Enter Menenius and Sicinius.
See you yon'd Coin a'th Capitol, yon'd corner ſtone?
Why what of that?
If it be poſſible for you to diſplace it with your
little finger, there is ſome hope the Ladies of Rome, eſpe-
cially his Mother, may preuaile with him. But I ſay, there
is no hope in't, our throats are ſentenc'd, and ſtay vppon
Is't poſsible, that ſo ſhort a time can alter the
condition of a man.
There is differency between a Grub & a But-
terfly, yet your Butterfly was a Grub: this Martius, is
growne from Man to Dragon: He has wings, hee's more
then a creeping thing.
He lou'd his Mother deerely.
So did he mee: and he no more remembers his
Mother now, then an eight yeare old horſe. The tartneſſe
of his face, ſowres ripe Grapes. When he walks, he moues
like an Engine, and the ground ſhrinkes before his Trea-
ding. He is able to pierce a Corſlet with his eye: Talkes
like a knell, and his hum is a Battery. He fits in his State,
as a thing made for Alexander. What he bids bee done, is
finiſht with his bidding. He wants nothing of a God but
Eternity, and a Heauen to Throne in.
Yes, mercy, if you report him truly.
I paint him in the Character. Mark what mer-
cy his Mother ſhall bring from him: There is no more
mercy in him, then there is milke in a male-Tyger, that
ſhall our poore City finde: and all this is long of you.
The Gods be good vnto vs.
No, in ſuch a caſe the Gods will not bee good
vnto vs. When we baniſh'd him, we reſpected not them:
and he returning to breake our necks, they reſpect not vs.
Enter a Meſſenger.
Sir, if you'ld ſaue your life, flye to your Houſe,
The Plebeians haue got your Fellow Tribune,
And hale him vp and downe; all ſwearing, if
The Romane Ladies bring not comfort home,
They'l giue him death by Inches.
Enter another Meſſenger.
What's the Newes?
Good Newes, good newes, the Ladies haue preuayl'd,
The Volcians are diſlodg'd, and Martius gone:
A merrier day did neuer yet greet Rome,
No, not th'expulſion of the Tar quins.
Friend, art thou certaine this is true?
Is't moſt certaine.
As certaine as I know the Sun is fire:
Where haue you lurk'd that you make doubt ofit:
Ne're through an Arch ſo hurried the blowne Tide,
As the recomforted through th'gates. Why harke you:
Trumpets, Hoboyes, Drums beate, altogether.
The Trumpets, Sack-buts, Pſalteries, and Fifes,
Tabors, and Symboles, and the ſhowting Romans;
Make the Sunne dance. Hearke you. A ſhout within
This is good Newes:
I will go meete the Ladies. This Volumnia,
Is worth of Conſuls, Senators, Patricians,
A City full :Of Tribunes ſuch as you,
A Sea and Land full: you haue pray'd well to day:
This Morning, for ten thouſand of your throates,
I'de not haue giuen a doit. Harke, how they ioy.
Sound ſtill with the Shouts.
Firſt, the Gods bleſſe you for your tydings:
Next, accept my thankefulneſſe.
Sir, we haue all great cauſe to giue great thanks.
They are neere the City.
Almoſt at point to enter.
Wee'l meet them, and helpe the ioy. Exeunt.