here stands my other son a banished man,
And here my brother, weeping at my woes.
But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn
Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul.
Had I but seen thy picture in this plight
It would have madded me. What shall I do,
Now I behold thy lively body so?
Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears,
Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyred thee.
Thy husband he is dead, and for his death
Thy brothers are condemned, and dead by this.—
Look, Marcus!—Ah, son Lucius, look on her!
When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears
Stood on her cheeks as doth the honeydew
Upon a gathered lily almost withered.

...knows them innocent.
If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful,
Because the law hath ta’en revenge on them.—
No, no, they would not do so foul a deed.
Witness the sorrow that their sister makes.—
Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips,
Or make some sign how I may do thee ease.
Shall thy good uncle and thy brother Lucius
And thou and I sit round about some fountain,
Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks,
How they are stained like meadows yet not dry
With miry slime left on them by a flood?
And in the fountain shall we gaze so long
Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness
And made a brine pit with our bitter tears?
Or shall we cut away our hands like thine?
Or shall we bite our tongues and in dumb shows
Pass the remainder of our hateful days?
What shall we do? Let us that have our tongues
Plot some device of further misery
To make us wondered at in time to come.

...dry thine eyes.
Ah, Marcus, Marcus! Brother, well I wot
Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine,
For thou, poor man, hast drowned it with thine own.

...wipe thy cheeks.
Mark, Marcus, mark. I understand her signs.
Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say
That to her brother which I said to thee.
His napkin, with his true tears all bewet,
Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks.
O, what a sympathy of woe is this,
As far from help as limbo is from bliss.

...for their fault.
O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron!
Did ever raven sing so like a lark,
That gives sweet tidings of the sun’s uprise?
With all my heart I’ll send the Emperor my hand.
Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off?

...shall not go!
Sirs, strive no more. Such withered herbs as these
Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.

...love to thee.
Agree between you. I will spare my hand.

...use the ax.
Come hither, Aaron. I’ll deceive them both.
Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.

...an hour pass.
He cuts off Titus’ hand.

...and Marcus again.
Now stay your strife. What shall be is dispatched.—
Good Aaron, give his Majesty my hand.
Tell him it was a hand that warded him
From thousand dangers. Bid him bury it.
More hath it merited; that let it have.
As for my sons, say I account of them
As jewels purchased at an easy price,
And yet dear, too, because I bought mine own.

...like his face.
O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven,
And bow this feeble ruin to the earth.He kneels.
If any power pities wretched tears,
To that I call.

(Lavinia kneels.)
What, wouldst thou kneel with me?
Do, then, dear heart, for heaven shall hear our prayers,
Or with our sighs we’ll breathe the welkin dim
And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds
When they do hug him in their melting bosoms.

...these deep extremes.
Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom?
Then be my passions bottomless with them.

...govern thy lament.
If there were reason for these miseries,
Then into limits could I bind my woes.
When heaven doth weep, doth not the Earth o’erflow?
If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,
Threat’ning the welkin with his big-swoll’n face?
And wilt thou have a reason for this coil?
I am the sea. Hark how her sighs doth flow!
She is the weeping welkin, I the Earth.
Then must my sea be movèd with her sighs;
Then must my Earth with her continual tears
Become a deluge, overflowed and drowned,
Forwhy my bowels cannot hide her woes
But like a drunkard must I vomit them.
Then give me leave, for losers will have leave
To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues.

...but to breathe.
Lavinia kisses Titus.

...a starvèd snake.
When will this fearful slumber have an end?

...art thou still?
Ha, ha, ha!

...with this hour.
Titus and Lavinia rise.
Why, I have not another tear to shed.
Besides, this sorrow is an enemy
And would usurp upon my wat’ry eyes
And make them blind with tributary tears.
Then which way shall I find Revenge’s cave?
For these two heads do seem to speak to me
And threat me I shall never come to bliss
Till all these mischiefs be returned again
Even in their throats that hath committed them.
Come, let me see what task I have to do.
You heavy people, circle me about
That I may turn me to each one of you
And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs.
The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head,
And in this hand the other will I bear.—
And, Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these arms.
Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth.—
As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight.
Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay.
Hie to the Goths and raise an army there.
And if you love me, as I think you do,
Let’s kiss and part, for we have much to do.
All but Lucius exit.

Scene 2

...Rome and Saturnine.
A banquet. Enter Titus Andronicus, Marcus, Lavinia, and the boy Young Lucius, with Servants.
So, so. Now sit, and look you eat no more
Than will preserve just so much strength in us
As will revenge these bitter woes of ours.
Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot.
Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands
And cannot passionate our tenfold grief
With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine
Is left to tyrannize upon my breast,
Who, when my heart, all mad with misery,
Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,
Then thus I thump it down.—
Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs,
When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating,
Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still.
Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans;
Or get some little knife between thy teeth
And just against thy heart make thou a hole,
That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall
May run into that sink and, soaking in,
Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears.

...her tender life.
How now! Has sorrow made thee dote already?
Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I.
What violent hands can she lay on her life?
Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands,
To bid Aeneas tell the tale twice o’er
How Troy was burnt and he made miserable?
O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands,
Lest we remember still that we have none.—
Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk,
As if we should forget we had no hands
If Marcus did not name the word of hands!
Come, let’s fall to, and, gentle girl, eat this.
Here is no drink!—Hark, Marcus, what she says.
I can interpret all her martyred signs.
She says she drinks no other drink but tears
Brewed with her sorrow, mashed upon her cheeks.—
Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought.
In thy dumb action will I be as perfect
As begging hermits in their holy prayers.
Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven,
Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign,
But I of these will wrest an alphabet
And by still practice learn to know thy meaning.

...his grandsire’s heaviness.
Peace, tender sapling. Thou art made of tears,
And tears will quickly melt thy life away.

Marcus strikes the dish with a knife.
What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife?

...lord, a fly.
Out on thee, murderer! Thou kill’st my heart.
Mine eyes are cloyed with view of tyranny;
A deed of death done on the innocent
Becomes not Titus’ brother. Get thee gone.
I see thou art not for my company.

...killed a fly.
“But”? How if that fly had a father and mother?
How would he hang his slender gilded wings
And buzz lamenting doings in the air!
Poor harmless fly,
That, with his pretty buzzing melody,
Came here to make us merry! And thou hast killed him.

...I killed him.
O, O, O!
Then pardon me for reprehending thee,
For thou hast done a charitable deed.
Give me thy knife. I will insult on him,
Flattering myself as if it were the Moor
Come hither purposely to poison me.
There’s for thyself, and that’s for Tamora.
Ah, sirrah!
Yet I think we are not brought so low
But that between us we can kill a fly
That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor.

...for true substances.
Come, take away.—Lavinia, go with me.
I’ll to thy closet and go read with thee
Sad stories chancèd in the times of old.—
Come, boy, and go with me. Thy sight is young,
And thou shalt read when mine begin to dazzle.
They exit.

ACT 4
Scene 1
Enter Lucius’ son and Lavinia running after him, and the boy flies from her with his books under his arm. Enter Titus and Marcus.

...fear thine aunt.
She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm.

...by these signs?
Fear her not, Lucius. Somewhat doth she mean.
See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee.
Somewhither would she have thee go with her.
Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care
Read to her sons than she hath read to thee
Sweet poetry and Tully’s Orator.

...Lucius, I will.
How now, Lavinia?—Marcus, what means this?
Some book there is that she desires to see.—
Which is it, girl, of these?—Open them, boy.—
To Lavinia.
But thou art deeper read and better skilled.
Come and take choice of all my library,
And so beguile thy sorrow till the heavens
Reveal the damned contriver of this deed.—
Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus?

...them for revenge.
Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so?

...among the rest.
Soft! So busily she turns the leaves.
Help her! What would she find?—Lavinia, shall I read?
This is the tragic tale of Philomel,
And treats of Tereus’ treason and his rape.
And rape, I fear, was root of thy annoy.

...quotes the leaves.
Lavinia, wert thou thus surprised, sweet girl,
Ravished and wronged as Philomela was,
Forced in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods?
See, see! Ay, such a place there is where we did hunt—
O, had we never, never hunted there!—
Patterned by that the poet here describes,
By nature made for murders and for rapes.

...delight in tragedies?
Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none but friends,
What Roman lord it was durst do the deed.
Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst,
That left the camp to sin in Lucrece’ bed?

...down by me.
They sit.

...she hath writ?
“Stuprum. Chiron, Demetrius.”

...heinous, bloody deed?
Magni Dominator poli,
Tam lentus audis scelera, tam lentus vides?

...Roman Hector’s hope,
They all kneel.

...with this reproach.
They rise.
’Tis sure enough, an you knew how.
But if you hunt these bearwhelps, then beware;
The dam will wake an if she wind you once.
She’s with the lion deeply still in league,
And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back;
And when he sleeps will she do what she list.
You are a young huntsman, Marcus; let alone.
And come, I will go get a leaf of brass,
And with a gad of steel will write these words,
And lay it by. The angry northern wind
Will blow these sands like Sibyl’s leaves abroad,
And where’s our lesson then?—Boy, what say you?

...if I live.
Come, go with me into mine armory.
Lucius, I’ll fit thee, and withal my boy
Shall carry from me to the Empress’ sons
Presents that I intend to send them both.
Come, come. Thou ’lt do my message, wilt thou not?

...their bosoms, grandsire.
No, boy, not so. I’ll teach thee another course.—
Lavinia, come.—Marcus, look to my house.
Lucius and I’ll go brave it at the court;
Ay, marry, will we, sir, and we’ll be waited on.
All but Marcus exit.

Scene 3

...command a camp.
Enter Titus, old Marcus, his son Publius, young Lucius, and other gentlemen (Caius and Sempronius) with bows, and Titus bears the arrows with letters on the ends of them.
Come, Marcus, come. Kinsmen, this is the way.—
Sir boy, let me see your archery.
Look you draw home enough and ’tis there straight.—
Terras Astraea reliquit.
Be you remembered, Marcus, she’s gone, she’s fled.—
Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall
Go sound the ocean and cast your nets;
Happily you may catch her in the sea;
Yet there’s as little justice as at land.
No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it.
’Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade,
And pierce the inmost center of the Earth.
Then, when you come to Pluto’s region,
I pray you, deliver him this petition.
Tell him it is for justice and for aid,
And that it comes from old Andronicus,
Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome.
Ah, Rome! Well, well, I made thee miserable
What time I threw the people’s suffrages
On him that thus doth tyrannize o’er me.
Go, get you gone, and pray be careful all,
And leave you not a man-of-war unsearched.
This wicked emperor may have shipped her hence,
And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.

...the traitor Saturnine.
Publius, how now? How now, my masters?
What, have you met with her?

...stay a time.
He doth me wrong to feed me with delays.
I’ll dive into the burning lake below
And pull her out of Acheron by the heels.
Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we,
No big-boned men framed of the Cyclops’ size,
But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back,
Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can bear;
And sith there’s no justice in Earth nor hell,
We will solicit heaven and move the gods
To send down Justice for to wreak our wrongs.
Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus. He gives them the arrows.
“Ad Jovem,” that’s for you;—here, “Ad Apollinem”;—
“Ad Martem,” that’s for myself;—
Here, boy, “to Pallas”;—here, “to Mercury”;—
“To Saturn,” Caius—not to Saturnine!
You were as good to shoot against the wind.
To it, boy!—Marcus, loose when I bid.
Of my word, I have written to effect;
There’s not a god left unsolicited.

...in his pride.
Now, masters, draw. (They shoot.)
O, well said, Lucius!
Good boy, in Virgo’s lap! Give it Pallas.

...Jupiter by this.
Ha, ha! Publius, Publius, what hast thou done?
See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus’ horns!

...for a present.
Why, there it goes. God give his Lordship joy!

Enter a country fellow with a basket and two pigeons in it.
News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come.—
Sirrah, what tidings? Have you any letters?
Shall I have Justice? What says Jupiter?

...the next week.
But what says Jupiter, I ask thee?

...all my life.
Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?

...sir; nothing else.
Why, didst thou not come from heaven?

...Emperor from you.
Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the Emperor
with a grace?

...all my life.
Sirrah, come hither. Make no more ado,
But give your pigeons to the Emperor.
By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.
Hold, hold; meanwhile here’s money for thy
charges.—Give me pen and ink.—Sirrah, can you
with a grace deliver up a supplication?
He writes.

... Ay, sir.
Then here is a supplication for you, and when
you come to him, at the first approach you must
kneel, then kiss his foot, then deliver up your pigeons,
and then look for your reward. I’ll be at
hand, sir. See you do it bravely.
He hands him a paper.

...Let me alone.
Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come, let me see it.— He takes the knife and gives it to Marcus.
Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration,
For thou hast made it like an humble suppliant.—
And when thou hast given it to the Emperor,
Knock at my door and tell me what he says.

...sir. I will.
Come, Marcus, let us go.—Publius, follow me.
They exit.

ACT 5
Scene 2

...on his enemies.
Titus (above) opens his study door.
Who doth molest my contemplation?
Is it your trick to make me ope the door,
That so my sad decrees may fly away
And all my study be to no effect?
You are deceived, for what I mean to do,
See here, in bloody lines I have set down,
And what is written shall be executed.

...talk with thee.
No, not a word. How can I grace my talk,
Wanting a hand to give it action?
Thou hast the odds of me; therefore, no more.

...talk with me.
I am not mad. I know thee well enough.
Witness this wretched stump; witness these crimson lines;
Witness these trenches made by grief and care;
Witness the tiring day and heavy night;
Witness all sorrow that I know thee well
For our proud empress, mighty Tamora.
Is not thy coming for my other hand?

...foul offender quake.
Art thou Revenge? And art thou sent to me
To be a torment to mine enemies?

...and welcome me.
Do me some service ere I come to thee.
Lo, by thy side, where Rape and Murder stands,
Now give some surance that thou art Revenge:
Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot wheels,
And then I’ll come and be thy wagoner,
And whirl along with thee about the globe,
Provide thee two proper palfreys, black as jet,
To hale thy vengeful wagon swift away,
And find out murderers in their guilty caves.
And when thy car is loaden with their heads,
I will dismount and by thy wagon wheel
Trot like a servile footman all day long,
Even from Hyperion’s rising in the east
Until his very downfall in the sea.
And day by day I’ll do this heavy task,
So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there.

...come with me.
Are they thy ministers? What are they called?

...kind of men.
Good Lord, how like the Empress’ sons they are,
And you the Empress! But we worldly men
Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes.
O sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee,
And if one arm’s embracement will content thee,
I will embrace thee in it by and by.
He exits above.

...ply my theme.
Enter Titus.
Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee.
Welcome, dread Fury, to my woeful house.—
Rapine and Murder, you are welcome too.
How like the Empress and her sons you are!
Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor.
Could not all hell afford you such a devil?
For well I wot the Empress never wags
But in her company there is a Moor;
And, would you represent our queen aright,
It were convenient you had such a devil.
But welcome as you are. What shall we do?

...on them all.
to Demetrius
Look round about the wicked streets of Rome,
And when thou findst a man that’s like thyself,
Good Murder, stab him; he’s a murderer.
To Chiron.
Go thou with him, and when it is thy hap
To find another that is like to thee,
Good Rapine, stab him; he is a ravisher.
To Tamora.
Go thou with them; and in the Emperor’s court
There is a queen attended by a Moor.
Well shalt thou know her by thine own proportion,
For up and down she doth resemble thee.
I pray thee, do on them some violent death.
They have been violent to me and mine.

...to this device?
(calling)
Marcus, my brother, ’tis sad Titus calls.

Enter Marcus.
Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius.
Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths.
Bid him repair to me and bring with him
Some of the chiefest princes of the Goths.
Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are.
Tell him the Emperor and the Empress too
Feast at my house, and he shall feast with them.
This do thou for my love, and so let him,
As he regards his agèd father’s life.

...along with me.
Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with me,
Or else I’ll call my brother back again
And cleave to no revenge but Lucius.

...I turn again.
aside
I knew them all, though they supposed me mad,
And will o’erreach them in their own devices—
A pair of cursèd hellhounds and their dam!

...betray thy foes.
I know thou dost; and, sweet Revenge, farewell.

...we be employed?
Tut, I have work enough for you to do.—
Publius, come hither; Caius, and Valentine.

...is your will?
Know you these two?

...take them—Chiron, Demetrius.
Fie, Publius, fie, thou art too much deceived.
The one is Murder, and Rape is the other’s name;
And therefore bind them, gentle Publius.
Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them.
Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour,
And now I find it. Therefore bind them sure,
And stop their mouths if they begin to cry.
Titus exits.

...bind them fast.
Enter Titus Andronicus with a knife, and Lavinia with a basin.
Come, come, Lavinia. Look, thy foes are bound.—
Sirs, stop their mouths. Let them not speak to me,
But let them hear what fearful words I utter.—
O villains, Chiron and Demetrius!
Here stands the spring whom you have stained with mud,
This goodly summer with your winter mixed.
You killed her husband, and for that vile fault
Two of her brothers were condemned to death,
My hand cut off and made a merry jest,
Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more dear
Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity,
Inhuman traitors, you constrained and forced.
What would you say if I should let you speak?
Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace.
Hark, wretches, how I mean to martyr you.
This one hand yet is left to cut your throats,
Whiles that Lavinia ’tween her stumps doth hold
The basin that receives your guilty blood.
You know your mother means to feast with me,
And calls herself Revenge, and thinks me mad.
Hark, villains, I will grind your bones to dust,
And with your blood and it I’ll make a paste,
And of the paste a coffin I will rear,
And make two pasties of your shameful heads,
And bid that strumpet, your unhallowed dam,
Like to the earth swallow her own increase.
This is the feast that I have bid her to,
And this the banquet she shall surfeit on;
For worse than Philomel you used my daughter,
And worse than Procne I will be revenged.
And now prepare your throats.—Lavinia, come,
Receive the blood.He cuts their throats.
And when that they are dead,
Let me go grind their bones to powder small,
And with this hateful liquor temper it,
And in that paste let their vile heads be baked.
Come, come, be everyone officious
To make this banquet, which I wish may prove
More stern and bloody than the Centaurs’ feast.
So. Now bring them in, for I’ll play the cook
And see them ready against their mother comes.
They exit, carrying the dead bodies.

Scene 3

...Marcus, we will.
Trumpets sounding, enter Titus like a cook, placing the dishes, with young Lucius and others, and Lavinia with a veil over her face.
Welcome, my lord;—welcome, dread queen;—
Welcome, you warlike Goths;—welcome, Lucius;—
And welcome, all. Although the cheer be poor,
’Twill fill your stomachs. Please you eat of it.

...thus attired, Andronicus?
Because I would be sure to have all well
To entertain your Highness and your empress.

...you, good Andronicus.
An if your Highness knew my heart, you were.—
My lord the Emperor, resolve me this:
Was it well done of rash Virginius
To slay his daughter with his own right hand
Because she was enforced, stained, and deflowered?

...It was, Andronicus.
Your reason, mighty lord?

...renew his sorrows.
A reason mighty, strong, and effectual;
A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant
For me, most wretched, to perform the like.
Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee,
And with thy shame thy father’s sorrow die.
He kills Lavinia.

...unnatural and unkind?
Killed her for whom my tears have made me blind.
I am as woeful as Virginius was,
And have a thousand times more cause than he
To do this outrage, and it now is done.

...did the deed.
Will ’t please you eat?—Will ’t please your Highness feed?

...only daughter thus?
Not I; ’twas Chiron and Demetrius.
They ravished her and cut away her tongue,
And they, ’twas they, that did her all this wrong.

...to us presently.
Why, there they are, both bakèd in this pie,
Whereof their mother daintily hath fed,
Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred.
’Tis true, ’tis true! Witness my knife’s sharp point.
He stabs the Empress.

...this accursèd deed.
He kills Titus.

...upon this trunk.
He kisses Titus.

...on thy lips.
He kisses Titus.

...did live again!
He kisses Titus.

...her take pity.
They exit, carrying the dead bodies.