The Tragedy of Titus Andronicus

by William Shakespeare

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 barred his entrance here.

TITUS.
Rise, Marcus, rise.
The dismall’st day is this that e’er I saw,
To be dishonoured by my sons in Rome!
Well, bury him, and bury me the next.

[They put Mutius in the tomb.]

LUCIUS.
There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends,
Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb.

ALL.
[Kneeling.] No man shed tears for noble Mutius;
He lives in fame that died in virtue’s cause.

MARCUS.
My lord, to step out of these dreary dumps,
How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths
Is of a sudden thus advanced in Rome?