Why, lords, what wrongs are these! was ever seen
An emperor in Rome thus overborne,
Troubled, confronted thus, and, for the extent
Of egall justice, us’d in such contempt?
My lords, you know, as know the mightful gods,
However these disturbers of our peace
Buzz in the people’s ears, there nought hath pass’d,
But even with law, against the willful sons
Of old Andronicus. And what and if
His sorrows have so overwhelm’d his wits?
Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks,
His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness?
And now he writes to heaven for his redress.
See, here’s to Jove, and this to Mercury,
This to Apollo, this to the god of war:
Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome!
What’s this but libelling against the Senate,
And blazoning our unjustice every where?
A goodly humor, is it not, my lords?
As who would say, in Rome no justice were.
But if I live, his feigned ecstasies
Shall be no shelter to these outrages,
But he and his shall know that justice lives
In Saturninus’ health, whom, if he sleep,
He’ll so awake as he in fury shall
Cut off the proud’st conspirator that lives.