<SPEECH 1><ACT 1><SCENE 1><6%>
<MESSENGER>	<6%>
	Where's Caius Marcius?
</MESSENGER>

<SPEECH 2><ACT 1><SCENE 1><6%>
<MESSENGER>	<6%>
	The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms.
</MESSENGER>

<SPEECH 3><ACT 1><SCENE 4><12%>
<MESSENGER>	<13%>
	They lie in view, but have not spoke as yet.
</MESSENGER>

<SPEECH 4><ACT 1><SCENE 4><12%>
<MESSENGER>	<13%>
	Within this mile and half.
</MESSENGER>

<SPEECH 5><ACT 1><SCENE 6><16%>
<MESSENGER>	<17%>
	The citizens of Corioli have issu'd,
	And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle:
	I saw our party to their trenches driven,
	And then I came away.
</MESSENGER>

<SPEECH 6><ACT 1><SCENE 6><16%>
<MESSENGER>	<17%>
	Above an hour, my lord.
</MESSENGER>

<SPEECH 7><ACT 1><SCENE 6><16%>
<MESSENGER>	<17%>
	Spies of the Volsces
	Held me in chase, that I was forc'd to wheel
	Three or four miles about; else had I, sir,
	Half an hour since brought my report.
</MESSENGER>

<SPEECH 8><ACT 2><SCENE 1><30%>
<MESSENGER>	<31%>
	You are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tis thought
	That Marcius shall be consul.
	I have seen the dumb men throng to see him, and
	The blind to hear him speak: matrons flung gloves,
	Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchers
	Upon him as he pass'd; the nobles bended,
	As to Jove's statue, and the commons made
	A shower and thunder with their caps and shouts:
	I never saw the like.
</MESSENGER>

<SPEECH 9><ACT 4><SCENE 6><77%>
<MESSENGER>	<77%>
	The nobles in great earnestness are going
	All to the senate-house: some news is come,
	That turns their countenances.
</MESSENGER>

<SPEECH 10><ACT 4><SCENE 6><77%>
<MESSENGER>	<77%>
	Yes, worthy sir,
	The slave's report is seconded; and more,
	More fearful, is deliver'd.
</MESSENGER>

<SPEECH 11><ACT 4><SCENE 6><77%>
<MESSENGER>	<77%>
	It is spoke freely out of many mouths—
	How probable I do not know—that Marcius,
	Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome,
	And vows revenge as spacious as between
	The young'st and oldest thing.
</MESSENGER>

<SPEECH 12><ACT 5><SCENE 4><94%>
<MESSENGER>	<94%>
	Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your house:
	The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune,
	And hale him up and down; all swearing, if
	The Roman ladies bring not comfort home,
	They'll give him death by inches.

</MESSENGER>

