%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> The Lamentable and Tragical History / OF / TITUS ANDRONICUS University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer ?-? Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 03/19/2016 35486

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

N34038 1 NONE Fortune my Foe YOU noble minds and famous martial knights, / That in defence of native country fights, Houghton Library Hazlitt EC65 Editor none none none none Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 82 1: 83 The Lamentable and Tragical History / OF / TITUS ANDRONICUS The Lamentable and Tragical History OF TITUS ANDRONICUS The Lamentable and Tragical History OF TITUS ANDRONICUS ?-?

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol Americas animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family Featured folklore gender holidays/ seasons infidelity labor/ craft law London love maritime marriage military/ war monstrosity mythology/ Classical news nobility/ court politics/ government procreation punishment race/ ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious groups royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgar humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 3/19/2016 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America death family military/ war mythology/ Classical violence Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 3/19/2016 4:22:40 PM XBallad King, Joyce Created XML Version of Ballad 3/19/2016 4:22:40 PM Transcription Supervisor Palmer, Megan Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/19/2016 4:22:40 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Levinson-Emley, Rachel Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/19/2016 4:22:40 PM Transcriptionist Two Lazzarin de Morais, Rebecca Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/19/2016 4:22:40 PM Transcriptionist One Chung, Daniella Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/10/2016 Checker Katie Adkison Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 2/26/2015 Checker Rachel LevinsonEmley Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 2/24/2015 Bibliographer Rachel LevinsonEmley Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 11/30/2015 Checker Rachel LevinsonEmley Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
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YOU noble minds and famous martial knights, 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 fame full threescore years, My name beloved was by all my peers, Full five and twenty valiant sons I had, Whose forward virtues made their father glad. For when Rome's 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 we did return to Rome again, Of five and twenty sons I brought but three Alive, the stately towers of Rome to see.
The Emperor did make the Queen his wife, Which bred in Rome debate and deadly strife: The Moor with her two sons did grow so proud, That none like them in Rome might be allow'd. The Moor so pleased this new Empress' eye, That she consented to him secretly, For to abuse her husband's marriage-bed, And 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 myself, my kin, and all my friends, In cruel sort to bring them to their ends. When wars were done, I conquest home did bring, And did present my prisoners to the king; The Queen of Goths, her son, and eke a Moor, Who did such murders, like was none before.
So when in age I thought to live in peace, Both care 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 Caesar's son, a young and noble man; Who in a hunting, by the Emperor's wife, And her two sons, bereaved was of life. He being slain, was cast in cruel wise, Into a darksome 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 fetch'd the Emperor with speed, For to accuse them of that barbarous deed; And when my sons within the den was found, In wrongful prison they were cast and bound. But now behold, what wounded most my mind, The empress's two sons, of tygers kind, My daughter ravished without remorse, And took away her honour quite, by force. When they had tasted of so sweet a flower, Fearing this sweet should turn to be a sower, They cut her tongue, whereby she could not tell. How this dishonour unto her befel. Then both her hands they basely cut off quite, Whereby their wickedness she could not write, Nor with a needle on her sampler sow, The bloody workers of her dismal woe. My brother Marcus found her in a wood, Staining the grassy 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 woeful case, With tears of blood I wet my aged face, For my Lavinia I lamented more, Than for my two and twenty sons before. When as I saw she could not write or speak, With grief my aged heart began to break; We spread a heap of sand upon the ground, Whereby the bloody tyrants out we found. For with a staff, without the help of hand, She writ these words upon the plat 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 curs'd the hour wherein I first was bred; I wish'd they had that fought for country's fame, In cradle rock'd had first been stricken lame. The Moor delighting still in villainy, 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 ransom send my bleeding heart. But as my life did linger thus 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 often 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 hear what I would say. I fed their foolish veins a little space, Until my friends did find a secret place, Where both her sons unto a post were bound, And just revenge in cruel sort was found. I cut their throats, my daughter held the pan Betwixt her stumps. wherein the blood it ran, And then I ground their bones to powder small, And made a paste for pies strait therewithal. Then with their flesh I made two mighty pies, And at the banquet serv'd in stately wise: Before the Empress I sat this loathsome meat, So of her sons own flesh she well did eat. Myself bereav'd my daughter then of life, The Empress too I slew with bloody knife, And stabb'd the Emperor immediately, And then myself; even so did TITUS die. Then this revenge against the Moor was found, Alive they set him half into the ground, Wherein he stood untill such time he starv'd, And so God send all murderers may be serv'd.
Printed and Sold at the Printing-Office in Bow Church-Yard, London.