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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. | 5 |
| 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. | 10 |
| 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: | 15 |
| 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. | |
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Enter a second Messenger. | 20 |
| 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. | 25 |
| 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, | 30 |
| 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: | 35 |
| 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 | 40 |
| 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. | 45 |
| 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. | 50 |
| 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; | 55 |
| Cry, ‘Welcome, ladies, welcome!’ | |
| All. Welcome, ladies, | |
| Welcome! [A flourish with drums and trumpets. Exeunt. | |
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