MENENIUS.
You have made good work,
You and your apron-men, you that stood so much
Upon the voice of occupation and
The breath of garlic eaters!
COMINIUS.
He’ll shake your Rome about your ears.
MENENIUS.
As Hercules did shake down mellow fruit.
You have made fair work.
BRUTUS.
But is this true, sir?
COMINIUS.
Ay, and you’ll look pale
Before you find it other. All the regions
Do smilingly revolt, and who resists
Are mocked for valiant ignorance
And perish constant fools. Who is’t can blame him?
Your enemies and his find something in him.
MENENIUS.
We are all undone unless
The noble man have mercy.
COMINIUS.
Who shall ask it?
The Tribunes cannot do’t for shame; the people
Deserve such pity of him as the wolf
Does of the shepherds. For his best friends, if they
Should say “Be good to Rome,” they charged him even
As those should do that had deserved his hate
And therein showed like enemies.
MENENIUS.
’Tis true.
If he were putting to my house the brand
That should consume it, I have not the face
To say “Beseech you, cease.”—You have made fair hands,
You and your crafts! You have crafted fair!
COMINIUS.
You have brought
A trembling upon Rome such as was never
S’ incapable of help.
TRIBUNES.
Say not we brought it.