t.i.t. Because I would be sure to haue all well, To entertaine your Highnesse, and your Empresse

Tam. We are beholding to you good Andronicus?

t.i.t. And if your Highnesse knew my heart, you were: My Lord the Emperour resolue me this, Was it well done of rash Virginius, To slay his daughter with his owne right hand.

Because she was enfor'st, stain'd, and deflowr'd?

Satur. It was Andronicus

t.i.t. Your reason, Mighty Lord?

Sat. Because the Girle, should not suruiue her shame, And by her presence still renew his sorrowes

t.i.t. A reason mighty, strong, and effectuall, A patterne, president, and liuely warrant, For me (most wretched) to performe the like: Die, die, Lauinia, and thy shame with thee, And with thy shame, thy Fathers sorrow die.

He kils her.

Sat. What hast done, vnnaturall and vnkinde?

t.i.t. Kil'd her for whom my teares haue made me blind.

I am as wofull as Virginius was, And haue a thousand times more cause then he

Sat. What was she rauisht? tell who did the deed, t.i.t. Wilt please you eat, Wilt please your Highnesse feed?

Tam. Why hast thou slaine thine onely Daughter?

t.i.tus. Not I, 'twas Chiron and Demetrius, They rauisht her, and cut away her tongue, And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong

Satu. Go fetch them hither to vs presently

t.i.t. Why there they are both, baked in that Pie, Whereof their Mother daintily hath fed, Eating the flesh that she herselfe hath bred.

'Tis true, 'tis true, witnesse my kniues sharpe point.

He stabs the Empresse.

Satu. Die franticke wretch, for this accursed deed

Luc. Can the Sonnes eye, behold his Father bleed?

There's meede for meede, death for a deadly deed

Mar. You sad fac'd men, people and Sonnes of Rome, By vprores seuer'd like a flight of Fowle, Scattred by windes and high tempestuous gusts: Oh let me teach you how, to knit againe This scattred Corne, into one mutuall sheafe, These broken limbs againe into one body

Goth. Let Rome herselfe be bane vnto herselfe, And shee whom mightie kingdomes cursie too, Like a forlorne and desperate castaway, Doe shamefull execution on her selfe.

But if my frostie signes and chaps of age, Graue witnesses of true experience, Cannot induce you to attend my words, Speake Romes deere friend, as er'st our Auncestor, When with his solemne tongue he did discourse To loue-sicke Didoes sad attending eare, The story of that balefull burning night, When subtil Greekes surpriz'd King Priams Troy: Tell vs what Sinon hath bewicht our eares, Or who hath brought the fatall engine in, That giues our Troy, our Rome the ciuill wound.

My heart is not compact of flint nor steele, Nor can I vtter all our bitter griefe, But floods of teares will drowne my Oratorie, And breake my very vttrance, euen in the time When it should moue you to attend me most, Lending your kind hand Commiseration.

Heere is a Captaine, let him tell the tale, Your hearts will throb and weepe to heare him speake

Luc. This n.o.ble Auditory, be it knowne to you, That cursed Chiron and Demetrius Were they that murdred our Emperours Brother, And they it were that rauished our Sister, For their fell faults our Brothers were beheaded, Our Fathers teares despis'd, and basely cousen'd, Of that true hand that fought Romes quarrell out, And sent her enemies vnto the graue.

Lastly, my selfe vnkindly banished, The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out, To beg reliefe among Romes Enemies, Who drown'd their enmity in my true teares, And op'd their armes to imbrace me as a Friend: And I am turned forth, be it knowne to you, That haue preseru'd her welfare in my blood, And from her bosome tooke the Enemies point, Sheathing the steele in my aduentrous body.

Alas you know, I am no Vaunter I, My scars can witnesse, dumbe although they are, That my report is iust and full of truth: But soft, me thinkes I do digresse too much, Cyting my worthlesse praise: Oh pardon me, For when no Friends are by, men praise themselues, Marc. Now is my turne to speake: Behold this Child, Of this was Tamora deliuered, The issue of an Irreligious Moore, Chiefe Architect and plotter of these woes, The Villaine is aliue in t.i.tus house, And as he is, to witnesse this is true.

Now iudge what course had t.i.tus to reuenge These wrongs, vnspeakeable past patience, Or more then any liuing man could beare.

Now you haue heard the truth, what say you Romaines?

Haue we done ought amisse? shew vs wherein, And from the place where you behold vs now, The poore remainder of Andronici, Will hand in hand all headlong cast vs downe, And on the ragged stones beat forth our braines, And make a mutuall closure of our house: Speake Romaines speake, and if you say we shall, Loe hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall

Emilli. Come come, thou reuerent man of Rome, And bring our Emperour gently in thy hand, Lucius our Emperour: for well I know, The common voyce do cry it shall be so

Mar. Lucius, all haile Romes Royall Emperour, Goe, goe into old t.i.tus sorrowfull house, And hither hale that misbelieuing Moore, To be adiudg'd some direfull slaughtering death, As punishment for his most wicked life.

Lucius all haile to Romes gracious Gouernour

Luc. Thankes gentle Romanes, may I gouerne so, To heale Romes harmes, and wipe away her woe.

But gentle people, giue me ayme a-while, For Nature puts me to a heauy taske: Stand all aloofe, but Vnckle draw you neere, To shed obsequious teares vpon this Trunke: Oh take this warme kisse on thy pale cold lips, These sorrowfull drops vpon thy bloud-slaine face, The last true Duties of thy n.o.ble Sonne

Mar. Teare for teare, and louing kisse for kisse, Thy Brother Marcus tenders on thy Lips: O were the summe of these that I should pay Countlesse, and infinit, yet would I pay them

Luc. Come hither Boy, come, come, and learne of vs To melt in showres: thy Grandsire lou'd thee well: Many a time he danc'd thee on his knee: Sung thee asleepe, his Louing Brest, thy Pillow: Many a matter hath he told to thee, Meete, and agreeing with thine Infancie: In that respect then, like a louing Childe, Shed yet some small drops from thy tender Spring, Because kinde Nature doth require it so: Friends, should a.s.sociate Friends, in Greefe and Wo.

Bid him farwell, commit him to the Graue, Do him that kindnesse, and take leaue of him

Boy. O Grandsire, Grandsire: euen with all my heart Would I were Dead, so you did Liue againe.

O Lord, I cannot speake to him for weeping, My teares will choake me, if I ope my mouth

Romans. You sad Andronici, haue done with woes, Giue sentence on this execrable Wretch, That hath beene breeder of these dire euents

Luc. Set him brest deepe in earth, and famish him: There let him stand, and raue, and cry for foode: If any one releeues, or pitties him, For the offence, he dyes. This is our doome: Some stay, to see him fast'ned in the earth

Aron. O why should wrath be mute, & Fury dumbe?

I am no Baby I, that with base Prayers I should repent the Euils I haue done.

Ten thousand worse, then euer yet I did, Would I performe if I might haue my will: If one good Deed in all my life I did, I do repent it from my very Soule

Lucius. Some louing Friends conuey the Emp[erour]. hence, And giue him buriall in his Fathers graue.

My Father, and Lauinia, shall forthwith Be closed in our Housholds Monument: As for that heynous Tyger Tamora, No Funerall Rite, nor man in mournfull Weeds: No mournfull Bell shall ring her Buriall: But throw her foorth to Beasts and Birds of prey: Her life was Beast-like, and deuoid of pitty, And being so, shall haue like want of pitty.

See Iustice done on Aaron that d.a.m.n'd Moore, From whom, our heauy happes had their beginning: Then afterwards, to Order well the State, That like Euents, may ne're it Ruinate.

Exeunt. omnes.

FINIS. The Lamentable Tragedy of t.i.tus Andronicus.

The Tragedie of Romeo and Juliet

Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.

Enter Sampson and Gregory, with Swords and Bucklers, of the House of Capulet.

Sampson. Gregory: A my word wee'l not carry coales

Greg. No, for then we should be Colliars

Samp. I mean, if we be in choller, wee'l draw

Greg. I, While you liue, draw your necke out o'th Collar

Samp. I strike quickly, being mou'd

Greg. But thou art not quickly mou'd to strike