Brutus. Murder the king! a high and capital treason. Those giants that waged war against the gods, For which the o’erwhelmed mountains hurled by Jove To scatter them, and give them timeless[5.13] graves, Was not more cruel than this butchery, This slaughter made by Tarquin. But the queen! A woman--fie, fie! did not this she-parricide Add to her father’s wounds? and when his body Lay all besmeared and stained in the blood royal, Did not this monster, this infernal hag, Make her unwilling charioter drive on, And with his shod wheels crush her father’s bones, Break his crazed skull, and dash his sparkled[5.14] brains Upon the pavements, whilst she held the reins? The affrighted sun at this abhorrèd object Put on a mask of blood, and yet she blushed not. Jove, art thou just? hast thou reward for piety, And for offence no vengeance? or canst punish Felons, and pardon traitors? chastise murderers, And wink at parricides? if thou be worthy, As well we know thou art, to fill the throne Of all eternity, then with that hand That flings the trifurk[5.15] thunder, let the pride Of these our irreligious monarchisers Be crowned in blood. This makes poor Brutus mad,-- To see sin frolic, and the virtuous sad. _Enter_ Sextus _and_ Aruns. Aruns. Soft, here’s Brutus; let us acquaint him with the news. Sextus. Content. Now, cousin Brutus. Brutus. Who, I your kinsman! though I be of the blood of the Tarquins, yet no cousin, gentle prince. Aruns. And why so, Brutus? scorn you our alliance? Brutus. No; I was cousin to the Tarquins when they were subjects, but dare claim no kindred as they are sovereigns; Brutus is not so mad, though he be merry, but he hath wit enough to keep his head on his shoulders. Aruns. Why do you, my lord, thus lose your hours, and neither profess war nor domestic profit? the first might beget you love, the other riches. Brutus. Because I would live. Have I not answered you? because I would live. Fools and madmen are no rubs[5.16] in the way of usurpers; the firmament can brook but one sun, and for my part I must not shine: I had rather live an obscure black than appear a fair white to be shot at. The end of all is, I would live. Had Servius been a shrub, the wind had not shook him: or a madman, he had not perished. I covet no more wit nor employment than as much as will keep life and soul together--I would but live. Aruns. You are satirical, cousin Brutus: but to the purpose. The king dreamt a strange and ominous dream last night, and, to be resolved of the event, my brother Sextus and I must to the oracle. Sextus. And, because we would be well accompanied, we have got leave of the king that you, Brutus, shall associate us, for our purpose is to make a merry journey on’t. Brutus. So you’ll carry me along with you to be your fool, and make you merry. Sextus. Not our fool, but--