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Monologues for Men


O Martius, Martius!

Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my heart

A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter

Should from yond cloud speak divine things,

And say “’Tis true,” I’d not believe them more

Than thee, all-noble Martius. Let me twine

Mine arms about that body, where against

My grained ash an hundred times hath broke,

And scarr’d the moon with splinters. Here I cleep

The anvil of my sword, and do contest

As hotly and as nobly with thy love

As ever in ambitious strength I did

Contend against thy valor. Know thou first,

I lov’d the maid I married; never man

Sigh’d truer breath; but that I see thee here,

Thou noble thing, more dances my rapt heart

Than when I first my wedded mistress saw

Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars, I tell thee,

We have a power on foot; and I had purpose

Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn,

Or lose mine arm for’t. Thou hast beat me out

Twelve several times, and I have nightly since

Dreamt of encounters ’twixt thyself and me;

We have been down together in my sleep,

Unbuckling helms, fisting each other’s throat,

And wak’d half dead with nothing. Worthy Martius,

Had we no other quarrel else to Rome but that

Thou art thence banish’d, we would muster all

From twelve to seventy, and pouring war

Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome,

Like a bold flood o’er-beat. O, come, go in,

And take our friendly senators by th’ hands,

Who now are here, taking their leaves of me,

Who am prepar’d against your territories,

Though not for Rome itself.

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