Men. O Sir, you are not right: have you not known
The worthiest men have done it?
Cor. What must I say?—
I pray, Sir?—Plague upon't! I cannot bring
My tongue to such a pace:—Look, Sir,—my wounds;—
I got them in my country's service, when
Some certain of your brethren roar'd, and ran
From the noise of OUR OWN DRUMS.
Men. O me, the gods!
You must not speak of that; you must desire them
To think upon you.
Cor. Think upon me? Hang 'em!
I would they would forget me, like the virtues
Which our divines lose by them.
Men. You'll mar all;
I'll leave you: Pray you, speak to them, I pray you,
In wholesome manner.
[And now, instead of being thronged with a mob of
citizens—instructed how they are to go by him with the honor of
their single voices they enter 'by twos' and 'threes.']
[Enter two Citizens.]
Cor. Bid them wash their faces,
And keep their teeth clean._—So, here comes a brace,
You know the cause, Sir, of my standing here.
First Cit. We do, Sir; tell us what hath brought you to't,
Cor. Mine own desert.—[The would-be consul answers.]