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But now he throws that shallow habit by,
To check the tears in Collatinus' eyes.
Thou wronged lord of Rome,' quoth he, arise:
Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe? Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous deeds?
Is it revenge to give thyself a blow,
For his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds?
To slay herself, that should have slain her
⚫ Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart
(Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgraced)
By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chased.1
The construction is, that they will suffer these abominations to be chased,' &c.
'Now, by the Capitol that we adore;
And by this chaste blood so unjustly stain'd;
By heaven's fair sun, that breeds the fat earth's
By all our country rights in Rome maintain’d;
This said, he struck his hand upon his breast,
When they had sworn to this advised doom,
2 i. e. with acclamation.