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Let them puff all about mine ears, present me Death on the wheel or at wild horses’ heels, Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock, That the precipitation might down stretch Below the beam of sight, yet will I still Be thus to them.
Let them talk all they want about me, bring me Death on the wheel or dragged by wild horses, Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock, So that the fall might stretch beyond the view, Even then I will still Be like this to them.
You do the nobler.
You’re doing the more honorable thing.
I muse my mother Does not approve me further, who was wont To call them woollen vassals, things created To buy and sell with groats, to show bare heads In congregations, to yawn, be still and wonder, When one but of my ordinance stood up To speak of peace or war.
I wonder why my mother Doesn’t support me more, when she used to Call them common slaves, created only To buy and sell for pennies, to walk around with Bare heads in public, to yawn, stay silent and be amazed, When anyone of my rank stood up To talk about peace or war.
I talk of you: Why did you wish me milder? would you have me False to my nature? Rather say I play The man I am.
I’m talking about you: Why did you want me to be gentler? Would you have me Go against my nature? Rather, say that I act Like the man I truly am.
O, sir, sir, sir, I would have had you put your power well on, Before you had worn it out.
Oh, sir, sir, sir, I wanted you to use your power wisely, Before you wore it out.
Let go.
Let go.
You might have been enough the man you are, With striving less to be so; lesser had been The thwartings of your dispositions, if You had not show’d them how ye were disposed Ere they lack’d power to cross you.
You could have been enough of the man you are, Without trying so hard to be that way; you would’ve faced Fewer challenges in your nature, if You hadn’t shown people how you were set Before they had the power to oppose you.
Let them hang.
Let them hang.
Ay, and burn too.
Yes, and burn too.
Come, come, you have been too rough, something too rough; You must return and mend it.
Come, come, you’ve been too harsh, a bit Too harsh; You need to go back and fix it.
There’s no remedy; Unless, by not so doing, our good city Cleave in the midst, and perish.
There’s no cure for this; Unless, by not doing so, our good city Tears itself apart and dies.
Pray, be counsell’d: I have a heart as little apt as yours, But yet a brain that leads my use of anger To better vantage.
Please, listen: I have a heart as unwilling as yours, But I have a mind that guides my anger To better use.
Well said, noble woman? Before he should thus stoop to the herd, but that The violent fit o’ the time craves it as physic For the whole state, I would put mine armour on, Which I can scarcely bear.
Well said, noble woman? Before he should stoop to the common people, unless The violent mood of the times demands it as medicine For the whole state, I would put on my armor, Which I can hardly carry.
What must I do?
What should I do?
Return to the tribunes.
Go back to the tribunes.
Well, what then? what then?
Well, what next? What then?
Repent what you have spoke.
Apologize for what you said.
For them! I cannot do it to the gods; Must I then do’t to them?
For them? I can’t do that for the gods; Do I have to do it for them?
You are too absolute; Though therein you can never be too noble, But when extremities speak. I have heard you say, Honour and policy, like unsever’d friends, I’ the war do grow together: grant that, and tell me, In peace what each of them by the other lose, That they combine not there.
You’re being too extreme; Though you can never be too noble in this, But it’s when you face difficult situations. I’ve heard you say, Honour and politics, like close friends, Grow together in war: admit that, and tell me, In peace, what do they lose from each other, That they don’t work together then?
Tush, tush!
Nonsense, nonsense!
A good demand.
That’s a good question.
If it be honour in your wars to seem The same you are not, which, for your best ends, You adopt your policy, how is it less or worse, That it shall hold companionship in peace With honour, as in war, since that to both It stands in like request?
If in war it’s honourable to seem Like something you’re not, which you do for the best reasons, Why is it any worse or less honourable, That it should also be acceptable in peace, Since both require it equally?
Why force you this?
Why are you insisting on this?
Because that now it lies you on to speak To the people; not by your own instruction, Nor by the matter which your heart prompts you, But with such words that are but rooted in Your tongue, though but bastards and syllables Of no allowance to your bosom’s truth. Now, this no more dishonours you at all Than to take in a town with gentle words, Which else would put you to your fortune and The hazard of much blood. I would dissemble with my nature where My fortunes and my friends at stake required I should do so in honour: I am in this, Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles; And you will rather show our general louts How you can frown than spend a fawn upon ’em, For the inheritance of their loves and safeguard Of what that want might ruin.
Because now it’s up to you to speak To the people; not from your own beliefs, Nor by what your heart tells you, But with words that are just on your lips, Words that are hollow, with no real truth behind them. Now, this won’t dishonour you any more Than if you took a city with gentle words, Instead of risking your life and blood. I would pretend to be different from who I am, if my fortune and friends were at stake, And honour required it: I am here for you, Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles; And you’d rather show them a hard face Than show them kindness, for the sake of their love and protection Of what might otherwise fall apart.
Noble lady! Come, go with us; speak fair: you may salve so, Not what is dangerous present, but the loss Of what is past.
Noble lady! Come, go with us; speak kindly: you can repair things, Not by addressing the present danger, but by making up for the past.
I prithee now, my son, Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand; And thus far having stretch’d it--here be with them-- Thy knee bussing the stones--for in such business Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant More learned than the ears--waving thy head, Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart, Now humble as the ripest mulberry That will not hold the handling: or say to them, Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils Hast not the soft way which, thou dost confess, Were fit for thee to use as they to claim, In asking their good loves, but thou wilt frame Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far As thou hast power and person.
Please now, my son, Go to them, with this cap in your hand; And kneel to them, like this—your knee kissing the ground— Because in situations like this, actions speak louder than words, And people can learn more from what they see Than what they hear. Wave your head, Which often, like this, humbles your proud heart, Until it becomes as soft as the ripest mulberry, Which can’t resist being handled: or tell them, That you are their soldier, and having grown up in battles, You don’t have the easy way they expect, But you’ll act in a way that fits your role, And in time, you will belong to them, as much As you have the power and will to do.
This but done, Even as she speaks, why, their hearts were yours; For they have pardons, being ask’d, as free As words to little purpose.
If you do this, Just as she says, their hearts will be yours; They will forgive you, if you ask, as easily As words without meaning.
Prithee now, Go, and be ruled: although I know thou hadst rather Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf Than flatter him in a bower. Here is Cominius.
Please now, Go, and do as you’re told: although I know you’d rather Follow your enemy into a fiery pit Than flatter him in a comfortable place. Here comes Cominius.
I have been i’ the market-place; and, sir,’tis fit You make strong party, or defend yourself By calmness or by absence: all’s in anger.
I’ve been at the market; and, sir, it’s best That you gather strong support, or defend yourself By staying calm or staying away: everything’s fueled by anger.
Only fair speech.
Just use good words.
I think ’twill serve, if he Can thereto frame his spirit.
I think that will work, if he Can get his mind into the right frame.
He must, and will Prithee now, say you will, and go about it.
He must, and he will. Please, now, say you will, and go do it.
Must I go show them my unbarbed sconce? Must I with base tongue give my noble heart A lie that it must bear? Well, I will do’t: Yet, were there but this single plot to lose, This mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it And throw’t against the wind. To the market-place! You have put me now to such a part which never I shall discharge to the life.
Do I have to go show them my unprotected head? Do I have to, with a coward’s words, lie to my noble heart That it has to bear this? Fine, I’ll do it: But if there was even a single chance to lose, This body of Marcius, they’d grind it to dust And throw it into the wind. To the market-place! You’ve put me in a role I’ll never truly play.
Come, come, we’ll prompt you.
Come on, come on, we’ll help you.
I prithee now, sweet son, as thou hast said My praises made thee first a soldier, so, To have my praise for this, perform a part Thou hast not done before.
Please, my sweet son, as you’ve said, My praise made you a soldier, so, To have my praise for this, do something You haven’t done before.
Well, I must do’t: Away, my disposition, and possess me Some harlot’s spirit! my throat of war be turn’d, Which quired with my drum, into a pipe Small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice That babies lulls asleep! the smiles of knaves Tent in my cheeks, and schoolboys’ tears take up The glasses of my sight! a beggar’s tongue Make motion through my lips, and my arm’d knees, Who bow’d but in my stirrup, bend like his That hath received an alms! I will not do’t, Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth And by my body’s action teach my mind A most inherent baseness.
Fine, I’ll do it: Away, my usual self, and let me take on The spirit of some prostitute! Let my warrior’s voice be changed, And turn into a small pipe, Like a eunuch’s or the gentle voice That lulls babies to sleep! Let the smiles of liars Spread across my face, and the tears of schoolboys Cloud my vision! Let a beggar’s tongue Move through my lips, and my knees, Which only bent in battle, now bow like someone Who’s just received charity! I won’t do it, Lest I stop honoring my own truth And, through my actions, teach my mind A shameful weakness.
At thy choice, then: To beg of thee, it is my more dishonour Than thou of them. Come all to ruin; let Thy mother rather feel thy pride than fear Thy dangerous stoutness, for I mock at death With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck’dst it from me, But owe thy pride thyself.
It’s up to you, then: To beg from you would bring me more shame Than it brings you from them. Let everything fall apart; let Your mother feel your pride, not fear Your dangerous courage, for I face death With as much bravery as you. Do as you want, Your bravery was mine, you got it from me, But your pride belongs to you alone.
Pray, be content: Mother, I am going to the market-place; Chide me no more. I’ll mountebank their loves, Cog their hearts from them, and come home beloved Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going: Commend me to my wife. I’ll return consul; Or never trust to what my tongue can do I’ the way of flattery further.
Please, be at ease: Mother, I’m going to the market-place; Don’t scold me anymore. I’ll fool them into loving me, Trick their hearts, and come home adored By every craftsman in Rome. Look, I’m leaving: Say hello to my wife for me. I’ll come back consul, Or never trust anything my tongue says In the way of flattery again.
Do your will.
Do as you wish.
Away! the tribunes do attend you: arm yourself To answer mildly; for they are prepared With accusations, as I hear, more strong Than are upon you yet.
Hurry! The tribunes are waiting for you: get ready To respond calmly; I hear they’ve got Accusations against you that are stronger Than anything you’ve faced so far.
The word is ’mildly.’ Pray you, let us go: Let them accuse me by invention, I Will answer in mine honour.
The word is ‘calmly.’ Please, let’s go: Let them accuse me with whatever they make up, I Will answer with honor.
Ay, but mildly.
Yes, but calmly.
Well, mildly be it then. Mildly!
Fine, calmly it is then. Calmly!