Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 / 2008-09-21 00:00:00


TITUS.
What, would you bury him in my despite?
MARCUS.
No, noble Titus; but entreat of thee
To pardon Mutius, and to bury him.
TITUS.
Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest,
And with these boys mine honour thou hast wounded:
My foes I do repute you every one;
So trouble me no more, but get you gone.
MARTIUS.
He is not with himself; let us withdraw.
QUINTUS.
Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried.
[MARCUS and the Sons of TITUS kneel.]
MARCUS.
Brother, for in that name doth nature plead,--
QUINTUS.
Father, and in that name doth nature speak,--
TITUS.
Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed.
MARCUS.
Renowned Titus, more than half my soul,--
LUCIUS.
Dear father, soul and substance of us all,--
MARCUS.
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.
TITUS.
Rise, Marcus, rise:
The dismall'st day is this that e'er I saw,
To be dishonour'd by my sons in Rome!--
Well, bury him, and bury me the next.
[MUTIUS is put into the tomb.]
LUCIUS.
There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends,
Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb.
ALL.
[Kneeling.
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