Titus

Okay, on your toes, men.

Hi-ho, silver!

Hey, we got to save Olive Oyl!

Hail, Rome!

Victorious... in thy mourning weeds!

Lo, as the bark that hath discharged her freight...

returns with precious lading to the bay...

from whence at first she weighed her Anchorage,

cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs,

to re-salute his country with his tears.

Stand gracious to the rites that we intend!

Romans, of five and 20 valiant sons,

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!

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?

And there greet in silence, as the dead are won't,

and sleep in peace,

slain in your country's wars.

Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths...

that we may hew his limbs, and on a pile...

Ad manes fratrum.

Sacrifice his flesh.

That so the shadows be not unappeased,

nor we disturbed with prodigies on earth.

I give him you, the noblest that survives:

The eldest son of this distressed queen.

No! Stay, Roman brethren!

Gracious conqueror,

victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed...

the mother's tears in passion for her son.

No!

If thy sons were ever dear to thee,

think my son to be as dear to me.

Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome...

to beautify your triumphs and return,

captive to thee and thy Roman yoke?

But must my sons be slaughtered in the streets...

for valiant doings in their country's cause?

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.

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 to appease their groaning 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.

O cruel, irreligious piety!

Was ever Scythia half so barbarous?

Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.

Alarbus goes to rest,

and we survive to tremble under Titus' threatening looks.

Stand resolved,

but hope withal the gods may favor Tamora,

the Queen of Goths,

to quit these bloody wrongs upon her foes.

See, lord and father, how we have performed our Roman rites.

Alarbus' limbs are lopped,

and entrails feed the sacrificing fire.

Remaineth not, but to inter our brethren...

and with loud alarums welcome them to Rome.

In peace and honor rest you here, my sons,

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 honor rest you here, my sons.

In peace and honor 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.

Bless me here with thy victorious hand.

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.

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!

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.

I am the first-born son!

That was the last that wear the imperial diadem of Rome.

And suffer not dishonor to approach the imperial seat:

To virtue, consecrate,

to justice, continence, and nobility!

Then let my father's honors live in me!

Nor wrong mine age with this indignity!

But let desert in pure election shine,

and, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice.

Princes...

that strive by factions and by friends ambitiously...

for rule and empery.

Know that the people of Rome have by common voice...

in election for the Roman empery chosen Andronicus.

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.

Let us entreat, by honor of his name,

that you withdraw you, dismiss your followers,

and, as suitors should, plead your deserts in peace...

and humbleness.

Marcus Andronicus,

so I do rely on thy uprightness and integrity,

and so I love and honor 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 weighed.

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!

Rome...

be as just and gracious unto me...

as I am confident and kind to thee.

Open the gates and let me in!

Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother.

Thanks, gentle tribune,

noble brother Marcus.

And welcome, nephews, from successful wars,

you that survive and those that sleep in fame.

Titus Andronicus,

the people of Rome 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 can did at us, then,

and put it on,

and help to set a head on headless Rome.

A better head her glorious body fits...

than this that shakes for age and feebleness.

Rome, I have been thy soldier 40 years...

and led my country's strength successfully...

and buried one and 20 valiant sons.

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.

Titus, thou shalt but ask and have the empery.

Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou tell?

Patience, Prince Saturnine. Romans!

Do me right!

Patricians, draw your swords and sheathe them not...

till Saturninus be Rome's emperor!

Andronicus, would thou wert shipped to hell...

rather than rob me of the people's hearts!

Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good,

that noble-minded Titus means to thee.

Content thee, prince.

I will restore to thee the people's hearts...

and wean them from themselves.

Andronicus,

I do not flatter thee but honor thee,

and will do till I die.

My faction, if thou strengthen with thy friends,

I will most thankful be.

People of Rome and people's tribunes here,

I ask your voices and your suffrages.

Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus?

To gratify the good Andronicus...

and gratulate his safe return to Rome,

the people will accept whom he admits.

Tribunes, I thank you, and this suit I make...

that you create your emperor's eldest son,

Lord Saturnine, whose virtues will, I hope,