SATURNINUS.
Go take him away, and hang him presently.
CLOWN.
How much money must I have?
TAMORA.
Come, sirrah, you must be hanged.
CLOWN.
Hanged! by’r Lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair end.
[Exit guarded.]
SATURNINUS.
Despiteful and intolerable wrongs!
Shall I endure this monstrous villainy?
I know from whence this same device proceeds.
May this be borne as if his traitorous sons,
That died by law for murder of our brother,
Have by my means been butchered wrongfully?
Go, drag the villain hither by the hair;
Nor age nor honour shall shape privilege.
For this proud mock I’ll be thy slaughterman,
Sly frantic wretch, that holp’st to make me great,
In hope thyself should govern Rome and me.
Enter Aemilius.
What news with thee, Aemilius?
AEMILIUS.
Arm, my lord! Rome never had more cause.
The Goths have gathered head, and with a power
Of high-resolved men, bent to the spoil,
They hither march amain, under conduct
Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus;
Who threats, in course of this revenge, to do
As much as ever Coriolanus did.
SATURNINUS.
Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths?
These tidings nip me, and I hang the head
As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms.
Ay, now begins our sorrows to approach.
’Tis he the common people love so much;
Myself hath often overheard them say,
When I have walked like a private man,
That Lucius’ banishment was wrongfully,
And they have wished that Lucius were their emperor.