Though in Rome litter'd,—not Romans,—as they are not,
Though calv'd i' the porch o' the Capitol,—
Men. Begone;
Put not your worthy rage into your tongue; 240
One time will owe another.
Cor. On fair ground
I could beat forty of them.
Men. I could myself
Take up a brace o' the best of them; yea, the two tribunes.
Com. But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic; 244
And manhood is call'd foolery when it stands
Against a falling fabric. Will you hence,
Before the tag return? whose rage doth rend
Like interrupted waters and o'erbear 248
What they are us'd to bear.
Men. Pray you, begone.
I'll try whether my old wit be in request
With those that have but little: this must be patch'd
With cloth of any colour.
Com. Nay, come away. 252
Patri. This man has marr'd his fortune.
Men. His nature is too noble for the world:
He would not flatter Neptune for his trident,
Or Jove for 's power to thunder. His heart's his mouth: 256
What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent;
238 litter'd: whelped, born like beasts
241 One . . . another: a balance will be struck between this unlucky time and one that will be more favorable
244 beyond arithmetic: incalculable
246 fabric: building
247 tag: rabble
248 interrupted: obstructed
251, 252 this . . . colour: we must use the roughest remedies
