Page 2778 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

Thanks. What’s the matter, you dissentious rogues,
That rubbing the poor itch of your opinion
Make yourselves scabs?

FIRST CITIZEN
We have ever your good word.

MARTIUS
He that will give good words to thee will flatter [165]

Beneath abhorring. What would you have, you curs,
That like nor peace nor war? The one affrights you,
The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you,
Where he should find you lions, finds you hares;

Where foxes, geese. You are no surer, no, [170]
Than is the coal of fire upon the ice
Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is
To make him worthy whose offence subdues him

And curse that justice did it. Who deserves greatness
Deserves your hate; and your affections are [175]
A sick man’s appetite, who desires most that
Which would increase his evil. He that depends

Upon your favours swims with fins of lead
And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust ye?
With every minute you do change a mind [180]
And call him noble that was now your hate,

Him vile that was your garland. What’s the matter
That in these several places of the city
You cry against the noble Senate, who,
Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else [185]

Would feed on one another? What’s their seeking?

MENENIUS
For corn at their own rates, whereof they say
The city is well stored.

MARTIUS
Hang’em! They say?
They’ll sit by th’fire and presume to know