Imatges de pàgina
PDF
EPUB

Even to the court, the heart; to th' feat o' th' brain;
And, through the cranks and offices of man,
The strongest nerves, and small inferior veins,
From me receive that natural competency,
Whereby they live. And though that all at once,
You, my good friends, (this fays the belly) mark mé→→→
2 Cit. Ay, Sir, well, well.

Men. Though all at once cannot
See what I do deliver out to each,

Yet I can make my audit up, that all

From me do back receive the flow'r of all,
And leave me but the bran. What fay you to't?
2 Cit. It was an answer;-how apply you this?
Men. The fenators of Rome are this good belly,
And you the mutinous members; for examine
Their counfels, and their cares; digeft things rightly,
Touching the weal o' th' common; you
fhall find,
No publick benefit, which you receive,

But it proceeds, or comes, from them to you,
And no way from yourselves. What do you think?
You, the great toe of this affembly!-

z Cit. I the great toe! why, the great toe?
Men. For that, being one o' th' loweft, bafeft, pooreft,
Of this moft wife rebellion, thou goeft foremoft:
Thou rafcal, that are worst in blood to run.
Lead'st first, to win fome vantage.-

But make you ready your ftiff bats and clubs,
Rome and her rats are at the point of battle:
(3) The one fide muft have bale.

Enter

(3) The one fide must have bail. ] It must be the vanquisht fide, sure, that could want it; and who were likely to be their bail? but it is endless to question with negligence and stupidity. The poet, undoubtedly wrote, as I have reftor'd;

The one fide muft have bale.

i. e. Sorrow, misfortune, muft have the worst of it, be discomfited. I have reftor'd this word in fome other paffages of our author; and we meet with it in a play, attributed to him, call'd Locrine:

----Yea, with thefe eyes thou haft seen her, and therefore pull them out, for they will work thy bale. Mr. Rowe, indeed, in his editions of our poet, has erroneously printed bail too in this paffage; but in the old quarto which I have of Locrines

printed

Enter Caius Marcius.

Hail, noble Marcius!

[rogues,

Mar. Thanks. What's the matter, you diffentious That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion, Make yourselves fcabs?

2 Cit. We have ever your good word.

Mar. He, that will give good words to thee, will flatter Beneath abhorring. What would you have, ye curs, That like nor peace, nor war? The one affrights you The other makes you proud. He that trufts to you, Where he should find you lions, finds you hares: Where foxes, geefe: You are no furer, no, Than is the coal of fire upon the ice,

Or hailstone in the fun. Your virtue is,

To make him worthy, whofe offence fubdues him,
And curfe that juftice, did it. Who deferves greatness,
Deferves your hate; and your affections are

A fick man's appetite, who defires most that
Which would increase his evil. He, that depends
Upon your favours, fwims with fins of lead,

And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye truft ye!
With every minute you do change a mind,

printed in 1595, we find the word fpelt as it ought. And it was a term familiar both with authors prior in time, and contemporaries with Shakespeare.

and eke her fingirs long and fmale

She wrong full oft, and bade God on her rue,

And with the death to doe bote on her bale: &c.

Chaucer's Troil, and Crefeide. Book IV. verse 738.

And the black holme, that loves the wat❜ry vale,

And the sweet cyprefs, fign of deadly bale.

And again,

Spenfer's Tranflation of Virgil's Guat.

Said he, what have I wretch deferv'd, that thus

Into this bitter bale I am out-caft.

Thus greatest blifs is prone to greatest bale.

Idem ibid.

First Chorus of Hercules Oetus from Seneca; printed in 1581.

And least my foe, falfe Promos here,

Do interrupt my tale;

Grant, gracious King, that, uncontroul'd,

I may report my bale.

Promes and Caffandra, (a Play,) printed in 1578.

And

And call him noble, that was now your hate;
Him vile, that was your garland. What's the matter,
That in the feveral places of the city

You cry against the noble Senate, who

(Under the gods) keep you in awe, which elfe
Would feed on one another? what's their feeking !
Men. For corn at their own rates, whereof, they say,
The city is well ftor'd.

Mar. Hang 'em: they fay!

They'll fit by th' fire, and prefume to know
What's done i' th' capitol; who's like to rife;

Who thrives, and who declines: fide factions, and give out
Conjectural marriages; making parties strong,
And feebling fuch, as ftand not in their liking,
Below their cobbled fhooes. They fay, there's grain
enough!

Would the nobility lay afide their ruth,
And let me ufe my fword, I'd make a quarry
With thousands of these quarter'd flaves, as high
As I could pitch my lance.

Men. Nay, thefe are almost thoroughly perfuaded : For though abundantly they lack difcretion,

Yet are they paffing cowardly.

What fays the other troop?

But, I beseech you,

Mar. They are diffolv'd; hang 'em,

They faid they were an hungry, figh'd forth proverbs
That hunger broke ftone walls-that dogs must eat,-
That meat was made for mouths-that the gods fent not
Corn for the rich men only-With thefe fhreds

They vented their complainings: which being anfwer'd,
And a petition granted them, a ftrange one,
To break the heart of generofity,

And make bold power look pale; they threw their caps
As they would hang them on the horns o"th' moon,
Shouting their emulation.

Men. What is granted them?

Mar. Five tribunes to defend their vulgar wifdoms, Of their own choice. One's Junius Brutus, Sicinius Velutus, and I know not-s' death, The rabble fhould have firft unroof'd the city,

Ere

Ere fo prevail'd with me! it will in time

Win upon power, and throw forth greater themes
For infurrection's arguing.

Men. This is ftrange.

Mar. Go, get you home, you fragments!

Enter a Mefenger.

Mef. Where's Caius Marcius?

Mar. Here-what's the matter?

Mef. The news is, Sir, the Volfcians are in arms. Mar. I'm glad on't, then we shall have means to vent Our mufty fuperfluity. See, our beft elders!Enter Sicinius Velutus, Junius Brutus, Cominius, Titus Lartius, with other Senators.

1 Sen. Marcius, 'tis true, that you have lately told us, The Volfcians are in arms.

Mar. They have a leader,

Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to't.
I fin in envying his nobility:

And were I any thing but what I am,

I'd with me only he.

Com. You have fought together?

Mar. Were half to half the world by th' ears, and he Upon my party, I'd revolt, to make

Only my wars with him. He is a lion,

That I am proud to hunt.

1 Sen. Then worthy Marcius,

Attend upon Cominius to thefe wars.
Com. It is your former promise.

Mar. Sir, it is;

And I am conftant: Titus Lartius, thou

Shalt fee me once more ftrike at Tullus' face.

What, art thou stiff? stand'st out?

Tit. No Caius Marcius,

I'll lean upon one crutch, and fight with t' other;

Ere ftay behind this bufinefs.

Men. O true bred!

1 Sen. Your company to th' capitol; where, I know, Our greatest friends attend us.

[blocks in formation]

Com. Noble Lartius!·

you;

1 Sen. Hence to your homes-be gone.

Mar. Nay, let them follow;

[To the Citizente

The Volfcians have much corn: take thefe rats thither,
To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutineers,
Your valour puts well forth; pray, follow.

[Citizens feal away.

[Exeunt, Manent Sicinius and Brutas. Sic. Was ever man fo proud, as is this Marcius? Bru. He has no equal.

Sic. When we were chofen tribunes for the peopleBru. Mark'd you his lip and eyes?

Sic Nay, but his taunts.

Bru. Being mov'd, he will not spare to gird the godsSic. Be-mock the modeft moon,

Bru. (4) The prefent wars devour him; he is grown Too proud to be fo valiant.

Sic. Such a nature,

Tickled with good fuccefs, difdains the fhadow
Which he treads on at noon; but I do wonder,
His infolence can brook to be commanded
Under Cominius.

Bru. Fame, at the which he aims,

In whom already he is well grac'd, cannot
Better be held, nor more attain'd, than by
A place below the firft; for what mifcarries
Shall be the General's fault, tho' he perform
To the utmost of a man; and giddy cenfure

(4) The prefent wars devour bim; he is grown

Too proud to be fo valiant.] This is very obfcurely exprefs'd; but the poet's meaning muft certainly be this. Marcius is fo confcious of, and fo elate upon, the notion of his own valour, that he is eaten up with pride; devour'd with the apprehenfions of that glory which he promises himself from the enfuing war. A fentiment, like this, occurs again in Troilus and Creffida.

He, that is proud, eats up bimfelf. Pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle; and whatever praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the praise.

« AnteriorContinua »