<SPEECH 1><ACT 1><SCENE 1><1%>
<MARCUS>	<1%>
	Princes, that strive by factions and by friends
	Ambitiously for rule and empery,
	Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand
	A special party, have, by common voice,
	In election for the Roman empery,
	Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius,
	For many good and great deserts to Rome:
	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;
	That, with his sons, a terror to our foes,
	Hath yok'd a nation, strong, train'd 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 return'd
	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 succeed,
	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.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 2><ACT 1><SCENE 1><6%>
<MARCUS>	<7%>
	Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother,
	Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome!
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 3><ACT 1><SCENE 1><7%>
<MARCUS>	<7%>
	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 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.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 4><ACT 1><SCENE 1><8%>
<MARCUS>	<8%>
	Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 5><ACT 1><SCENE 1><9%>
<MARCUS>	<9%>
	With voices and applause of every sort,
	Patricians and plebeians, we create
	Lord Saturninus Rome's great emperor,
	And say, 'Long live our Emperor Saturnine!'
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 6><ACT 1><SCENE 1><11%>
<MARCUS>	<11%>
	Suum cuique is our Roman justice:
	This prince in justice seizeth but his own.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 7><ACT 1><SCENE 1><13%>
<MARCUS>	<14%>
	O! Titus, see, O! see what thou hast done;
	In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 8><ACT 1><SCENE 1><14%>
<MARCUS>	<15%>
	My lord, this is impiety in you.
	My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him;
	He must be buried with his brethren.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 9><ACT 1><SCENE 1><14%>
<MARCUS>	<15%>
	No, noble Titus; but entreat of thee
	To pardon Mutius, and to bury him.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 10><ACT 1><SCENE 1><15%>
<MARCUS>	<15%>
	Brother, for in that name doth nature plead,—
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 11><ACT 1><SCENE 1><15%>
<MARCUS>	<15%>
	Renowned Titus, more than half my soul,—
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 12><ACT 1><SCENE 1><15%>
<MARCUS>	<15%>
	Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter
	His noble nephew here in virtue's nest,
	That died in honour and Lavinia's cause.
	Thou art a Roman; be not barbarous:
	The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax
	That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son
	Did graciously plead for his funerals.
	Let not young Mutius then, that was thy joy,
	Be barr'd his entrance here.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 13><ACT 1><SCENE 1><16%>
<MARCUS>	<16%>
	My lord,—to step out of these dreary dumps,—
	How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths
	Is of a sudden thus advanc'd in Rome?
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 14><ACT 1><SCENE 1><16%>
<MARCUS>	<16%>
	Yes, and will nobly him remunerate.

</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 15><ACT 1><SCENE 1><19%>
<MARCUS>	<19%>
	That on mine honour here I do protest.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 16><ACT 2><SCENE 2><26%>
<MARCUS>	<26%>
	I have dogs, my lord,
	Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase,
	And climb the highest promontory top.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 17><ACT 2><SCENE 4><39%>
<MARCUS>	<39%>
	Who's this? my niece, that flies away so fast?
	Cousin, a word; where is your husband?
	If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me!
	If I do wake, some planet strike me down,
	That I may slumber in eternal sleep!
	Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands
	Have lopp'd and hew'd and made thy body bare
	Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments,
	Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in,
	And might not gain so great a happiness
	As have thy love? Why dost not speak to me?
	Alas! a crimson river of warm blood,
	Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind,
	Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips,
	Coming and going with thy honey breath.
	But, sure, some Tereus hath deflower'd thee,
	And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue.
	Ah! now thou turn'st away thy face for shame;
	And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood,
	As from a conduit with three issuing spouts,
	Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face
	Blushing to be encounter'd with a cloud.
	Shall I speak for thee? shall I say 'tis so?
	O! that I knew thy heart; and knew the beast,
	That I might rail at him to ease my mind.
	Sorrow concealed, like to an oven stopp'd,
	Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.
	Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue,
	And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind:
	But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee;
	A craftier Tereus hast thou met withal,
	And he hath cut those pretty fingers off,
	That could have better sew'd than Philomel.
	O! had the monster seen those lily hands
	Tremble, like aspen-leaves, upon a lute,
	And make the silken strings delight to kiss them,
	He would not, then, have touch'd them for his life;
	Or had he heard the heavenly harmony
	Which that sweet tongue hath made,
	He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep,
	As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet.
	Come, let us go, and make thy father blind;
	For such a sight will blind a father's eye:
	One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads;
	What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes?
	Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee:
	O! could our mourning ease thy misery.
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt.>
</STAGE DIR>

</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 18><ACT 3><SCENE 1><43%>
<MARCUS>	<43%>
	Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep;
	Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break:
	I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 19><ACT 3><SCENE 1><43%>
<MARCUS>	<43%>
	This was thy daughter.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 20><ACT 3><SCENE 1><44%>
<MARCUS>	<44%>
	O! that delightful engine of her thoughts,
	That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence,
	Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage,
	Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung
	Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 21><ACT 3><SCENE 1><44%>
<MARCUS>	<44%>
	O! thus I found her straying in the park,
	Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer,
	That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 22><ACT 3><SCENE 1><45%>
<MARCUS>	<45%>
	Perchance she weeps because they kill'd her husband;
	Perchance because she knows them innocent.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 23><ACT 3><SCENE 1><46%>
<MARCUS>	<46%>
	Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 24><ACT 3><SCENE 1><47%>
<MARCUS>	<47%>
	Which of your hands hath not defended Rome,
	And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe,
	Writing destruction on the enemy's castle?
	O! none of both but are of high desert:
	My hand hath been but idle; let it serve
	To ransom my two nephews from their death;
	Then have I kept it to a worthy end.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 25><ACT 3><SCENE 1><47%>
<MARCUS>	<47%>
	My hand shall go.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 26><ACT 3><SCENE 1><47%>
<MARCUS>	<48%>
	And for our father's sake, and mother's care,
	Now let me show a brother's love to thee.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 27><ACT 3><SCENE 1><48%>
<MARCUS>	<48%>
	But I will use the axe.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 28><ACT 3><SCENE 1><49%>
<MARCUS>	<49%>
	O! brother, speak with possibilities,
	And do not break into these deep extremes.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 29><ACT 3><SCENE 1><49%>
<MARCUS>	<49%>
	But yet let reason govern thy lament.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 30><ACT 3><SCENE 1><50%>
<MARCUS>	<50%>
	Now let hot Ætna cool in Sicily,
	And be my heart an ever burning hell!
	These miseries are more than may be borne.
	To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal,
	But sorrow flouted at is double death.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 31><ACT 3><SCENE 1><50%>
<MARCUS>	<51%>
	Alas! poor heart; that kiss is comfortless
	As frozen water to a starved snake.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 32><ACT 3><SCENE 1><50%>
<MARCUS>	<51%>
	Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus;
	Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads,
	Thy war-like hand, thy mangled daughter here;
	Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight
	Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I,
	Even like a stony image, cold and numb.
	Ah! now no more will I control thy griefs.
	Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand
	Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight
	The closing up of our most wretched eyes!
	Now is a time to storm; why art thou still?
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 33><ACT 3><SCENE 1><51%>
<MARCUS>	<51%>
	Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 34><ACT 3><SCENE 2><53%>
<MARCUS>	<53%>
	Fie, brother, fie! teach her not thus to lay
	Such violent hands upon her tender life.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 35><ACT 3><SCENE 2><54%>
<MARCUS>	<54%>
	Alas! the tender boy, in passion mov'd,
	Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 36><ACT 3><SCENE 2><54%>
<MARCUS>	<55%>
	At that that I have kill'd, my lord; a fly.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 37><ACT 3><SCENE 2><54%>
<MARCUS>	<55%>
	Alas! my lord, I have but kill'd a fly.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 38><ACT 3><SCENE 2><55%>
<MARCUS>	<55%>
	Pardon me, sir; it was a black ill-favour'd fly,
	Like to the empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 39><ACT 3><SCENE 2><55%>
<MARCUS>	<55%>
	Alas! poor man; grief has so wrought on him,
	He takes false shadows for true substances.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 40><ACT 4><SCENE 1><55%>
<MARCUS>	<56%>
	Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear thine aunt.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 41><ACT 4><SCENE 1><56%>
<MARCUS>	<56%>
	What means my niece Lavinia by these signs?
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 42><ACT 4><SCENE 1><56%>
<MARCUS>	<56%>
	Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus?
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 43><ACT 4><SCENE 1><56%>
<MARCUS>	<57%>
	Lucius, I will.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 44><ACT 4><SCENE 1><57%>
<MARCUS>	<57%>
	I think she means that there was more than one
	Confederate in the fact: ay, more there was;
	Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 45><ACT 4><SCENE 1><57%>
<MARCUS>	<57%>
	For love of her that's gone,
	Perhaps, she cull'd it from among the rest.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 46><ACT 4><SCENE 1><57%>
<MARCUS>	<58%>
	See, brother, see! note how she quotes the leaves.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 47><ACT 4><SCENE 1><58%>
<MARCUS>	<58%>
	O! why should nature build so foul a den,
	Unless the gods delight in tragedies?
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 48><ACT 4><SCENE 1><58%>
<MARCUS>	<58%>
	Sit down, sweet niece: brother, sit down by me.
	Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,
	Inspire me, that I may this treason find!
	My lord, look here; look here, Lavinia:
	This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst,
	This after me.
<STAGE DIR>
<He writes his name with his staff, and guides it with his feet and mouth.>
</STAGE DIR>
	I have writ my name
	Without the help of any hand at all.
	Curs'd be that heart that forc'd us to this shift!
	Write thou, good niece, and here display at last
	What God will have discover'd for revenge.
	Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain,
	That we may know the traitors and the truth!
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 49><ACT 4><SCENE 1><58%>
<MARCUS>	<59%>
	What, what! the lustful sons of Tamora
	Performers of this heinous, bloody deed?
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 50><ACT 4><SCENE 1><59%>
<MARCUS>	<59%>
	O! calm thee, gentle lord; although I know
	There is enough written upon this earth
	To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts
	And arm the minds of infants to exclaims.
	My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel;
	And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope;
	And swear with me, as, with the woeful fere
	And father of that chaste dishonour'd dame,
	Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape,
	That we will prosecute by good advice
	Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths,
	And see their blood, or die with this reproach.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 51><ACT 4><SCENE 1><60%>
<MARCUS>	<60%>
	Ay, that's my boy! thy father hath full oft
	For his ungrateful country done the like.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 52><ACT 4><SCENE 1><60%>
<MARCUS>	<61%>
	O heavens! can you hear a good man groan,
	And not relent or not compassion him?
	Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy,
	That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart
	Than foemen's marks upon his batter'd shield;
	But yet so just that he will not revenge.
	Revenge, ye heavens, for old Andronicus!
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 53><ACT 4><SCENE 3><69%>
<MARCUS>	<69%>
	O Publius! is not this a heavy case,
	To see thy noble uncle thus distract?
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 54><ACT 4><SCENE 3><69%>
<MARCUS>	<70%>
	Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy.
	Join with the Goths, and with revengeful war
	Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude,
	And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 55><ACT 4><SCENE 3><70%>
<MARCUS>	<71%>
	Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court:
	We will afflict the emperor in his pride.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 56><ACT 4><SCENE 3><70%>
<MARCUS>	<71%>
	My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon;
	Your letter is with Jupiter by this.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 57><ACT 4><SCENE 3><71%>
<MARCUS>	<71%>
	This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot,
	The Bull, being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock
	That down fell both the Ram's horns in the court;
	And who should find them but the empress' villain?
	She laugh'd, and told the Moor, he should not choose
	But give them to his master for a present.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 58><ACT 4><SCENE 3><72%>
<MARCUS>	<72%>
	Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to serve for your oration; and let him deliver the pigeons to the emperor from you.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 59><ACT 5><SCENE 2><88%>
<MARCUS>	<89%>
	This will I do, and soon return again.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 60><ACT 5><SCENE 3><92%>
<MARCUS>	<93%>
	Rome's emperor, and nephew, break the parle;
	These quarrels must be quietly debated.
	The feast is ready which the careful Titus
	Hath ordain'd to an honourable end,
	For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome:
	Please you, therefore, draw nigh, and take your places.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 61><ACT 5><SCENE 3><95%>
<MARCUS>	<95%>
	You sad-fac'd men, people and sons of Rome,
	By uproar sever'd, like a flight of fowl
	Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts,
	O! let me teach you how to knit again
	This scatter'd corn into one mutual sheaf,
	These broken limbs again into one body,
	Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself,
	And she whom mighty kingdoms curtsy to,
	Like a forlorn and desperate castaway,
	Do shameful execution on herself.
	But if my frosty signs and chaps of age,
	Grave witnesses of true experience,
	Cannot induce you to attend my words,
<STAGE DIR>
<To Lucius.>
</STAGE DIR> Speak, Rome's dear friend, as erst our ancestor,
	When with his solemn tongue he did discourse
	To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear
	The story of that baleful burning night
	When subtle Greeks surpris'd King Priam's Troy;
	Tell us what Sinon hath bewitch'd our ears,
	Or who hath brought the fatal engine in
	That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound.
	My heart is not compact of flint nor steel,
	Nor can I utter all our bitter grief,
	But floods of tears will drown my oratory,
	And break my very utterance, even in the time
	When it should move you to attend me most,
	Lending your kind commiseration.
	Here is a captain, let him tell the tale;
	Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him speak.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 62><ACT 5><SCENE 3><96%>
<MARCUS>	<97%>
	Now is my turn to speak. Behold this child;
	Of this was Tamora delivered,
	The issue of an irreligious Moor,
	Chief architect and plotter of these woes.
	The villain is alive in Titus' house,
	Damn'd as he is, to witness this is true.
	Now judge what cause had Titus to revenge
	These wrongs, unspeakable, past patience,
	Or more than any living man could bear.
	Now you have heard the truth, what say you Romans?
	Have we done aught amiss, show us wherein,
	And, from the place where you behold us now,
	The poor remainder of Andronici
	Will, hand in hand, all headlong cast us down,
	And on the ragged stones beat forth our brains,
	And make a mutual closure of our house.
	Speak, Romans, speak! and if you say we shall,
	Lo! hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall.
</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 63><ACT 5><SCENE 3><97%>
<MARCUS>	<97%>
<STAGE DIR>
<To Attendants.>
</STAGE DIR> Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful house,
	And hither, hale that misbelieving Moor,
	To be adjudg'd some direful slaughtering death,
	As punishment for his most wicked life.
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt Attendants.>
</STAGE DIR>

</MARCUS>

<SPEECH 64><ACT 5><SCENE 3><98%>
<MARCUS>	<98%>
	Tear for tear, and loving kiss for kiss,
	Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips:
	O! were the sum of these that I should pay
	Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them.
</MARCUS>

