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Cor. I beseech you, Peace :
Vol. Oh, no more: No more :
you fail in our request, the blame
Cor. Aufidius, and you Volscies, mark; for we'll Hear nought from Rome in private. Your Request?
Vol. Should we be silent and not speak, our Raiment And state of Bodies would bewray what Life We have led since thy Exile. Think with thy felf, How more unfortunate than living Women Are we come hither; since that thy sight, which Mould Make our Hearts flow with Joy, Hearts dance with Comforts, Constrains them weep, and shake with Fear and Sorrow, Making the Mother, Wife, and Child to see, The Son, the Husband, and the Father tearing His Courtry's Bowels out : And to poor we, Thine Enmity's most Capital : Thou barr’st us Our Prayers to the Gods, which is a comfort That all but we enjoy. For how can we? Alas ! how can we, for our Country pray, Whereto we are bound? Together with thy Vi&ory, Whereto we are bound? Alack, or we must lose The Country, our dear Nurse, or else thy Person Our comfort in the Country. We must find An eminent Calamity, tho' we had Our wil, which fide shou'd win. For either thou Must, as a Foreign Recreant be led With Manacles through our Streets, or else Triumphantly tread on thy Country's Ruin, And bear the Palm, for having bravely shed Thy Wife and Childrens Blood : For my self, Son,
I purpose not to wait on Fortune, 'till
Virg. Ay, and mine too, thatbrought you forth this Boy,
Boy. A shall not tread on me : I'll run away
Cor. Not of a Woman's tenderness to be,
Vol. Nay, go not from us thus :
Thin can our Reasons. There is no Man in the World
[Holds her by the Hand, filenz.
Auf. I was mov'd withal.
Cor. I dare be sworn you were ;
What Peace you'll make, advise me : For my part,
Anf. I am glad thou hast set thy Mercy, and thy Honour
[To Vol. Virg, &c.
[Exeunt, SCENE III. Rome.
Enter Menenius and Sicinius. Men. See you yond Coin o'ch'Capitol, yond Corner Scones -Sic. Why, what of that?
Men. If ic be poslible for you to displace it with your little Finger, there is some hope the Ladies of Rome, espe, cially his Mother, may prevail with him. But I say, there is nó hope in't, our Throats are sentenc'd, and stay upon Execution,
Sic. Is't possible that so short a time can alter the condition of a Man.
Men. There is difference between a Grub and a Butterfly, yet your Butterfly was a Grub; this Martius is grown from Man to Dragon: He has Wings, he's more than a creeping, thing. ; Sic. He lov'd his Mother dearly.
Men. So did he me : And he no more remembers his Mother now, than an eight years old Horse. The tartness of his Face fours ripe Grapes. When he walks, he moves like an Engine, and the Ground shrinks before his Treading. He is able to pierce a Corflet with his Eye : Talks like a Knell, and his hum is a Battery. He fits in his State as a thing made for Alexander, What he bids be done is finish'd 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-Tyger; 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 banish'd him, we respected not them: And he returning to break our Necks, they refpe& not us.
Enter a Messenger. Mes. Sir, if you'd save your Life flye 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 another Messenger. Sic. What's the News ?
Mes. Good News, good News, the Ladies have prevail’d, The Volscians are dislodg'd, and Martius gone: A merrier Day did never yet greet Rome, No, not th’ Expulsion of the Tarquins.
Sic. Friend, art thou certain this is true? Is't most certain ?
Mef. 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 fo hurried the blown Tide, As the recomforted through th'Gates. Why, hark you.
[Trumpets, Hantboys, Drums beat, all together. The Trumpets, Sackbuts, Psalteries and Fifes, Tabors and Cymbals, and the shouting Romans Make the Sun dance. Hark you.
[Afbout 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.
[Sound still with the Shouts. Sic. First, the Gods bless you for your Tidings : Next, accept my Thankfulness.
Mes. Sir, we have all great cause to give great thanks. Sic. They are near the City?