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Even to the court, the heart; to th' seat o'th' braio ;
And, through the cranks and offices of man,
The strongest nerves, and small inferior veins,
From me receive that natural competency,
Whereby they live. And though that all at once,
You,«my good friends, (this says the belly) mark me

2 Cit. Ay, Sir, well, well.

Men. Though all at once cannot
See what I do deliver out to each,
Yet I can make my audit up, that all
From 'me do back receive the Aow'r of all,
And leave me but the bran. What say you to't?

2 Cit. It was an answer ;-how apply you this?

Men. The senators of Rome are this good belly, And you

the mutinous members ; for examine Their counsels, and their cares ; digest things rightly, Touching the weal o' th' common; you

fhall find, No publick benefit, which you receive, But it proceeds, or comes, from them to you, And no way from yourselves. What do you think? You, the great toe of this assembly!

z Cit. I the great toe! why, the great toe ?

Men. For that, being one o' th' lowest, baseft, poorest, Of this most wise rebellion, thou goeft foremost : Thou rascal, that are worft in blood to run. Lead'st first, to win some vantage.-But make you

ftiff bats and clubs, Rome and her rats are at the point of battle: (3) The one fide muft have bale.

Enter (3) The one fide muf bave bail.] It must be the vanquilht fide, sure, that could want it; and who were likely to be their bail? but it is endless to question with negligence and fupidity. The poet, undoubte edly wrote,, as I have restor'd;

The one fida muft bave bale. i. e. Sorrow, misfortune, must have the worft of it, be discomfited. I have restor'd this word in some other passages of our author; and we meet with it in a play, attributed to him, callid Locrine :

---Yea, with these eyes thou haft seen her, and therefore pull them out, for they will work thy bale. Mr. Rowe, indeed, in his editions of our poet, has erroneously printed bail too in this passage; but in the old quarto which I have of Locrine,

ready your

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Enter Caius Marcius, Hail, noble Marcius !

(rogues, Mar. Thanks. What's the matter, you dissentious That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion, Make yourselves fcabs ?

2 Cit. We have ever your good word.

Mar. He, that will give good words to thee, will fiatter Beneath abhorring. What would you have, ye curs, That like nor peace, nor war? The one affrights you, The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you, Where he should find you

lions, finds you hares : Where foxes, geese : You are no furer, no, Than is the coal of fire opon the ice, Or hailstone in the fun. Your virtue is, To make him worthy, whose offence subdues him, And curse that justice, did it. Who deserves greatness, Deserves your hate; and your affections are A fick man's appetite, who desires moft that Which would increase his evil. He, that depends Upon your favours, fwims with fins of lead, And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang yetrust ye ! With every minute you do change a mind, printed in 1595, we find the word spelt as it ought. And it was a ierm familiar both with authors prior in time, and contemporaries with Shakespeare.

and eke her fingirs long and fmale
She wrong full oft, and bade God on her rue,
And with the death to doe bote on her bale: @c.

Chaucer's Troil, and Creseide. Book IV. verse 738.
And the black holme, that loves the wat'iy vale,
And the sweet cypress, sign of deadly bale.

Spenfer’s Translation of Virgil's Gaat. Aad again,

Said he, what have I wretch defery'd, that thus
Into this bitter bale I am out.cast.

Idem ibid.
Thus greatest bliss is prone to greatest bale.

First Chorus of Hercules Oet aus from Seneca; printed in 1981.
And leaft my foe, false Promos here,

Do interrupt my tale;
Grant, gracious King, that, uncontroul'd,
I may report my bale.
Promos and Caffandra, (a Play,) printed in 1578.


Men. What ,

And call him noble, that was now your hate;
Him vile, that was your garland. . What's the mattery
That in the several places of the city
You cry against the noble Senate, who
(Under the gods) keep you in awe, which else
Would feed on one another ? what's their feeking :

Men. For corn at their own rates, whereof, they say, The city is well stor’d.

Mar. Hang 'em : they fay!
They'll sit by th' fire, and presume to know
What's done i' th' capitol; who's like to rise;
Who thrives, and who declines: fidefactions, and giveout
Conjectural marriages; making parties strong,
And feebling such, as stand not in their liking,
Below their cobbled Mooes. They say, there's grain

Would the nobility lay afide their ruth,
And let me use my fword, I'd make a quarry,
With thousands of these quarter'd llaves, as high
As I could picch my lance.

Me?. Nay, these are almost thoroughly persuaded :
For though abundantly they lack discretion,
Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I beseech you,
What says the other troop?

Mar. They are dissolv'd'; hang 'em, They said they were an hungry, figh'd forth proverbs That hunger broke stone walls--that dogs must eat,That meat was made for mouths that the gods fent not Corn for the rich men only--With these fhreds They vented their complainings: which being answer'd, And a petition granted them, a strange one, To break the heart of generofity, And make bold power look pale; they threw their caps As they would hang them on the horns o'th’moon, Shouting their emulation. . is granted them?

Mar. Five tribunes to defend their vulgar wisdoms, Of their own choice. One's Junius Brutus, Sicinius Velutus, and I know notes' th, The rabble should have firft unroof'd the city,


Ere so prevail'd with me! it will in time
Win upon power, and throw forth greater themes
For infurrection's arguing.

Men. This is strange.
Mar. Go, get you home, you fragments !

Enter a Mesenger.
Mes. Where's Caius Marcius ?
Mar. Here what's the matter ?
Mes. The news is, Sir, the Volscians are in arms.

Mar. I'm glad on't, then we shall have means to vent
Our musty superfuity. See, our belt elders! -
Enter Sicinius Velutus, Junius Brutus, Cominius,

Titus Lartius, with other Senators. 1 Sen. Marcius, 'tis true, that you have lately told us, The Volscians are in arms.

Mar. They have a leader,
Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to'.
I fin in envying his nobility:
And were I any thing but what I am,
I'd with me only he.

Com. You have fought together?
Mar. W re half to half the world by th'ears, and he
Upon my party, I'd revolt, to make
Only my wars with him. He is a lion,
That I am proud to hunt.

I Sen. Then worthy Marcius, Attend upon Cominius to these wars.

Con. It is your former promise.

Mar. Sir, it is;
And I am constant : Titus Lartius, thou
Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face.
What, art thou ftiff ? stand'it out!

Tit. No Caius Marcius,
I'll lean upon one crutch, and fight with t'other;
Ere stay behind this business.

Men. O true bred !

I Sen. Your company to th' capitol; where, I know, Our greatest friends attend us.

Tit. Lead you on;
Follow, Cominius; we must follow you;
Right worthy you priority.

Com. Noble Lartius !.
1 Sen. Hence to your



[To the Citizens Mar. Nay, let them follow; The Volscians have much corn : take these rats thither, To

gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutineers, Your valour puts well forth; pray, follow.– [Exeunt,

[Citizens fleal away. Manent Sicinius and Brutas. Sic. Was ever man so proud, as is this Marcius? Bru. He has no equal. Sic. When we were chosen tribunes for the people Bru. Mark'd you his lip and eyes? Sic Nay, but his taunts. Bru. Being movid, he will not spare to gird the gods Sic. Be-mock the modest moon,

Bru. (4) The present wars devour him; he is grown Too proud to be fo valiant.

Sic. Such a nature,
Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow
Which he treads on at noon; but I do wonder,
His infolence can brook to be commanded
Under Cominius.

Bru. Fame, at the which he aims,
In whom already he is well grac'd, cannot
Better be held, nor more attain'd, than by
A place below the first; for what miscarries
Shall be the General's fault, tho’he perform
To the utmost of a man; and giddy censure
(4) The present wars devour bim; be is grown

Too proud to be so valiant.] This is very obscurely express'd; but the poet's meaning must certainly be this. Marcius is so conscious of, and so elate upon, che notion of his own valour, that he is eaten up with pride; devour'd with the apprehensions of that glory which he promises himself from the ensuing war, A sentiment, like this, occurs again in Troilus and Crefida.

He, that is proud, eats up bimself. Pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle; and whatever praises itself but in the dsed, devours the deed in the praise.

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