Titus Andronicus Complaint.

<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="bold"><hi rend="italic">Titus Andronicus</hi></hi> <hi rend="italic">Complaint. To the tune of Fortune.</hi> </seg>

Y Ou noble minds and famous martiall wights, That in defence of native Country fights; Give eare to me that ten yeeres fought for Rome, Yet reapt disgrace when I returned home, In Rome I liv'd in fame full threescore yeeres, My name beloved was of all my Peeres, Full five and twenty valiant sons I had, Whose forward vertues made their father glad. For when Romes foes their warlike forces bent, Against them still my sons and I were sent, Against the Gothes full ten yeeres weary warre We spent, receiving many a bloody scarre. Just two and twenty of my sons were slaine, Before we did returne to Rome againe: Of five and twenty sons I brought but three Alive, the stately Towers of Rome to see. When wars were done, I conquest home did bring And did present my prisonsrs to the King: The Queene of Gothes, her sons, and eke a Moore, Which did such murders; the like was nere before. The Emperour did make the Queene his wife, Which bred in Rome debate and deadly strife, The Moore with her two sons did grow so proud, That none like them in Rome was then alowd. The Moore so pleasd the new made Empresse eie, That she consented with him secretly For to abuse her husbands marriage bed, And so in time a Blackamoore she bred. Then she whose thoughts to murder were inclin'd Consented with the Moore with bloody mind, Agoinst my selfe, my kin, and all my friends, In cruell sort to bring them to their ends. So when in age I thought to live in peace, Both woe and griefe began then to encrease: Amongst my sons I had one daughter bright, Which joy'd and pleased best my aged sight: My deare Lavinia was betroth'd as than, 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 slaine, was cast in cruell wise, Into a dismall den from light of skies: The cruell Moore did come that way as then, With my two sons, who fell into that den, The Moore then fetcht the Emperour with speed For to accuse them of that murderous deed, And when my sons within the den were found, In wrongfull prison they were cast and bound: But now behold what wounded most my mind, The Emperours two sons of Tygers kind, My daughter ravished without remorse, And tooke away her honour quite perforce. When they had tasted of so sweet a flowre, Fearing their sweet should shortly turn to sowre, They cut her tongue, whereby she could not tell, How that dishonour unto her befell. Then both her hands they falsly cut off quite, Whereby their wickednesse she could not write, Nor with her needle on her Sampler sow, The bloody workers of her direfull woe.

My brother Marcus found her in the wood, Staining the grassie ground with purple blood, That trickled from her stumps & handlesse armes, No tongue at all she had to tell her armes. But when I saw her in that wofull case, With teares 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 speake, With griefe my aged heart began to breake, We spread of sand upon the ground, Whereby those bloody tyrants we out found. For with a staffe, without the helpe of hand, She writ these words upon the plot of sand, The lustfull sons of the proud Empresse, Are doers of this hatefull wickednesse. I tare the milke-white haires from off my head, I curst the houre wherein I was first bred; I wisht my hand that fought for Countries fame, In Cradle rockt, had first bin strucken lame. The Moore 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 two imprisoned sons should live. The Moore I causd 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 thus in paine, They sent to me my bloodlesse hand againe, And therewithall, the heads of my two sons, Which fild my dying heart with fresher groanes. Then past reliefe, I up and downe did goe, And with my teares, writ in the dust my woe: I shot my arrowes towards heaven hie: And for revenge to hell did sometimes cry. The Empresse thinking then that I was mad, Like Furies she and both her sons were clad, She nam'd Revenge, and Rape, and Murther they, To undermine and know what I would say. I fed their foolish veines a certain space, Untill my friends and I did find a place, Where both her sons unto a post were bound, Where just revenge in cruell sort was found. I cut their throates, my daughter held the pan, Betwixt her stumps, wherein the blood then ran, And then I ground their bones in powder small, And made a paste for pyes straight therewithall. Then with their flesh I made two mighty pyes, And at a banket serv'd it in stately wise, Before the Empresse set this loathesome meat: So of her sons owne flesh she well did eat. My selfe bereav'd my daughter then of life: The Empresse then I slew with bloody knife: I stabb'd the Emperour immediately, And then my selfe; even so did Titus d[y]e. Then this revenge against the Moore was found [Alive] they set him halfe into the ground, Whereas he stood untill such time he starv'd, And so God send all muderers may be serv'd.

London printed for E. Wright. FINIS.