Sicin. Oh blessed Heauens!
Volum. Moe Noble blowes, then euer y wise words.
And for Romes good, Ile tell thee what: yet goe:
Nay but thou shalt stay too: I would my Sonne
Were in Arabia, and thy Tribe before him,
His good Sword in his hand
Sicin. What then?
Virg. When then? Hee'ld make an end of thy posterity
Volum. Bastards, and all.
Good man, the Wounds that he does beare for Rome!
Menen. Come, come, peace
Sicin. I would he had continued to his Country
As he began, and not vnknit himselfe
The Noble knot he made
Bru. I would he had
Volum. I would he had? Twas thou incenst the rable.
Cats, that can iudge as fitly of his worth,
As I can of those Mysteries which heauen
Will not haue earth to know
Brut. Pray let's go
Volum. Now pray sir get you gone.
You haue done a braue deede: Ere you go, heare this:
As farre as doth the Capitoll exceede
The meanest house in Rome; so farre my Sonne
This Ladies Husband heere; this (do you see)
Whom you haue banish'd, does exceed you all
Bru. Well, well, wee'l leaue you
Sicin. Why stay we to be baited
With one that wants her Wits.
Exit Tribunes.