Let them pull all about mine ears, present
me Death on the wheel or at wild horses' heels,
Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock, That
the precipitation might down stretch Below
the beam of sight, yet will I still Be thus
to them.
You do the nobler.
I muse my mother Does not approve me further,
who was wont To call them woolen vassals,
things created To buy and sell with groats.
I talk of you.
Why do you wish me milder?
Would you have me False to my nature?
Rather say I play The man I am.
O sir, sir, sir, I would have had you put
your power well on Before you had worn it
out.
You might have been enough the man you are
With striving less to be so.
Lesser had been The thwartings of your dispositions
if You hadn’t showed them how you were disposed
Ere they lacked power to cross you.
Let them hang!
Ay, and burn too.
Come, come, you have been too rough, something
too rough.
You must return and mend it.
There's no remedy, Unless, by not so doing,
our good city Cleave in the midst and perish.
Pray be counseled.
I have a heart as little apt as yours, But
yet a brain that leads my use of anger To
better vantage.
Well said, noble woman.
What must I do?
Return to th' Tribunes.
Well, what then?
What then?
Repent what you have spoke.
For them?
I cannot do it to the gods.
Must I then do 't to them?
You are too absolute, Though therein you can
never be too noble But when extremities speak.
I have heard you say Honor and policy, like
unsevered friends, I' th' war do grow together.
Grant that, and tell me In peace what each
of them by th' other lose That they combine
not there?
Tush, tush!
A good demand.
Why force you this?
Because that now it lies you on to speak To
th' people, not by your own instruction, Nor
by th' matter which your heart prompts you,
But with such words as are roted in Your tongue,
though but bastards and syllables Of no allowance
to your bosom's truth.
Now this no more dishonours you at all than
to take in a town with gentle words which
else would put you to your fortunes and the
hazard of much blood.
