Rome. A Public Place. |
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Enter MENENIUS and SICINIUS. |
Men. See you yond coign o' the Capitol, yond corner-stone? |
Sic. Why, what of that? |
Men. If it be possible for you to displace it with your little finger, there is some hope the ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him. But I say, there is no hope in 't. Our throats are sentenced and stay upon execution. |
Sic. Is't possible that so short a time can alter the condition of a man? |
Men. There is differency between a grub and a butterfly; yet your butterfly was a grub. This Marcius is grown from man to dragon: he has wings; he's more than a creeping thing. |
Sic. He loved his mother dearly. |
Men. So did he me; and he no more remembers his mother now than an eight-year-old horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes: when he walks, he moves like an engine, and the ground shrinks before his treading: he is able to pierce a corslet with his eye; talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. He sits in his state, as a thing made for Alexander. What he bids be done is finished with his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but eternity and a heaven to throne in. |
Sic. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly. |
Men. I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy his mother shall bring from him: there is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger; that shall our poor city find: and all this is 'long of you. |
Sic. The gods be good unto us! |
Men. No, in such a case the gods will not be good unto us. When we banished him, we respected not them; and, he returning to break our necks, they respect not us. |
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Enter a Messenger. |
Mess. Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your house: |
The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune, |
And hale him up and down; all swearing, if |
The Roman ladies bring not comfort home, |
They'll give him death by inches. |
|
Enter a second Messenger. |
Sic. What's the news? |
Sec. Mess. Good news, good news! the ladies have prevail'd, |
The Volscians are dislodg'd, and Marcius gone. |
A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, |
No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins. |
Sic. Friend, |
Art thou certain this is true? is it most certain? |
Sec. Mess. As certain as I know the sun is fire: |
Where have you lurk'd that you make doubt of it? |
Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide, |
As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark you! [Trumpets and hautboys sounded, and drums beaten, all together. Shouting also within. |
The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes, |
Tabors, and cymbals, and the shouting Romans, |
Make the sun dance. Hark you! [A shout within. |
Men. This is good news: |
I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia |
Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians, |
A city full; of tribunes, such as you, |
A sea and land full. You have pray'd well to-day: |
This morning for ten thousand of your throats |
I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy! [Music still and shouts. |
Sic. First, the gods bless you for your tidings; next, |
Accept my thankfulness. |
Sec. Mess. Sir, we have all |
Great cause to give great thanks. |
Sic. They are near the city? |
Sec. Mess. Almost at point to enter. |
Sic. We will meet them, |
And help the joy. [Going. |
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Enter the Ladies, accompanied by Senators, Patricians, and People. They pass over the stage. |
First Sen. Behold our patroness, the life of Rome! |
Call all your tribes together, praise the gods, |
And make triumphant fires; strew flowers before them: |
Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius; |
Repeal him with the welcome of his mother; |
Cry, 'Welcome, ladies, welcome!' |
All. Welcome, ladies, |
Welcome! [A flourish with drums and trumpets. Exeunt. |
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