MENENIUS.
What should I do?
BRUTUS.
Only make trial what your love can do
For Rome, towards Martius.
MENENIUS.
Well, and say that Martius
Return me, as Cominius is returned, unheard,
What then? But as a discontented friend,
Grief-shot with his unkindness? Say’t be so?
SICINIUS.
Yet your good will
Must have that thanks from Rome after the measure
As you intended well.
MENENIUS.
I’ll undertake’t.
I think he’ll hear me. Yet to bite his lip
And hum at good Cominius much unhearts me.
He was not taken well; he had not dined.
The veins unfilled, our blood is cold, and then
We pout upon the morning, are unapt
To give or to forgive; but when we have stuffed
These pipes and these conveyances of our blood
With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls
Than in our priestlike fasts. Therefore I’ll watch him
Till he be dieted to my request,
And then I’ll set upon him.
BRUTUS.
You know the very road into his kindness
And cannot lose your way.
MENENIUS.
Good faith, I’ll prove him,
Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge
Of my success.
[Exit.]
COMINIUS.
He’ll never hear him.
SICINIUS.
Not?