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!
Greetings, Rome, victorious in your mourning clothes!
See, like a ship which has unloaded its goods
and returns with a precious cargo to the bay
from which she first set out,
here comes Andronicus, wearing the laurel wreath,
to greet his country again with his tears,
genuine tears of joy at his return to Rome.
You great defender of this Capitol,
look favourably on the ceremonies we're planning.
Romans, you can see here the poor remains, alive and dead
of twenty five brave sons,
half of the number that King Priam had:
let Rome reward the survivors with love;
these others I have brought to their last home,
to give them burial amongst their ancestors.
The Goths have allowed me to put away my sword.
Titus, disrespectful and careless of your own family,
why have you allowed your sons to stay hovering
on the ghastly shores of the Styx due to you not burying them?
Make way so I can lay them with their brothers.
Greet them in silence, as the dead do,
and sleep in peace, killed in your country's wars.
O holy container of my happiness,
store room of virtue and nobility,
how many of my sons you have in there
that you will never return to me!
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 unappeas'd,
Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth.
Give us the noblest prisoner of the Goths,
so we can hack his limbs off, and on a pyre
we can sacrifice his body to the ghosts of our brothers
in front of this earthly container of their bones,
so that the ghosts will not go unavenged,
and we won't have disturbing events on earth.
TITUS.
I give him you- the noblest that survives,
The eldest son of this distressed queen.
I give him to you; the noblest of the survivors,
the eldest son of this unhappy queen.
TAMORA.
Stay, Roman brethen! 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
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.
Stop, Roman brothers, gracious conqueror,
victorious Titus, pity the tears I am crying,
a mother's tears of grief for her son!
If you ever loved your sons
please believe that I love my son just as much.
Isn't it enough that we have been brought to Rome
to decorate your triumphant return,
enslaved to you and the orders of Rome?
Do my sons have to be slaughtered in the streets
for their brave efforts on behalf of their country?
Oh, if to fight for your King and country
is a good thing for you and yours, then it is for them as well.
Andronicus, don't stain your tomb with blood.
Do you want to become as godlike as possible?
Then try being as merciful as them.
Sweet mercy is the truest indicator of nobility:
thrice noble Titus, spare my oldest 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 mark'd, and die he must
T' appease their groaning shadows that are gone.
Calm yourself, madam, and forgive me.
These are the brothers of those whom your Goths saw
alive and dead, and for their slain brothers
they are asking for a holy sacrifice.
Your son is marked out for this, and he must die
to satisfy the moaning ghosts of the dead.
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 consum'd.
Exeunt TITUS' SONS, with ALARBUS
Take him away, and make a fire at once;
and let's hack his limbs with our swords,
on the wooden pyre, until there is nothing left.
TAMORA.
O cruel, irreligious piety!
O cruel, blasphemous piety!
CHIRON.
Was never Scythia half so barbarous!
The Scythians were never half as barbarous!
DEMETRIUS.
Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.
Alarbus goes to rest, and we survive
To tremble under Titus' threat'ning 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, the sons of ANDRONICUS, with their swords bloody
Don't compare Scythia with the upstart Rome.
Alarbus goes to his rest and we survive
to tremble under the threatening look of Titus.
So, madam, resign yourself, but also hope
that the same gods that gave the Queen of Troy
the opportunity to take quick revenge upon
Polymestor in his tent
may also favour Tamora, the Queen of the Goths
(when the Goths were a people andTamora was queen),
and help her revenge the bloody wrongs of her enemies.
LUCIUS.
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 sk
y.
Remaineth nought but to inter our brethren,
And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome.
See, lord and father, how we have undertaken
our Roman ceremonies: Alarbus' limbs have been chopped off
and his innards are feeding the sacrificial fire,
whose smoke perfumes the sky like incense.
There's nothing left to do but to bury our brothers
and with great trumpet calls welcome them to Rome.
TITUS.
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 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!
Let this happen, and let Andronicus
say his last goodbye to their souls.
Rest here in peace and honour, my sons;
Rome's greatest champions, lie here and rest,
safe from fickle fate and accidents.
There is no treason here, no envy,
there are no poisonous plants, there are no storms,
no noise, just silence and eternal sleep:
rest here in peace and honour, 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;
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!
May Lord Titus have a long life in peace and honour;
my noble Lord and father, live through your fame!
See, at this tomb I add my own tears
to the funeral rites for my brothers,
and I kneel at your feet with tears of joy
falling on the earth for your return to Rome.
O bless me with your victorious hand,
whose actions are applauded by the greatest citizens of Rome.
TITUS.
Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserv'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, above, MARCUS ANDRONICUS and TRIBUNES;
re-enter SATURNINUS, BASSIANUS, and attendants
Sweet Rome, you have lovingly kept for me
the nourishment of my old age which gladdens my heart.
Lavinia live, live longer than your father,
live longer than history, because of your great virtue.
MARCUS.
Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother,
Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome!
Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother,
the great victor that all Rome can see!
TITUS.
Thanks, gentle Tribune, noble brother Marcus.
Thanks, kind 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 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 par]iament 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.
And welcome, nephews, back from successful wars,
you survivors and you glorious dead.
Fair lords, you have all followed the same path
in fighting for your country;
but those who have died are more secure
and have found the happiness Solon spoke of,
which is better than the short lived benefits of honour.
Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome,
to whom you have always been a fair friend,
have sent you, via me, their Tribune and representative,
this pure white candidate's gown,
and ask you to be a candidate for the Emperorship,
alongside these sons of our recently departed Emperor.
So become a candidate and put it on,
and help to give direction to leaderless 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 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.
Her glorious body deserves a better head
than this one which is shaking with age and weakness.
Why should I put on this robe and cause you trouble?
I could be elected and declared Emperor today,
tomorrow I could die, give up my post,
and you'd have to do the whole business over again.
Rome, I have been a soldier for you for forty years,
and led my country's armies successfully,
I have buried twenty-one brave sons,
who were knighted in battle, killed bravely in warfare
in the justified service of their noble country:
give me a staff of honour to support me in my old age,
but not a sceptre to control the whole world.
The last one who had it, lords, held it in a firm grip.
MARCUS.
Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery.
Titus, you shall have the emperorship if you ask for it.
SATURNINUS.
Proud and ambitious Tribune, canst thou tell?
Arrogant and ambitious Tribune, how do you know this?
TITUS.
Patience, Prince Saturninus.
Calm down, 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 shipp'd to hell
Rather than rob me of the people's hearts!
Romans, support my rights.
Patricians, draw your swords, and do not sheathe them
until Saturninus is emperor of Rome.
Andronicus, I'll see you in hell
before you steal the people's hearts from me!
LUCIUS.
Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good
That noble-minded Titus means to thee!
Arrogant Saturnine, you have interrupted noble minded
Titus when he was announcing good things for you!
; TITUS.
Content thee, Prince; I will restore to thee
The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves.
Be at peace, Prince; I will give the people's hearts back to you,
and reconcile them to not getting what they want.
BASSIANUS.
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.
Andronicus, I won't flatter you,
but I do honour you, and I will do until I die.
If you strengthen my party with your friends,
I will be most grateful; and to men of noble
minds thanks is an honourable reward.
TITUS.
People of Rome, and people's Tribunes here,
I ask your voices and your suffrages:
Will ye bestow them friendly on Andronicus?
People of Rome, and the people's Tribunes here,
I ask you to cast your votes:
will you give them on good terms to Andronicus?
TRIBUNES.
To gratify the good Andronicus,
And gratulate his safe return to Rome,
The people will accept whom he admits.
To please the good Andronicus,
and to celebrate his safe return to Rome,
the people will accept whoever he chooses.
TITUS.
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!'
Tribunes, I thank you; and I ask you this,
that you choose our Emperor's oldest son,
Lord Saturnine; I hope his virtues will
light up Rome as the sun does the earth,
and help justice to grow in this kingdom–
so if you will be guided by my advice,
The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) Page 641