MARCUS.
Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter
His noble nephew here in virtue's nest,
That died in honour and Lavinia's cause:
Thou art a Roman,--be not barbarous.
The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax,
That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son
Did graciously plead for his funerals:
Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy,
Be barr'd his entrance here.

TITUS.
Rise, Marcus, rise:
The dismall'st day is this that e'er I saw,
To be dishonour'd by my sons in Rome!--
Well, bury him, and bury me the next.

[MUTIUS is put into the tomb.]

LUCIUS.
There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends,
Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb.

ALL.
[Kneeling.] No man shed tears for noble Mutius;
He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause.

MARCUS.
My lord,--to step out of these dreary dumps,--
How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths