Titus Andronicus: Act 1

Noble patricians, patrons of my right,
Defend the justice of my cause with arms.

I am his firstborn son that was the last
That wore the imperial diadem of Rome.

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, surnamèd Pius
For many good and great deserts to Rome.

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, surnamèd Pius
For many good and great deserts to Rome.

And now at last, laden with honor’s spoils,
Returns the good Andronicus to Rome,
Renownèd Titus flourishing in arms.

And now at last, laden with honor’s spoils,
Returns the good Andronicus to Rome,
Renownèd Titus flourishing in arms.

Let us entreat, by honor of his name
Whom worthily you would have now succeed,
And in the Capitol and Senate’s right,
Whom you pretend to honor and adore,
That you withdraw you and abate your strength,
Dismiss your followers and, as suitors should,
Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness.

The good Andronicus,
Patron of virtue, Rome’s best champion,
Successful in the battles that he fights,
With honor and with fortune is returned
From where he circumscribèd with his sword
And brought to yoke the enemies of Rome.

Thou great defender of this Capitol,
Stand gracious to the rites that we intend.

Make way to lay them by their brethren.

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?

Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths,
That we may hew his limbs and on a pile,
Ad manes fratrum, sacrifice his flesh

Alarbus’ limbs are lopped,
And entrails feed the sacrificing fire,
Whose smoke like incense doth perfume the sky.

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.

In peace and honor rest you here, my sons,
Rome’s readiest champions, repose you here in rest,
Secure from worldly chances and mishaps.

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 honor’s bed.

What, should I don this robe and trouble you?

My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends,
I will most thankful be, and thanks, to men
Of noble minds, is honorable meed.

People of Rome, and people’s tribunes here,
I ask your voices and your suffrages.

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.”

And for an onset, Titus, to advance
Thy name and honorable family,
Lavinia will I make my empress,
Rome’s royal mistress, mistress of my heart,
And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse.

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.

How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts
Rome shall record.—And when I do forget
The least of these unspeakable deserts,
Romans, forget your fealty to me.

Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance.

By him that justly may
Bear his betrothed from all the world away.

I’ll trust by leisure him that mocks me once,
Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons,
Confederates all thus to dishonor me.

What reproachful words are these?

A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy,
One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons,
To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome.

And here I swear by all the Roman gods,
Sith priest and holy water are so near,
And tapers burn so bright, and everything
In readiness for Hymenaeus stand,
I will not resalute the streets of Rome
Or climb my palace till from forth this place
I lead espoused my bride along with me.

There shall we consummate our spousal rites.

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.

My lord, this is impiety in you.

My foes I do repute you every one.

Yes, and will nobly him remunerate.

But on mine honor dare I undertake
For good Lord Titus’ innocence in all,
Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs.

Lest, then, the people, and patricians too,
Upon a just survey take Titus’ part
And so supplant you for ingratitude,
Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin.

For you, Prince Bassianus, I have passed
My word and promise to the Emperor
That you will be more mild and tractable.

Lavinia, though you left me like a churl,
I found a friend, and sure as death I swore
I would not part a bachelor from the priest.