I will moft thankful be: and thanks, to men
Of noble minds, is honourable meed.

Tit. People of Rome, and people's tribunes here,
I ask your voices, and your fuffrages;

Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus?
Trib. To gratify the good Andronicus,

And gratulate his fafe return to Rome,
The people will accept whom he admits.

Tit. Tribunes, I thank you: and this fuit I make,
That you create your emperor's eldest son,
Lord Saturnine; whofe virtues will, I hope,
Reflect on Rome, as Titan's rays on earth,
And ripen justice in this common-weal :
Then if you will elect by my advice,
Crown him, and fay,-Long live our emperor!
Mar. With voices and applaufe of every sort,
Patricians, and plebeians, we create

Lord Saturninus, Rome's great emperor;
And fay,-Long live our emperor Saturnine!

[A long flourish.

Sat. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done
To us in our election this day,

I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts,
And will with deeds requite thy gentleness:
And, for an onfet, Titus, to advance
Thy name, and honourable family,
Lavinia will I make my emperefs,

Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart,
And in the facred Pantheon her espouse:

Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee?
Tit. It doth, my worthy lord; and, in this match,
I hold me highly honour'd of your grace:

And here, in fight of Rome, to Saturnine,—
King and commander of our common-weal,

The

The wide world's emperor,—do I confecrate
My fword, my chariot, and my prisoners;
Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord :
Receive them then, the tribute that I owe,
Mine honour's enfigns humbled at thy feet.
Sat. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life!
How proud I am of thee, and of thy gifts,
Rome fhall record; and, when I do forget
The least of these unspeakable deserts,
Romans, forget your fealty to me.

Tit. Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor;

[To TAMORA. To him, that for your honour and your state, Will ufe you nobly, and your followers.

Sat. A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue That I would choofe, were I to choose anew.Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance; Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer, Thou com'ft not to be made a scorn in Rome : Princely fhall be thy usage every way.

Reft on my word, and let not discontent

Daunt all your hopes; Madam, he comforts you,
Can make you greater than the queen of Goths.-
Lavinia, you are not difpleas'd with this?

Lav. Not I, my lord; fith true nobility
Warrants these words in princely courtesy.

Sat. Thanks, fweet Lavinia.-Romans, let us go: Ranfomless here we fet our prisoners free : Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum. Baf. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine. [Seizing LAVINIA. Tit. How, fir? Are you in earnest then, my lord? Baf. Ay, noble Titus; and refolv'd withal,

Titus Andronicus.

Act.1. Scene.2.

Published Oct.1.1800, by Vernor&Hood Poultry.

To do myself this reason and this right.

[The Emperor courts TAMORA in dumb show.

Mar. Suum cuique is our Roman justice :

This prince in justice seizeth but his own.

Luc. And that he will, and fhall, if Lucius live.

Tit. Traitors, avaunt! Where is the emperor's guard? Treafon, my lord; Lavinia is furpriz'd.

Sat. Surpriz'd! By whom?

Baf

By him that justly may Bear his betroth'd from all the world away.

[Exeunt MARCUS and BASSIANUS, with LAVINIA. Mut. Brothers, help to convey her hence away,

And with my sword I'll keep this door safe.

[Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS. Tit. Follow, my lord, and I'll foon bring her back. Mut. My lord, you pass not here.

Tit.

Barr'ft me my way in Rome?

What, villain boy!

[TITUS kills MUTIUS.

Mut.

Help, Lucius, help!

Re-enter LUCIUS.

Luc. My lord, you are unjust; and, more than fo,
In wrongful quarrel you have flain your fon.
Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any fons of mine;

My fons would never fo dishonour me :
Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor.

Luc. Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife, That is another's lawful promis'd love.

Sat. No, Titus, no; the emperor needs her not,
Not her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock:
I'll truft, by leisure, him that mocks me once;
Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty fons,
Confederates all thus to dishonour me.

[Exit.

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