BRUTUS.
Then our office may,
During his power, go sleep.
SICINIUS.
He cannot temp’rately transport his honours
From where he should begin and end, but will
Lose those he hath won.
BRUTUS.
In that there’s comfort.
SICINIUS.
Doubt not the commoners, for whom we stand,
But they, upon their ancient malice will forget
With the least cause these his new honours—which
That he will give them make as little question
As he is proud to do’t.
BRUTUS.
I heard him swear,
Were he to stand for consul, never would he
Appear i’ th’ marketplace nor on him put
The napless vesture of humility,
Nor showing, as the manner is, his wounds
To th’ people, beg their stinking breaths.
SICINIUS.
’Tis right.
BRUTUS.
It was his word. O, he would miss it rather
Than carry it but by the suit of the gentry to him
And the desire of the nobles.
SICINIUS.
I wish no better
Than have him hold that purpose and to put it
In execution.
BRUTUS.
’Tis most like he will.
SICINIUS.
It shall be to him then, as our good wills,
A sure destruction.