VOLUMNIA.
Ay, fool, is that a shame? Note but this, fool.
Was not a man my father? Hadst thou foxship
To banish him that struck more blows for Rome
Than thou hast spoken words?
SICINIUS.
O blessed heavens!
VOLUMNIA.
More noble blows than ever thou wise words,
And for Rome’s good. I’ll tell thee what—yet go.
Nay, but thou shalt stay too. I would my son
Were in Arabia and thy tribe before him,
His good sword in his hand.
SICINIUS.
What then?
VIRGILIA.
What then?
He’d make an end of thy posterity.
VOLUMNIA.
Bastards and all.
Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome!
MENENIUS.
Come, come, peace.
SICINIUS.
I would he had continued to his country
As he began, and not unknit himself
The noble knot he made.
BRUTUS.
I would he had.
VOLUMNIA.
“I would he had?” ’Twas you incensed the rabble.
Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth
As I can of those mysteries which heaven
Will not have Earth to know.