I think he’ll be to Rome
As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it
By sovereignty of nature.
I think he’ll be to Rome
I cannot help it now,
Unless by using means I lame the foot
Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier,
He is their god; he leads them like a thing
Made by some other deity than Nature,
That shapes man better;
Tomorrow, today, presently; you shall have the drum strook up this afternoon. ’Tis, as it were,
O world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn,
Whose double bosoms seems to wear one heart,
I have heard it said, the fittest time to corrupt a man’s wife is when she’s fall’n out with her husband.
Come leave your tears: a brief farewell. The beast
With many heads butts me away. Nay, mother,
Where is your ancient courage?
You common cry of curs, Anaphorawhose breath I hate
SimileAs reek a’ th’ rotten fens,
Well, I must do’t.
Away, my disposition, and possess me
Some harlot’s spirit! My throat of war be turn’d,
Go, and be rul’d; although I know thou hadst rather
Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf
Than flatter him in a bower.
I have a heart as little apt as yours,
But yet a brain that leads my use of anger
To better vantage.
His nature is too noble for the world;
He would not flatter Neptune for his trident,
Or Jove for’s power to thunder.
On fair ground
I could beat forty of them.
I could myself
Take up a brace o’ th’ best of them,
With a proud heart he wore his humble weeds.
Better it is to die, better to starve,
Than crave the hire which first we do deserve.
Why in this woolvish toge should I stand here
To beg of Hob and Dick,
Fourth Roman Citizen
You have been a scourge to her enemies, you have been a rod to her friends;
First Roman Citizen
And to make us no better thought of, a little help will serve; for once we stood up about the corn,
Our spoils he kick’d at,
And look’d upon things precious as they were
The common muck of the world.
That’s a brave fellow; but he’s vengeance proud, and loves not the common people.
You are sent for to the Capitol. ’Tis thought
That Martius shall be consul.
I have seen the dumb men throng to see him,
All tongues speak of him, and the bleared sights
Are spectacled to see himSynecdoche.
First Roman Senator
The Volsces are in arms.
They have a leader,
What’s the matter, you dissentious rogues,
That rubbing the poor itch of your opinion
Make yourselves scabsMetaphor?…
There was a time when all the body’s members
Rebell’d against the belly; thus accus’d it:
That only like a gulf it did remain
I’ th’ midst a’ th’ body,
We are accounted poor citizens, the patricians goodEllipsis. What authority surfeits on would relieve us.