SCENE IV.
The Forum, in Rome.
Enter Menenius, and Sicinius.
Men.
See you yon coign o' the Capitol; yon 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.
-- 491 --
But, I say, there is no 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 Marcius
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 9 notean 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.
1 noteHe sits 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;
and 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
respect not us.
-- 492 --
Enter a Messenger.
Mes.
Sir, if you'd save your life, fly 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 Volces are dislodg'd, and Marcius gone:
A merrier day did never yet greet Rome,
No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins.
Sic.
Friend,
Art thou certain, this is true? is it most certain?
Mes.
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 hurry'd the blown tide,
As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark you;
[Trumpets, hautboys, drums beat, all together.
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:
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.
-- 493 --
Mes.
Sir, we have all great cause to give great thanks.
Sic.
They are near the city?
Mes.
Almost at point to enter.
Sic.
We'll meet them, and help the joy.
[Exeunt.
Enter two Senators, with the Ladies, passing over the stage, &c. &c.
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:
Cry,—Welcome, ladies, welcome!—
All.
Welcome, ladies, welcome!
[A flourish with drums and trumpets. Exeunt.
Samuel Johnson [1778], The plays of William Shakspeare. In ten volumes. With the corrections and illustrations of various commentators; to which are added notes by Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. The second edition, Revised and Augmented (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10901].