Act IVScene VII
A camp at a short distance from Rome
Enter Aufidius with his Lieutenant.
Aufidius
Do they still fly to th’ Roman?
Lieutenant
I do not know what witchcraft’s in him, butYour soldiers use him as the grace ’fore meat,Their talk at table, and their thanks at end;And you are dark’ned in this action, sir,Even by your own.
Aufidius
I cannot help it now,Unless by using means I lame the footOf our design. He bears himself more proudlier,Even to my person, than I thought he wouldWhen first I did embrace him. Yet his natureIn that’s no changeling, and I must excuseWhat cannot be amended.
Lieutenant
Yet I wish, sir—I mean for your particular—you had notJoined in commission with him, but eitherHad borne the action of yourself or elseTo him had left it solely.
Aufidius
I understand thee well, and be thou sure,When he shall come to his account, he knows notWhat I can urge against him, although it seems,And so he thinks and is no less apparentTo th’ vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly,And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state,Fights dragonlike, and does achieve as soonAs draw his sword; yet he hath left undoneThat which shall break his neck or hazard mineWhene’er we come to our account.
Lieutenant
Sir, I beseech you, think you he’ll carry Rome?
Aufidius
All places yield to him ere he sits down,And the nobility of Rome are his;The Senators and Patricians love him too.The Tribunes are no soldiers, and their peopleWill be as rash in the repeal as hastyTo expel him thence. I think he’ll be to RomeAs is the osprey to the fish, who takes itBy sovereignty of nature. First, he wasA noble servant to them, but he could notCarry his honours even. Whether ’twas pride,Which out of daily fortune ever taintsThe happy man; whether defect of judgment,To fail in the disposing of those chancesWhich he was lord of; or whether nature,Not to be other than one thing, not movingFrom th’ casque to th’ cushion, but commanding peaceEven with the same austerity and garbAs he controlled the war; but one of these—As he hath spices of them all—not all,For I dare so far free him—made him feared,So hated, and so banished. But he has a meritTo choke it in the utt’rance. So our virtuesLie in th’ interpretation of the time,And power, unto itself most commendable,Hath not a tomb so evident as a chairT’ extol what it hath done.One fire drives out one fire, one nail one nail;Rights by rights falter; strengths by strengths do fail.Come, let’s away. When, Caius, Rome is thine,Thou art poor’st of all; then shortly art thou mine.
Exeunt.