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Come, come, you've been too rough, something too rough.
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You must return and mend it.
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There's no remedy, unless, by not so doing, our good city
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cleave in the midst and perish.
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Pray, be counseled.
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I have a heart as little apt as yours,
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but yet a brain that leads my use of anger to better vantage.
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- Well said, noble woman. - And what must I do?
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- Return to the tribunes. - What then? What then?
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Repent what you have spoke.
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For them? I cannot do it to the gods.
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Must I then do it to them?