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Whether I blush or no. Howbeit, I thank you.'
Corn. So, to our tent :
Lar. shall, my Lord.
Mar. The Gods begin to mock me: I that but now
Com. Take't, 'tis yours : what is’t ?
Mar. I sometime lay here in Corioli,
Com. O well begg'd!
Lar. Martius, his name?
Mar. By Jupiter, forgot :
Com. Go we to our tent ;
[Exeunt. SCENE XII. The Camp of the Volici. A flourish. Cornets. Enter Tullus Autidius bloody, wib
two or tbree Soldiers.
Auf. Condition !
I'th' part that is at mercy ? Five times, Martius,
Sol, He's the devil.
Where I find him, were it
Sol. Will not you go?
I pray you,
A А стІІ. SCENE 1.
HE Augur tells me, we shall have news to
Mer. 1 night
Bru. Good or bad?
М. Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Martius, Sic. Nature tcaches beasts to know their friends.
you not be
Men. Pray you, whom does the wolf love?
Men. Ay, to devour him, as the hungry Plebeians would the noble Martius.
Bru. He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear.
Men. He's a bear indeed, that lives like a lamb. You two are old men, tell me one thing that I shall ask you.
Borb. Well, Sir.
that have not in abundance ?
Bru. He's poor in no one fault, but stor’d with all.
Men. This is strange now! do you two know how you are censur'd here in the city, I mean of us o'th' right-band file, do you? Bru. Why
- how are we censur'd ? Men. Because you talk of pride now, will angry?
Borb. Well, well, Sir, well.
Men. Why, 'tis no great matter ; for a very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience — give your dispositions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures ; at the least if you take it as a pleasure to you in being so you blame Martius for being proud.
Bru. We do it not alone, Sir.
Men. I know you can do very little alone, for your helps are many, or else your actions would grow wondrous fingle ; your abilities are too infant-like, for doing much alone. You talk of pride - oh that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good felves! Oh that
could! Bru. What then, Sir?
Men. Why then you should discover a brace of as unmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates, alias fools, as any in Rome.
Sic. Menenius, you are knowa well enough too.
Men. I am known to be a humorous Patrician, and one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in't: said to be something imperfect in favouring the
firft complaint, hasty and tinder-like, upon too trivial mo-
Bru. Come, Sir, come, we know you well enough.
Men. You know neither me, your selves, nor any thing; you are ambitious for poor knaves caps and legs : you wear out a good wholesome forenoon, in hearing a cause between an orange-wife and a foflet-feller, and then adjourn a controversy of three-pence to a second day of audience.
When you are hearing a matter between party and party, if you chance to be pinch'd with the cholick, you make faces like mummers, set up the bloody flag against all patience, and in roaring for a chamber-pot, dismiss the controversy bleeding, the more intangled by your hearing : all the peace you make in their cause, is calling both the parties knayes. You are a pair of Atrange
Bru. Come, come, you are well understood to be a perfecter gyber for the table, than a necessary bencher in the Capitol.
Men. Our very priests must become mockers, if they shall encounter such ridiculous subjects as you are; when you speak best unto the purpofe, it is not worth the wagging of your beards, and your beards deserve not so honourable a grave as to stuff a botcher's cushion, or to be intomb’d in an ass's pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying, Martius is proud; who in a cheap estimation, is worth all your predecessors fince Deucalion, though peradventure some VOL. VII,
of the best of them were hereditary hangmen. Good-e'en to your Worships ; more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly Plebeians. Iwill be bold to take my leave of you.
[Exeunt Brutus and Sicinius. SCENE II. Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Valeria. How now, my as fair as noble Ladies, and the moon, were fre earthly, no nobler; whither do you follow your eyes so faft?
Vol. Honourable Menenius, my boy Martius approaches ; for the love of Juno let's go.
Men. Ha! Martius coming home ?
Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius, and with most prosperous approbation.
Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee - hoo, Martius coming home!
Botb. Nay, 'tis true.
Vol. Look, here's a letter from him, the State hath another, his wife anether, and I think there's one at home
Men. I will make my very house reel to-night: A letter for me! Vir. Yes, certain, there's a letter for
I saw't. Men. A letter for me! it gives me an estate of seven years health ;
in which time I will make a lip at the phylician: the most sovereign prescription in Galen is but Eni. peric, and to this preservative of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he not wounded ? he was wont to come home wounded.
Vir. Oh no, no, no.
Men. So do I too, if he be not too much ; brings he a victory in his pocket, the wounds become him.
Vol. On's brows, Menenius; he comes the third time home with the oaken garland.
Men. Hath he disciplin'd Aufidius soundly?
Vol. Titus Lartius writes, they fought together, but Axfidius got off.
Men. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him that: