Enter Menenius and Sicinius.
Men. See you yond coign o' the Capitol, yond
cornerstone?
Sic. Why, what of that?
Men. If it be possible for you to displace it with your
little finger, there is some hope the ladies of Rome, especially 5
his mother, may prevail with him. But I say there
is no hope in 't: our throats are sentenced, and stay upon
execution.
Sic. Is't possible that so short a time can alter the
condition of a man? 10
Men. There is differency between a grub and a butterfly;[3842]
yet your butterfly was a grub. This Marcius is grown
from man to dragon: he has wings; he's more than a
creeping thing.
Sic. He loved his mother dearly. 15
Men. So did he me: and he no more remembers his
mother now than an eight-year-old horse. The tartness of[3843]
his face sours ripe grapes: when he walks, he moves like
an engine, and the ground shrinks before his treading: he
is able to pierce a corslet with his eye; talks like a knell, 20
and his hum is a battery. He sits in his state, as a thing[3844][3845]
made for Alexander. What he bids be done, is finished[3845]
with his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but eternity
and a heaven to throne in.
Sic. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly. 25
Men. I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy
his mother shall bring from him: there is no more mercy
in him than there is milk in a male tiger; that shall our
poor city find: and all this is long of you.[3846]