We may, sir, if we will

"To all to whom these presents shall come - Greeting." Or so they wrote upon ancient deeds of old. Wondrous rhetoric, replete with wax and ribbons, to mark the passing of title, and remind young fools of their initial attraction to the profession. Happy news as a rendered decision proves satisfactory to our client, and so a message is left on my phone from a senior partner to book Wednesday at 1PM for a "piss-up" celebratory lunch. Glorious. Even as the return from the other coast has me ponderous about the course of the flow of life. Flying great lengths, staring out at endless clouds at the 40,000 ft. horizon. It has been known to have such an effect.
The fog has rolled into the city and out my window at this four o'clock the sky is a ghostly white. The rain falls intermittently sideways. A perfect sort of drinking weather to fade into another Shakespearean (Coriolanus, II iii) Rum et Coke Friday in which both answers and madcap occurrences are best sought. As always, we'll settle for some of the latter:

Enter seven or eight Citizens

First Citizen

Once, if he do require our voices, we ought
not to deny him.

Second Citizen

We may, sir, if we will.

Third Citizen

We have power in ourselves to do it, but it is a
power that we have no power to do; for if he show us
his wounds and tell us his deeds, we are to put our
tongues into those wounds and speak for them; so, if
he tell us his noble deeds, we must also tell him
our noble acceptance of them. Ingratitude is
monstrous, and for the multitude to be ingrateful,
were to make a monster of the multitude: of the
which we being members, should bring ourselves to be
monstrous members.

First Citizen

And to make us no better thought of, a little help
will serve; for once we stood up about the corn, he
himself stuck not to call us the many-headed multitude.

Third Citizen

We have been called so of many; not that our heads
are some brown, some black, some auburn, some bald,
but that our wits are so diversely coloured: and
truly I think if all our wits were to issue out of
one skull, they would fly east, west, north, south,
and their consent of one direct way should be at
once to all the points o' the compass.

Second Citizen

Think you so? Which way do you judge my wit would
fly?

Third Citizen

Nay, your wit will not so soon out as another man's
will;'tis strongly wedged up in a block-head, but
if it were at liberty, 'twould, sure, southward.

Second Citizen

Why that way?

Third Citizen

To lose itself in a fog, where being three parts
melted away with rotten dews, the fourth would return
for conscience sake, to help to get thee a wife.

Second Citizen

You are never without your tricks: you may, you may.

Third Citizen

Are you all resolved to give your voices? But
that's no matter, the greater part carries it. I
say, if he would incline to the people, there was
never a worthier man.

Enter CORIOLANUS in a gown of humility, with MENENIUS

Shall I lose my wit in the fog, then? The mouth of the Atlantic is due South, after all. Oh, on such a night as this, why not?

UPDATE, minutes later: The white-out has descended further round the windows of the 16th floor. I do spy magic ahead. For I have just returned from the bank with a slight piece of paper whose typing marked it as a cheque for $5.7 million dollars. Were it had been made out to me, so I would easily overcome the custom that forces Coriolanus to stand in his woolvish toge and asks us all to do that which we would not... and yet to dream.