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They say she's mad. |
BRUTUS: |
They have ta'en note of us: keep on your way. |
VOLUMNIA: |
O, ye're well met: the hoarded plague o' the gods |
Requite your love! |
MENENIUS: |
Peace, peace; be not so loud. |
VOLUMNIA: |
If that I could for weeping, you should hear,-- |
Nay, and you shall hear some. |
Will you be gone? |
VIRGILIA: |
SICINIUS: |
Are you mankind? |
VOLUMNIA: |
Ay, fool; is that a shame? Note but this fool. |
Was not a man my father? Hadst thou foxship |
To banish him that struck more blows for Rome |
Than thou hast spoken words? |
SICINIUS: |
O blessed heavens! |
VOLUMNIA: |
More noble blows than ever thou wise words; |
And for Rome's good. I'll tell thee what; yet go: |
Nay, but thou shalt stay too: I would my son |
Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him, |
His good sword in his hand. |
SICINIUS: |
What then? |
VIRGILIA: |
What then! |
He'ld make an end of thy posterity. |
VOLUMNIA: |
Bastards and all. |
Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome! |
MENENIUS: |
Come, come, peace. |
SICINIUS: |
I would he had continued to his country |
As he began, and not unknit himself |
The noble knot he made. |
BRUTUS: |
I would he had. |
VOLUMNIA: |
'I would he had'! 'Twas you incensed the rabble: |
Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth |
As I can of those mysteries which heaven |
Will not have earth to know. |
BRUTUS: |
Pray, let us go. |
VOLUMNIA: |
Now, pray, sir, get you gone: |
You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear this:-- |
As far as doth the Capitol exceed |
The meanest house in Rome, so far my son-- |
This lady's husband here, this, do you see-- |
Whom you have banish'd, does exceed you all. |
BRUTUS: |
Well, well, we'll leave you. |
SICINIUS: |
Why stay we to be baited |
With one that wants her wits? |
VOLUMNIA: |
Take my prayers with you. |
I would the gods had nothing else to do |
But to confirm my curses! Could I meet 'em |
But once a-day, it would unclog my heart |
Of what lies heavy to't. |
MENENIUS: |
You have told them home; |
And, by my troth, you have cause. You'll sup with me? |
VOLUMNIA: |
Anger's my meat; I sup upon myself, |
And so shall starve with feeding. Come, let's go: |
Leave this faint puling and lament as I do, |
In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come. |
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