Titus Andronicus. Уильям Шекспир

        Saturninus. Noble Patricians, Patrons of my right,

      Defend the iustice of my Cause with Armes.

      And Countrey-men, my louing Followers,

      Pleade my Successiue Title with your Swords.

      I was the first borne Sonne, that was the last

      That wore the Imperiall Diadem of Rome:

      Then let my Fathers Honours liue in me,

      Nor wrong mine Age with this indignitie

         Bassianus. Romaines, Friends, Followers,

      Fauourers of my Right:

      If euer Bassianus, Cćsars Sonne,

      Were gracious in the eyes of Royall Rome,

      Keepe then this passage to the Capitoll:

      And suffer not Dishonour to approach

      Th' Imperiall Seate to Vertue: consecrate

      To Iustice, Continence, and Nobility:

      But let Desert in pure Election shine;

      And Romanes, fight for Freedome in your Choice.

      Princes, that striue by Factions, and by Friends,

      Ambitiously for Rule and Empery:

      Know, that the people of Rome for whom we stand

      A speciall Party, haue by Common voyce

      In Election for the Romane Emperie,

      Chosen Andronicus, Sur-named Pious,

      For many good and great deserts to Rome.

      A Nobler man, a brauer Warriour,

      Liues not this day within the City Walles.

      He by the Senate is accited home

      From weary Warres against the barbarous Gothes,

      That with his Sonnes (a terror to our Foes)

      Hath yoak'd a Nation strong, train'd vp in Armes.

      Ten yeares are spent, since first he vndertooke

      This Cause of Rome, and chasticed with Armes

      Our Enemies pride. Fiue times he hath return'd

      Bleeding to Rome, bearing his Valiant Sonnes

      In Coffins from the Field.

      And now at last, laden with Honours Spoyles,

      Returnes the good Andronicus to Rome,

      Renowned Titus, flourishing in Armes.

      Let vs intreat, by Honour of his Name,

      Whom (worthily) you would haue now succeede,

      And in the Capitoll and Senates right,

      Whom you pretend to Honour and Adore,

      That you withdraw you, and abate your Strength,

      Dismisse your Followers, and as Suters should,

      Pleade your Deserts in Peace and Humblenesse

         Saturnine. How fayre the Tribune speakes,

      To calme my thoughts

         Bassia. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affie

      In thy vprightnesse and Integrity:

      And so I Loue and Honor thee, and thine,

      Thy Noble Brother Titus, and his Sonnes,

      And Her (to whom my thoughts are humbled all)

      Gracious Lauinia, Romes rich Ornament,

      That I will heere dismisse my louing Friends:

      And to my Fortunes, and the Peoples Fauour,

      Commit my Cause in ballance to be weigh'd.

        Saturnine. Friends, that haue beene

      Thus forward in my Right,

      I thanke you all, and heere Dismisse you all,

      And to the Loue and Fauour of my Countrey,

      Commit my Selfe, my Person, and the Cause:

      Rome, be as iust and gracious vnto me,

      As I am confident and kinde to thee.

      Open the Gates, and let me in

      Bassia. Tribunes, and me, a poore Competitor.

      Flourish. They go vp into the Senat house.

        Cap. Romanes make way: the good Andronicus,

      Patron of Vertue, Romes best Champion,

      Successefull in the Battailes that he fights,

      With Honour and with Fortune is return'd,

      From whence he circumscribed with his Sword,

      And brought to yoke the Enemies of Rome.

        Andronicus. Haile Rome:

      Victorious in thy Mourning Weedes:

      Loe as the Barke that hath discharg'd his fraught,

      Returnes with precious lading to the Bay,

      From whence at first she weigh'd her Anchorage:

      Commeth Andronicus bound with Lawrell bowes,

      To resalute his Country with his teares,

      Teares of true ioy for his returne to Rome,

      Thou great defender of this Capitoll,

      Stand gracious to the Rites that we intend.

      Romaines, of fiue and twenty Valiant Sonnes,

      Halfe of the number that King Priam had,

      Behold the poore remaines aliue and dead!

      These that Suruiue, let Rome reward with Loue:

      These that I bring vnto their latest home,

      With buriall amongst their Auncestors.

      Heere Gothes haue giuen me leaue to sheath my Sword:

      Titus vnkinde, and carelesse of thine owne,

      Why suffer'st thou thy Sonnes vnburied yet,

      To houer on the dreadfull shore of Stix?

      Make way to lay them by their Bretheren.

      There greete in silence as the dead are wont,

      And sleepe in peace, slaine in your Countries warres:

      O sacred receptacle of my ioyes,

      Sweet Cell of vertue and Nobilitie,

      How many Sonnes of mine hast thou in store,

      That thou wilt neuer render to me more?

        Luc. Giue vs the proudest prisoner of the Gothes,

      That we may hew his limbes, and on a pile

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