Sic. The gods be good unto us! 30
Men. No, in such a case the gods will not be good
unto us. When we banished him, we respected not them;
and, he returning to break our necks, they respect not us.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Sir, if you'ld save your life, fly to your house:
The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune, 35
And hale him up and down, all swearing, if
The Roman ladies bring not comfort home,
They'll give him death by inches.
Enter another Messenger.
Sic. What's the news?
Sec. Mess. Good news, good news; the ladies have prevail'd,[3847]
The Volscians are dislodged, and Marcius gone: 40
A merrier day did never yet greet Rome,
No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins.
Sic. Friend,[3848]
Art thou certain this is true? is it most certain?[3848][3849]
Sec. Mess. As certain as I know the sun is fire:[3847]
Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it? 45
Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide,
As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark you!
[Trumpets; hautboys; drums beat; all together.[3850]