Titus Andronicus. Уильям Шекспир

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        Sat. So Bassianus, you haue plaid your prize,

      God giue you ioy sir of your Gallant Bride

         Bass. And you of yours my Lord: I say no more,

      Nor wish no lesse, and so I take my leaue

         Sat. Traytor, if Rome haue law, or we haue power,

      Thou and thy Faction shall repent this Rape

         Bass. Rape call you it my Lord, to cease my owne,

      My true betrothed Loue, and now my wife?

      But let the lawes of Rome determine all,

      Meane while I am possest of that is mine

         Sat. 'Tis good sir: you are very short with vs,

      But if we liue, weele be as sharpe with you

         Bass. My Lord, what I haue done as best I may,

      Answere I must, and shall do with my life,

      Onely thus much I giue your Grace to know,

      By all the duties that I owe to Rome,

      This Noble Gentleman Lord Titus heere,

      Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd,

      That in the rescue of Lauinia,

      With his owne hand did slay his youngest Son,

      In zeale to you, and highly mou'd to wrath.

      To be controul'd in that he frankly gaue:

      Receiue him then to fauour Saturnine,

      That hath expre'st himselfe in all his deeds,

      A Father and a friend to thee, and Rome

         Tit. Prince Bassianus leaue to plead my Deeds,

      'Tis thou, and those, that haue dishonoured me,

      Rome and the righteous heauens be my iudge,

      How I haue lou'd and Honour'd Saturnine

         Tam. My worthy Lord if euer Tamora,

      Were gracious in those Princely eyes of thine,

      Then heare me speake indifferently for all:

      And at my sute (sweet) pardon what is past

         Satu. What Madam, be dishonoured openly,

      And basely put it vp without reuenge?

        Tam. Not so my Lord,

      The Gods of Rome fore-fend,

      I should be Authour to dishonour you.

      But on mine honour dare, I vndertake

      For good Lord Titus innocence in all:

      Whose fury not dissembled speakes his griefes:

      Then at my sute looke graciously on him,

      Loose not so noble a friend on vaine suppose,

      Nor with sowre lookes afflict his gentle heart.

      My Lord, be rul'd by me, be wonne at last,

      Dissemble all your griefes and discontents,

      You are but newly planted in your Throne,

      Least then the people, and Patricians too,

      Vpon a iust suruey take Titus part,

      And so supplant vs for ingratitude,

      Which Rome reputes to be a hainous sinne.

      Yeeld at intreats, and then let me alone:

      Ile finde a day to massacre them all,

      And race their faction, and their familie,

      The cruell Father, and his trayt'rous sonnes,

      To whom I sued for my deare sonnes life.

      And make them know what 'tis to let a Queene.

      Kneele in the streetes, and beg for grace in vaine.

      Come, come, sweet Emperour, (come Andronicus)

      Take vp this good old man, and cheere the heart,

      That dies in tempest of thy angry frowne

         King. Rise Titus, rise,

      My Empresse hath preuail'd

         Titus. I thanke your Maiestie,

      And her my Lord.

      These words, these lookes,

      Infuse new life in me

         Tamo. Titus, I am incorparate in Rome,

      A Roman now adopted happily.

      And must aduise the Emperour for his good,

      This day all quarrels die Andronicus.

      And let it be mine honour good my Lord,

      That I haue reconcil'd your friends and you.

      For you Prince Bassianus, I haue past

      My word and promise to the Emperour,

      That you will be more milde and tractable.

      And feare not Lords:

      And you Lauinia,

      By my aduise all humbled on your knees,

      You shall aske pardon of his Maiestie

         Son. We doe,

      And vow to heauen, and to his Highnes,

      That what we did, was mildly, as we might,

      Tendring our sisters honour and our owne

      Mar. That on mine honour heere I do protest

      King. Away and talke not, trouble vs no more

         Tamora. Nay, nay,

      Sweet Emperour, we must all be friends,

      The Tribune and his Nephews kneele for grace,

      I will not be denied, sweet hart looke back

         King. Marcus,

      For thy sake and thy brothers heere,

      And at my louely Tamora's intreats,

      I doe remit these young mens haynous faults.

      Stand vp: Lauinia, though you left me like a churle,

      I found a friend, and sure as death I sware,

      I would not part a Batchellour from the Priest.

      Come, if the Emperours Court can feast two Brides,

      You are my guest Lauinia, and your friends:

      This day shall be a Loue-day Tamora

         Tit. To morrow and it please your Maiestie,

      To hunt the Panther and the Hart with me,

      With horne and Hound,

      Weele giue your Grace Bon iour

      Satur. Be it so Titus, and Gramercy to.