Corio. O the Gods! Com. Ile follow thee a Moneth, deuise with thee Where thou shalt rest, that thou may'st heare of vs, And we of thee. So if the time thrust forth A cause for thy Repeale, we shall not send O're the vast world, to seeke a single man, And loose aduantage, which doth euer coole Ith' absence of the needer Corio. Fare ye well: Thou hast yeares vpon thee, and thou art too full Of the warres surfets, to go roue with one That's yet vnbruis'd: bring me but out at gate. Come my sweet wife, my deerest Mother, and My Friends of Noble touch: when I am forth, Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you come: While I remaine aboue the ground, you shall Heare from me still, and neuer of me ought But what is like me formerly Menen. That's worthily As any eare can heare. Come, let's not weepe, If I could shake off but one seuen yeeres From these old armes and legges, by the good Gods I'ld with thee, euery foot Corio. Giue me thy hand, come. Exeunt. Enter the two Tribunes, Sicinius, and Brutus, with the Edile. Sicin. Bid them all home, he's gone: & wee'l no further, The Nobility are vexed, whom we see haue sided In his behalfe Brut. Now we haue shewne our power, Let vs seeme humbler after it is done, Then when it was a dooing Sicin. Bid them home: say their great enemy is gone, And they, stand in their ancient strength Brut. Dismisse them home. Here comes his Mother. Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Menenius. Sicin. Let's not meet her Brut. Why? Sicin. They say she's mad Brut. They haue tane note of vs: keepe on your way Volum. Oh y'are well met: Th' hoorded plague a'th' Gods requit your loue Menen. Peace, peace, be not so loud Volum. If that I could for weeping, you should heare, Nay, and you shall heare some. Will you be gone? Virg. You shall stay too: I would I had the power To say so to my Husband Sicin. Are you mankinde? Volum. I foole, is that a shame. Note but this Foole, Was not a man my Father? Had'st thou Foxship To banish him that strooke more blowes for Rome Then thou hast spoken words Sicin. Oh blessed Heauens! Volum. Moe Noble blowes, then euer y wise words. And for Romes good, Ile tell thee what: yet goe: Nay but thou shalt stay too: I would my Sonne Were in Arabia, and thy Tribe before him, His good Sword in his hand Sicin. What then? Virg. When then? Hee'ld make an end of thy posterity Volum. Bastards, and all. Good man, the Wounds that he does beare for Rome! Menen. Come, come, peace Sicin. I would he had continued to his Country As he began, and not vnknit himselfe The Noble knot he made Bru. I would he had Volum. I would he had? Twas thou incenst the rable. Cats, that can iudge as fitly of his worth, As I can of those Mysteries which heauen Will not haue earth to know Brut. Pray let's go