SATURNINUS.
What, hath the firmament more suns than one?
LUCIUS.
What boots it thee to call thyself a sun?
MARCUS.
Rome’s emperor, and nephew, break the parle;
These quarrels must be quietly debated.
The feast is ready which the careful Titus
Hath ordained to an honourable end,
For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome.
Please you, therefore, draw nigh and take your places.
SATURNINUS.
Marcus, we will.
Trumpets sounding, enter Titus like a cook, placing the dishes, with Young Lucius and others, and Lavinia with a veil over her face.
TITUS.
Welcome, my lord; welcome, dread queen;
Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius;
And welcome all. Although the cheer be poor,
’Twill fill your stomachs; please you eat of it.
SATURNINUS.
Why art thou thus attired, Andronicus?
TITUS.
Because I would be sure to have all well
To entertain your highness and your empress.
TAMORA.
We are beholden to you, good Andronicus.
TITUS.
An if your highness knew my heart, you were.
My lord the emperor, resolve me this:
Was it well done of rash Virginius
To slay his daughter with his own right hand,
Because she was enforced, stained, and deflowered?