The Lamentable and Tragical HISTORY
OF
TITUS ANDRONICUS,
WITH
The Fall of his Sons in the Wars of the Goths, with the Manner of the Ravishment of
his Daughter Lavinia, by the Empress's two Sons, through the means of a bloody Moor, taken by
[t]he Sword of Titus, in the War: with his Revenge upon their cruel and inhumane Act.
To the Tune of, Fortune my Foe, etc.
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YOu noble Minds, and famous Martial Wights,
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That in Defence of Native Countries fights,
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Give ear to me that ten Years fought for Rome,
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Yet reap'd Disgrace at my returning home:
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In Rome I liv'd in fame full threescore Years,
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My Name beloved was of all my Peers,
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Full five and twenty valiant Sons I had,
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Whose forward virtues made their Father glad.
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For when Romes foes their warlike Forces felt,
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Against them still my Sons and I were sent;
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Against the Goths full ten Years weary War
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We spent, receiving many a bloody scar.
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Just two and twenty of my Sons were slain,
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Before I did return to Rome again;
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Of five and twenty Sons I brought but three
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Alive, the stately Tower of Rome to see.
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When Wars were done, I Conquest home did bring
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And did present my Prisoners to the King:
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The Queen of Goths, her Sons, and eke a Moor.
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Who did such Murders, like were none before.
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The Emperor did make the Queen his Wife,
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Which bred in Rome debate and deadly strife;
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The Moor with her two Sons did grow so proud,
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That none like them in Rome might be allow'd.
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The Moor so pleased this new Empress eye,
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That she consented to him secretly
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For to abuse her Husband's Marriage-bed,
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And so in time a Black-a-moor she bred.
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Then she, whose thoughts to murder was inclin'd,
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Consented with the Moor with bloody mind,
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Against myself, my Kin, and all my Friends,
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In cruel sort to bring them to their ends.
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So when in age I thought to live in peace,
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Both care and grief began then to encrease;
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Amongst my Sons I had one Daughter bright,
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Which joy'd and pleased best my aged sight.
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My Lavinia was betrothed then,
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To Caesars Son, a young and noble Man,
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Who in a hunting, by the Emperor's Wife
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And her two Sons, bereaved was of life.
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He being slain, was cast in cruel wise,
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Into a darksome den from light of skies;
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The cruel Moor did come that way as then,
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With my three Sons, who fell into the den.
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The Moor then fetcht the Emperor with speed,
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For to accuse them of that murderous deed:
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And when my Sons within the den was found,
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In wrongful prison were they cast and bound.
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But now behold that wounded most my mind,
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The Empress's two Sons, of Tygers kind,
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My Daughter ravished without remorse,
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And took away her Honour quite perforce.
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When they had tasted of so sweet a Flower,
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Fearing this sweet should turned be to sower,
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They cut her tongue whereby she could not tell
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How that dishonour unto her befel.
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Then both her hands they basely cut off quite,
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Whereby their wickedness she could not write,
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Nor with her needle on her sampler sow,
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The bloody Workers of her dismal woe.
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My Brother Marcus found her in the wood,
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Staining the grassy ground with purple blood,
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That trickled from her stumps and handless arms,
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No tongue at all she had to tell her harms.
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But when I saw her in that woful case,
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With tears of blood I wet my aged face;
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For my Lavinia I lamented more,
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Than for my two and twenty Sons before.
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Whenas I saw she could not write nor speak,
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With grief my aged heart began to break;
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We spread a heap of sand upon the ground,
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Whereby the bloody Tyrants out we found:
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For with a staff, without the help of hand,
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She writ these words upon a plat of sand:
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The lustful Sons of the proud Emperess,
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Are Doers of this hateful Wickedness.
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I tore the milk-white hairs from off my head,
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I curst the hour wherein I first was bred,
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I wish'd the hand that fought for Country's fame,
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In cradle rockt had first been stricken lame.
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The Moor delighting still in villany,
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Did say, to set my Sons from Prison free,
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I should unto the King my right hand give,
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And then my three imprisoned Sons should live.
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The Moor I caus'd to strike it off with speed,
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Whereat I grieved not to see it bleed,
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But for my Sons would willingly impart,
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And for their ransome send my bleeding heart.
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But as my life did linger thus in vain,
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They send to me my bootless hand again,
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And therewithal the heads of my three Sons,
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Which fill'd my dying heart with fresher groans.
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Then past relief, I up and down did go,
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And with my tears writ in the dust my woe;
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I shot my arrows towards Heaven high,
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And for revenge to Hell did often cry.
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The Empress thinking then that I was mad,
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Like Furies she and both her Sons were gla[d];
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So nam'd Revenge, and Rape, and Murther, they
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To undermine and hear what I would say.
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I fed their foolish veins a little space,
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Until my Friends did find a secret place,
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Where both her Sons unto a post was bound,
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Where just revenge in cruel sort was found.
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I cut their throats, my Daughter held the pan
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Betwixt her stumps, wherein the blood it ran;
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And then I ground their bones to powder small,
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And made a paste for pies straight therewithal.
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Then with their flesh I made two mighty pies,
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And at a banquet serv'd in stately wise;
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Before the Empress set this loathsome meat,
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So of her Sons own flesh she well did eat.
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Myself bereav'd my Daughter then of life,
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The Empress then I slew with bloody knife;
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And stab'd the Emperor immediately,
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And then myself, even so did Titus dye.
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Then this revenge against the Moor was found,
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Alive they set him half into the ground,
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Whereas he stood until such time he starv'd;
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And so God send all Murtherers may be serv'd.
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