Mut. My lord, you pass not here.
Tit. What! villain boy;
Barr'st me my way in Rome? He kills him.
Mut. Help, Lucius, help!
Luc. My lord, you are unjust; and, more than so, 292
In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son.
Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine;
My sons would never so dishonour me.
Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor. 296
Luc. Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife
That is another's lawful promis'd love. [Exit.]
Enter, aloft, the Emperor with Tamora and her two Sons, and Aaron the Moor.
Sat. No, Titus, no; the emperor needs her not,
Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock: 300
I'll trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once;
Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons,
Confederates all thus to dishonour me.
Was none in Rome to make a stale 304
But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus,
Agreed these deeds with that proud brag of thine,
That saidst I begg'd the empire at thy hands.
Tit. O monstrous! what reproachful words are these! 308
Sat. But go thy ways; go, give that changing piece
To him that flourish'd for her with his sword.
A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy;
One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons, 312
301 I'll . . . leisure: I'll be in no hurry to trust
304 stale: laughing-stock
309 piece: wench
312 bandy: contend; cf. n.
