The Lamentable and Tragical History of Titus Andronicus.
With the fall of his five and twenty Sons in the Wars of Goths, with the manner of his Daughter Lavinia, by the Empresses two Sons, through the means of a bloody Moor, taken by the Sword of Titus, in the War; his revenge upon their cruel and inhumane Act.

To the Tune of, Fortune my Foe.
YOu Noble minds, and famous Martial wights,
That in defence of Native Country fights,
Give ear to me, that ten years fought for Rome,
Yet reap'd disgrace at my returning home.
In Rome I liv'd in same full threescore years,
My name beloved was of all my Péers,
Full five and twenty valiant Sons I had,
Whose forward vertues made their Father glad.
For when Romes Foes their warlike forces felt,
Against them still my Sons and I were sent,
Against the Goths full ten years weary war,
We spent, receiving many a bloody scar.
Just two and twenty of my Sons were slain,
Before I did return to Rome again;
Of five and twenty Sons I brought but three
Alive, the stately Tower of Rome to see.
When Wars were done, I conquest home did bring
And did present my Prisoners to the King:
The Queen of Goths, her Sons, and eke a Moor,
Who did such Murder like was none before.
The Emperor did make the Queen his wife,
Which bread in Rome debate and deadly strife:
The Moor with her two Sons did grow so proud,
That none like them in Rome was then allow'd.
The Moor so pleas'd this new made Empress eye,
That she consented to him secretly,
For to abuse her Husbands Marriage-bed,
And so in time a Black-a-moor she bred.
Then she whose thoughts to murder was inclin'd,
Consented with the Moor with bloody mind,
Against my self, my kin, and all my friends,
In cruel sort to bring them to their ends.
So when in age I thought to live in peace,
Both woe and grief began then to encrease,
Amongst my Sons I had one daughter bright,
Which joy'd and pleased best my aged sight.
My Lavinia was betrothed then,
To Cesars Son a young and noble man,
Who in a hunting, by the Emperours wife,
And her two Sons, bereaved was of life,
He being slain, was cast in cruel wise,
Into a darksom den from light of skies;
The cruel Moor did come that way as then,
With my three Sons, who fell into the Den.
The Moor then fetcht the Emperor with speed,
For to accuse them of that murderous déed,
And when my Sons within the Den was found,
In wrongful prison were they cast and bound.
BVt now behold what wounded most my mind,
The Empresses two Sons of Tygers kind,
My Daughter ravished without remorse,
And took away her honour quite perforce.
When they had tasted of so sweet a flower,
Fearing this sweet should quickly turn to sowre,
They cut her tongue, whereby she could not tell,
How that dishonour unto her befel.
Then both her hands they basely cut off quite,
Whereby their wickedness she could not write,
Nor with her Needle on her Sampler sow,
The bloody workers of her dismal woe.
My brother Marcus found her in the Wood,
Staining the grasie ground with purple blood,
That trickled from her stumps and handless arms,
No tongue at all she had to tell her harms.
But when I saw her in that woful case,
With tears of blood I wet my aged face,
For my Lavinia I lamented more,
Then for my two and twenty Sons before.
When as I saw she could not write nor speak,
With grief my aged heart began to break;
We spread a heap of sand upon the ground,
Whereby these bloody Tyrants out we found.
For with a staff, without the help of hand,
She writ these words upon a plot of sand:
The Lustful sons of the proud Empress,
Are doers of this hateful wickedness.
I tore the milk-white hairs from off my head,
I curst the hour wherein I first was bred,
I wisht the hand that fought for countries fame,
In cradle rockt had first been strucken lame.
The Moor delighting still in villany,
Did say, to set my Sons from prison free,
I should unto the King my right hand give,
And then my three imprisoned Sons should live.
The Moor I caus'd to strike it off with speed,
Whereat I grieved not to see it bleed,
But for my Sons would willingly impart,
And for their ransome send my bleeding heart.
But as my life did linger then in vain,
They sent to me my bootless hand again:
And therewithal the heads of my three sons,
Which fill'd my dying heart with fresher groans.
Then past relief I up and down did go,
And with my tears writ in the dust my woe,
I shot my arrows towards Heaven high,
And for revenge to hell did sometimes cry.
The Empress thinking then that I was mad,
Like Furies she and both her Sons were glad:
So nam'd revenge, and rape, and murder, they
To undermine and know what I would say.
I fed their foolish veins a little space,
Vntil my friends and I did find a place,
Where both her Sons unto a post was bound,
Where just revenge in cruel sort was found.
I cut their throats, my Daughter held the pan,
Betwixt her stumps, wherein the blood then ran;
And then I ground their bones to powder small,
And made a paste for pies straight therewithal.
Then with their flesh I made two mighty Pies,
And at a Banquet serv'd in stately wise,
Before the Empress set this loathsom meat,
So of her Sons own flesh she well did eat.
My self bereav'd my daughter then of life,
The Empress then I slew with bloody knife,
And stab'd the Emperor immediately,
And then my self, even so did Titus dye.
Then this revenge against the Moor was found,
Alive they let him half into the ground;
Whereas he stood until such time he starv'd,
And so God send all Murderers may be serv'd.

Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, J. Wright and J. Clarke.

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