Page 2153 - Shakespeare - Vol. 1
P. 2153
Enter Lucius, with his weapon drawn.
O reverend tribunes! O gentle agèd men!
Unbind my sos, reverse the doom of death,
And let me say, that never wept before,
My tears are now prevailing orators.
LUCIUS
O noble father, you lament in vain:
The tribunes hear you not, no man is by,
And you recount your sorrows to a stone.
T IT US
Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead: [30]
Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you...
LUCIUS
My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak.
T IT US
Why, ’tis no matter, man; if they did hear,
They would not mark me; if they did mark,
They would not pity me, yet plead I must,
And bootless unto them.
Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones
Who, though they cannot answer my distress,
Yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes,
For that they will not intercept my tale. [40]
When I do weep, they humbly at my, feet
Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me;
And were they but attirèd in grave weeds,
Rome could afford no tribunes like to these.
A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than stones;
A stone is silent and offendeth not,
And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.
But wherefore stand’st thou with thy weapon drawn?
LUCIUS
To rescue my two brothers from their death;
For which attempt the judges have pronunced [50]
