Imatges de pÓgina

That I receive the general food at first,

you do live upon; and fit it is,
Because I am the store-house, and the shop
Of the whole body. But, if you do remember,
I send it through the rivers of your blood,
Even to the Court, the Heart; to th' seat 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 says the belly) mark me-

2 Cit. Ay, Şir, 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 say you to't?

2 Cit. It was an answer ; – how apply you this?

Men. The Senators of Rome are this good belly, , And you the mutinous Members; for examine Their Counsels, and their Cares; digest things rightly, Touching the weal o’th’ Common; you shall find, No publick benefit, which you receive, But ic proceeds, or comes, from them to you, And no way from your selves. What do you think? You, the great toe of this Assembly!

2 Cit. I the great toe! why, the great toe?

Men. For that, being one o'th' lowest, basest, poorest, Of this most wise Rebellion, thou goeft formost: Thou rascal, that are worst in blood to run, Lead'At first, to win some vantage. But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs, Rome and her rats are at the point of battel : (3) The one fide must have Bale.


(3) The one Side must have Bail.] It must be the vanquisht Side, 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 restor'd ;

The one Side must bave Bale. i. c. Sorrow, Misfortune, must have the worst of it, be discomfited. I Enter Caius Marcius. Hail, noble Marcius ! Mar. Thanks. What's the matter, you diffentious

rogues, That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion, Make your selves scabs?

2 Cit. We have ever your good word. Mar. He, that will give good words to thee, will

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

Where foxes, geese: You are no surer, no,
Than is the coal of fire upon the ice,
Or hailstone in the Sun. Your virtue is,

have restor'd this Word in some other Pallages of our Author; and we meet with it in a Play, attributed to him, callid Locrine :

-Yea, with these Eyes thou haft seen her, and therefore pull there ext, for they will work tby Bale. Mr. Rowe, indeed, in his Editions of our Poet, has erroneously printed Bail too in this passage ; but in the old Quarto which I have of Locrine, printed in 1595, we find the Word spelt as it ought. And it was a Term familiar both with Authors prior in Time, and Contemporaries with Shakespeare.

and eke ber Fingirs long and smale She wrong full oft, and bade God.on ber

And with the Death to doe bote on her Bale: &c.

Chaucer's Troil. and Crefeide. Book IV. verfe 738.
And the black Holme, that loves the watry Vale,
And the sweet Cypress, fagn of deadly Bale.

Spenser's Translation of Virgil's Gnat. And again,

Said He, what have I Wretch deferv'd, that thus
Into this bitter Bale I am out-caft.

Idem ibid.
Thus greatest Bliss is prone to greatest Bale.

First Chorus of Hercules Oetæus from Seneca ; printed in 1581.
And leaft my Foe, false Promos bere,
Do interrupt my

Tale ;
Grant, gracious King, that, uncontrould,
I may report my Bale.
Promos and Cassandra, (a Play,) printed in 1578.



To make him worthy, whose offence subdues him,
And curse that justice, did it. Who deserves Great-

Deferves your Hate; and your affections are
A fick man's appetite, who desires most That
Which would increase his evil. He, that depends
Upon your favours, swims with fins of lead,
And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye-- trust ye!
With every minute you do change à mind,
And call him noble, that was now your hate;
Him vile, that was your garland. What's the matter,
That in the several places of the City
You cry against the noble Senare, who
(Under the Gods) keep you in awe, which elfe
Would feed on one another? what's their Secking?

Mer. For corn at their own rates, whereof, they fay,
The City is well stor'd.

Mar. Hang 'em : they say!
They'll fit by th' fire, and presume to know
What's done i'th' Capitol ; who's like to rise ;
Who thrives, and who declines: fide factions, and give
Conje&ural marriages ; making parties strong,
And feebling Such, as stand not in their Liking,
Below their

cobbled shooes. They fay, there's Grain

Would the Nobility lay aside their ruth,
And let me use my sword, I'd make a quarry
With thousands of these quarter'd Slaves, as high
As I could pitch my lance.
· Men. Nay, these are almost thoroughly persuaded :
For though abundantly they lack discretion,
Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I beseech you,
What says the other troop?

Mar. They are diffolv'd; hang 'em,
They said they were an hungry, ligh’d forth Proverbs ;
That hunger broke stone walls -- that dogs must eat, ---
That meat was made for mouths — that the Gods fent not
Corn for the rich men only -- With these shreds
They vented their complainings : which being answer'd,



And a Petition granted them, a strange one,
To break the heart of Generosity,
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 wisdoms,
Of their own choice. One's Junius Brutus,
Sicinius Velutus, and I know not-

The rabble should have first unroof'd the City,
Ere so prevail'd with me! it will in time
Win upon Power, and throw forth greater themes
For Insurrection's arguing.

Men. This is strange.
Mar. Go, get you home, you fragments!

Enter a Meffenger.
Mes. Where's Caius Marcius?
Mar. Here what's the matter?
Mef. The news is, Sir, the Volscians are in arms.

Mar. I'm glad on’t, then we shall have means to vent
Our musty superfluity. See, our best Elders!
Enter Sicinius Velutus, Junius Brutus, Cominius,

Titus Lartius, with other Senators.
I Sen. Marcius, 'tis true, that you have lately told us,
The Volscians are in arms.

Mar. They have a Leader,
Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to't.
I sin in envying his Nobility :
And were I any thing but what I am,
I'd wish 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.

I Sen. Then worthy Marcius, Attend upon Cominius to these wars. Gom. It is your former promise.


Mar. Sir, it is ;
And I am constant : Titus Lartius, thou
Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face.
What, art thou stiff ? stand'It out

Tit. No, Gaius Marcius,
I'll lean upon one crutch, and fight with t'other ;
Ere stay behind this business.

Men. O true bred!

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

Tit. Lead you on;
Follow, Cominius; we must follow you ;
Right worthy you Priority.

Com. Noble Lartius! -
i Sen. Hence to your homes be gone.

[To the Citizens.
Mar. Nay, let them follow;
The Volscians have much Corn: take these rats thither,
To gnaw their garners. Worshipful Mutineers,
Your valour puts well forth; pray, follow.

[Citizens steal away. Manent Sicinius and Brutus.
Sic. Was ever man so proud, as is this Marcius ?
Bru. He has no equal.
Sic. When we were chosen Tribunes for the People
Bru. Mark'd you his lip and eyes?
Sic. Nay, but his taunts.
Bru. Being mov'd, he will not spare to gird tho

Sic. Be-mock the modest Moon,

Bru. (4) The present Wars devour him; he is grown
Too proud to be so valiant.
(4) The present Wars devour bim; be is grown

Too proud to be fo valiant.] This is very obscurely express'd; but the Poet's Meaning must certainly be This. Marcius is so conscious of, and so clate upon, the Notion of his own Valour, that he is eaten up with Pride ; devour'd with the Apprehensions of That Glory which he promises himself from the ensueing War. A Sentiment, like This, occurs again in Troilus and Creffida.

He, that is proud, eats up himself. Pride is his own Glass, his own Trumpet, bis own Chronicle, and whatever praises itself but in the Deed, devours the Deed in the Praise.


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