Mess. You are sent for to the senate:
A fearful army, led by Caius Martius, 76
Associated with Aufidius, rages
Upon our territories; and have already
O'erborne their way, consum'd with fire, and took
What lay before them. 80
Enter Cominius.
Com. O! you have made good work!
Men. What news? what news?
Com. You have holp to ravish your own daughters, and
To melt the city leads upon your pates,
To see your wives dishonour'd to your noses,— 84
Men. What's the news? what's the news?
Com. Your temples burned in their cement, and
Your franchises, whereon you stood, confin'd
Into an auger's bore.
Men. Pray now, your news?— 88
You have made fair work, I fear me. Pray, your news?
If Martius should be join'd with Volscians,—
Com. If!
He is their god: he leads them like a thing
Made by some other deity than Nature, 92
That shapes man better; and they follow him,
Against us brats, with no less confidence
Than boys pursuing summer butterflies,
Or butchers killing flies.
Men. You have made good work, 96
You, and your apron-men; you that stood so much
79 O'erborne . . . way: advanced like a wave
82 holp: helped
83 leads: leaden roofs
84 to: before
86 temples . . . cement; cf. n.
87 franchises: public rights
whereon . . . stood: which you asserted
87, 88 confin'd . . . bore: reduced to absolute nullity
94 brats: mere children
97 apron-men: artisans, dressed in aprons
