Уильям Шекспир - Titus Andronicus стр 2.

  Laui. In peace and Honour, liue Lord Titus long,
My Noble Lord and Father, liue in Fame:
Loe at this Tombe my tributarie teares,
I render for my Bretherens Obsequies:
And at thy feete I kneele, with teares of ioy
Shed on the earth for thy returne to Rome.
O blesse me heere with thy victorious hand,
Whose Fortune Romes best Citizens applau'd

   Ti. Kind Rome,
That hast thus louingly reseru'd
The Cordiall of mine age to glad my hart,
Lauinia liue, out-liue thy Fathers dayes:
And Fames eternall date for vertues praise

   Marc. Long liue Lord Titus, my beloued brother,
Gracious Triumpher in the eyes of Rome

   Tit. Thankes Gentle Tribune,
Noble brother Marcus

   Mar. And welcome Nephews from succesfull wars,
You that suruiue and you that sleepe in Fame:
Faire Lords your Fortunes are all alike in all,
That in your Countries seruice drew your Swords.
But safer Triumph is this Funerall Pompe,
That hath aspir'd to Solons Happines,
And Triumphs ouer chaunce in honours bed.
Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome,
Whose friend in iustice thou hast euer bene,
Send thee by me their Tribune and their trust,
This Palliament of white and spotlesse Hue,
And name thee in Election for the Empire,
With these our late deceased Emperours Sonnes:
Be Candidatus then, and put it on,
And helpe to set a head on headlesse Rome

   Tit. A better head her Glorious body fits,
Then his that shakes for age and feeblenesse:
What should I don this Robe and trouble you,
Be chosen with proclamations to day,
To morrow yeeld vp rule, resigne my life,
And set abroad new businesse for you all.
Rome I haue bene thy Souldier forty yeares,
And led my Countries strength successefully,
And buried one and twenty Valiant Sonnes,
Knighted in Field, slaine manfully in Armes,
In right and Seruice of their Noble Countrie:
Giue me a staffe of Honour for mine age,
But not a Scepter to controule the world,
Vpright he held it Lords, that held it last

Mar. Titus, thou shalt obtaine and aske the Emperie

   Sat. Proud and ambitious Tribune can'st thou tell?

  Titus. Patience Prince Saturninus

   Sat. Romaines do me right.
Patricians draw your Swords, and sheath them not
Till Saturninus be Romes Emperour:
Andronicus would thou wert shipt to hell,
Rather then rob me of the peoples harts

   Luc. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good
That Noble minded Titus meanes to thee

   Tit. Content thee Prince, I will restore to thee
The peoples harts, and weane them from themselues

   Bass. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee
But Honour thee, and will doe till I die:
My Faction if thou strengthen with thy Friend?
I will most thankefull be, and thankes to men
Of Noble mindes, is Honourable Meede

   Tit. People of Rome, and Noble Tribunes heere,
I aske your voyces and your Suffrages,
Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus?

  Tribunes. To gratifie the good Andronicus,
And Gratulate his safe returne to Rome,
The people will accept whom he admits

   Tit. Tribunes I thanke you, and this sure I make,
That you Create your Emperours eldest sonne,
Lord Saturnine, whose Vertues will I hope,
Reflect on Rome as Tytans Rayes on earth,
And ripen Iustice in this Common-weale:
Then if you will elect by my aduise,
Crowne him, and say: Long liue our Emperour

   Mar. An. With Voyces and applause of euery sort,
Patricians and Plebeans we Create
Lord Saturninus Romes Great Emperour.
And say, Long liue our Emperour Saturnine.

A long Flourish till they come downe.

  Satu. Titus Andronicus, for thy Fauours done,
To vs in our Election this day,
I giue thee thankes in part of thy Deserts,
And will with Deeds requite thy gentlenesse:
And for an Onset Titus to aduance
Thy Name, and Honorable Familie,
Lauinia will I make my Empresse,
Romes Royall Mistris, Mistris of my hart
And in the Sacred Pathan her espouse:
Tell me Andronicus doth this motion please thee?

  Tit. It doth my worthy Lord, and in this match,
I hold me Highly Honoured of your Grace,
And heere in sight of Rome, to Saturnine,
King and Commander of our Common-weale,
The Wide-worlds Emperour, do I Consecrate,
My Sword, my Chariot, and my Prisoners,
Presents well Worthy Romes Imperiall Lord:
Receiue them then, the Tribute that I owe,
Mine Honours Ensignes humbled at my feete

   Satu. Thankes Noble Titus, Father of my life,
How proud I am of thee, and of thy gifts
Rome shall record, and when I do forget
The least of these vnspeakable Deserts,
Romans forget your Fealtie to me

   Tit. Now Madam are you prisoner to an Emperour,
To him that for your Honour and your State,
Will vse you Nobly and your followers

   Satu. A goodly Lady, trust me of the Hue
That I would choose, were I to choose a new:
Cleere vp Faire Queene that cloudy countenance,
Though chance of warre
Hath wrought this change of cheere,
Thou com'st not to be made a scorne in Rome:
Princely shall be thy vsage euery way.
Rest on my word, and let not discontent
Daunt all your hopes: Madam he comforts you,
Can make you Greater then the Queene of Gothes?
Lauinia you are not displeas'd with this?

  Lau. Not I my Lord, sith true Nobilitie,
Warrants these words in Princely curtesie

   Sat. Thankes sweete Lauinia, Romans let vs goe:
Ransomlesse heere we set our Prisoners free,
Proclaime our Honors Lords with Trumpe and Drum

Bass. Lord Titus by your leaue, this Maid is mine

   Tit. How sir? Are you in earnest then my Lord?

  Bass. I Noble Titus, and resolu'd withall,
To doe my selfe this reason, and this right

   Marc. Suum cuiquam, is our Romane Iustice,
This Prince in Iustice ceazeth but his owne

Luc. And that he will and shall, if Lucius liue

   Tit. Traytors auant, where is the Emperours Guarde?
Treason my Lord, Lauinia is surpris'd

   Sat. Surpris'd, by whom?

  Bass. By him that iustly may
Beare his Betroth'd, from all the world away

   Muti. Brothers helpe to conuey her hence away,
And with my Sword Ile keepe this doore safe

Tit. Follow my Lord, and Ile soone bring her backe

Mut. My Lord you passe not heere

   Tit. What villaine Boy, bar'st me my way in Rome?

  Mut. Helpe Lucius helpe. He kils him

   Luc. My Lord you are vniust, and more then so,
In wrongfull quarrell, you haue slaine your son

   Tit. Nor thou, nor he are any sonnes of mine,
My sonnes would neuer so dishonour me.
Traytor restore Lauinia to the Emperour

   Luc. Dead if you will, but not to be his wife,
That is anothers lawfull promist Loue.