Raym. And that accursed Bertran
Stalks close behind her, like a witch's fiend,
Pressing to be employed; stand, and observe them.
Leo. to Bert. Buried in private, and so suddenly!
It crosses my design, which was to allow
The rites of funeral fitting his degree,
With all the pomp of mourning.
Bert. It was not safe:
Objects of pity, when the cause is new,
Would work too fiercely on the giddy crowd:
Had Cæsar's body never been exposed,
Brutus had gained his cause.
Leo. Then, was he loved?
Bert. O, never man so much, for saint-like goodness.
Ped. Had bad men feared him, but as good men loved him,
He had not yet been sainted.[Aside.
Leo. I wonder how the people bear his death.
451 Bert. Some discontents there are; some idle murmurs.
Ped. How, idle murmurs! Let me plainly speak:
The doors are all shut up; the wealthier sort,
With arms across, and hats upon their eyes,
Walk to and fro before their silent shops;
Whole droves of lenders crowd the bankers' doors,
To call in money; those, who have none, mark
Where money goes; for when they rise, 'tis plunder:
The rabble gather round the man of news,
And listen with their mouths;
Some tell, some hear, some judge of news, some make it;
And he, who lies most loud, is most believed.
Leo. This may be dangerous.