Hayle, Noble Martius

Mar. Thanks. What's the matter you dissentious rogues That rubbing the poore Itch of your Opinion, Make your selues Scabs

2.Cit. We haue euer your good word

Mar. He that will giue good words to thee, wil flatter Beneath abhorring. What would you haue, you Curres, That like nor Peace, nor Warre? The one affrights you, The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you, Where he should finde you Lyons, findes you Hares: Where Foxes, Geese you are: No surer, no, Then is the coale of fire vpon the Ice, Or Hailstone in the Sun. Your Vertue is, To make him worthy, whose offence subdues him, And curse that Iustice did it. Who deserues Greatnes, Deserues your Hate: and your Affections are A sickmans Appetite; who desires most that Which would encrease his euill. He that depends Vpon your fauours, swimmes with finnes of Leade, And hewes downe Oakes, with rushes. Hang ye: trust ye? With euery Minute you do change a Minde, And call him Noble, that was now your Hate: Him vilde, that was your Garland. What's the matter, That in these seuerall places of the Citie, You cry against the Noble Senate, who (Vnder the Gods) keepe you in awe, which else Would feede on one another? What's their seeking? Men. For Corne at their owne rates, wherof they say The Citie is well stor'd

Mar. Hang 'em: They say? They'l sit by th' fire, and presume to know What's done i'th Capitoll: Who's like to rise, Who thriues, & who declines: Side factions, & giue out Coniecturall Marriages, making parties strong, And feebling such as stand not in their liking, Below their cobled Shooes. They say ther's grain enough? Would the Nobility lay aside their ruth, And let me vse my Sword, I'de make a Quarrie With thousands of these quarter'd slaues, as high As I could picke my Lance

Menen. Nay these are almost thoroughly perswaded: For though abundantly they lacke discretion Yet are they passing Cowardly. But I beseech you, What sayes the other Troope? Mar. They are dissolu'd: Hang em; They said they were an hungry, sigh'd forth Prouerbes That Hunger-broke stone wals: that dogges must eate That meate was made for mouths. That the gods sent not Corne for the Richmen onely: With these shreds They vented their Complainings, which being answer'd And a petition granted them, a strange one, To breake the heart of generosity, And make bold power looke pale, they threw their caps As they would hang them on the hornes a'th Moone, Shooting their Emulation

Menen. What is graunted them? Mar. Fiue Tribunes to defend their vulgar wisdoms Of their owne choice. One's Iunius Brutus, Sicinius Velutus, and I know not. Sdeath, The rabble should haue first vnroo'st the City Ere so preuayl'd with me; it will in time Win vpon power, and throw forth greater Theames For Insurrections arguing

Menen. This is strange

Mar. Go get you home you Fragments. Enter a Messenger hastily.

Mess. Where's Caius Martius? Mar. Heere: what's the matter! Mes. The newes is sir, the Volcies are in Armes

Mar. I am glad on't, then we shall ha meanes to vent Our mustie superfluity. See our best Elders. Enter Sicinius Velutus, Annius Brutus Cominius, Titus Lartius, with other Senatours.

1.Sen. Martius 'tis true, that you haue lately told vs, The Volces are in Armes

Mar. They haue a Leader, Tullus Auffidius that will put you too't: I sinne in enuying his Nobility: And were I any thing but what I am, I would wish me onely he

Com. You haue fought together? Mar. Were halfe to halfe the world by th' eares, & he vpon my partie, I'de reuolt to make Onely my warres with him. He is a Lion That I am proud to hunt

William Shakespeare
Classic Literature Library

All Pages of This Book
A Yorkshire Tragedy
The Tragedie of Romeo and Juliet
The Lamentable Tragedy of Locrine
The Tragedie of Anthonie and Cleopatra
The Tragedie of Coriolanus
The Tragedie of Cymbeline
The Tragedie of Hamlet
The Tragedie of Julius Caesar
The Tragedie of King Lear
The Tragedie of Macbeth
The Tragedie of Othello
The Tragedie of Richard the Third
The Tragedie of Titus Andronicus