The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier,

Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter,
With other muniments and petty helps

In this our fabric, if that they—

Men.

What then?

'Fore me, this fellow speaks!—what then? what

then?

1 Cit. Should by the cormorant belly be restrain'd, Who is the sink o' the body,

Men.

Well, what then? 1 Cit. The former agents, if they did complain, What could the belly answer?

Men.

I will tell you;

If you'll bestow a small (of what you have little) Patience awhile, you'll hear the belly's answer. 1 Cit. You are long about it.

Men.

Note me this, good friend.

Your most grave belly was deliberate,

Not rash like his accusers; and thus answer'd :— 'True is it, my incorporate friends,' quoth he, 'That I receive the general food at first, Which you do live upon: and fit it is; ⚫ Because I am the storehouse, and the shop Of the whole body: but if you do remember, I send it through the rivers of your blood,

Even to the court, the heart,-to the seat o' the

brain;

And, through the cranks1 and offices of man,

1 Windings.

The strongest nerves, and small inferior veins,
From me receive that natural competency
Whereby they live: and though that all at once,

You, my good friends,' (this says the belly) mark

me,

1 Cit. Ay, sir; well, well.

Men.

Though all at once cannot

See what I do deliver out to each;

Yet I can make my audit up, that all

From me do back receive the flower of all,

And leave me but the bran.'

What say you to 't?

How apply you this?

1 Cit. It was an answer. Men. The senators of Rome are this good belly, And you the mutinous members: for examine Their counsels and their cares; digest things rightly, Touching the weal o' the common; you shall

find,

No public benefit which you receive,

But it proceeds or comes from them to you,

And no

way from yourselves. think?

You, the great toe of this assembly?

What do you

1 Cit. I the great toe? Why the great toe? Men. For that being one o' the lowest, basest,

poorest

Of this most wise rebellion, thou goest foremost.
Thou rascal, that art worst in blood, to run
Lead'st first, to win some vantage.

But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs:
Rome and her rats are at the point of battle;

The one side must have bale.1 Hail, noble Marcius!

Enter CAIUS marcius.

Mar. Thanks. What's the matter, you dissen

sious rogues,

That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion,

Make yourselves scabs ?

1 Cit.

We have ever your good word.

Mar. He that will give good words to thee, will

flatter

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 you,
Where he should find you lions, finds you hares;
Where foxes, geese. You are no surer, no,
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 great

ness,

Deserves your hate; and your

affections are

A sick man's appetite, who desires most that Which would increase his evil. He that depends Upon your favors, swims with fins of lead,

And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust ye?

1 Harm, damage.

With

every minute you do change a mind, 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

Would feed on one another? What's their seeking? Men. For corn at their own rates, whereof, they

say,

The city is well stored.

Mar.

Hang 'em! they say? They'll sit by the fire, and presume to know

What's done i' the Capitol; who's like to rise, Who thrives, and who declines; side factions, and give out

Conjectural marriages making parties strong,

And feebling such as stand not in their liking, Below their cobbled shoes. They say, there's grain enough?

Would the nobility lay aside their ruth,1

And let me use my sword, I'd make a quarry 2
With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high
As I could pick 3 my lance.

Men. Nay, these are almost thoroughly persuaded;

For though abundantly they lack discretion,

Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I beseech you, What says the other troop?

Mar.

They are dissolved.

Hang’em! They said, they were an-hungry; sigh'd forth pro

verbs ;

That hunger broke stone walls, that dogs must eat, That meat was made for mouths, that the gods sent

not

Corn for the rich men only: with these shreds They vented their complainings; which being answer'd,

And a petition granted them, a strange one, (To break the heart of generosity,

And make bold power look pale)--they threw their

caps,

As they would hang them on the horns o' the

Of their own choice; one's Junius Brutus,

Sicinius Velutus, and I know not

-'Sdeath!

The rabble should have first unroof'd the city,
Ere so prevail'd with me: it will in time

Win upon power, and throw forth greater themes
For insurrection's arguing.

Men.

This is strange.

Mar. Go, get you home, you fragments!