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And throw the power i' th' duft.

Bru. Manifeft treafon

Sic. This a Conful? no.

Bru. The Ediles, ho! let him be apprehended.
Sic. Go, call the people, in whofe name my felf
Attach thee as a traiterous innovator:

A foe to th' publick weal.
And follow to thine anfwer.

Cor. Hence, old goat!

All. We'll furety him.

Obey I charge thee,

[Laying hold on Coriolanus.

Com. 'Hold, aged Sir,` hands off.

Cor. Hence, rotten thing, or I fhall fhake thy bones

Out of thy garments.

Sic. Help me, citizens.

SCENE

II.

Enter a Rabble of Plebeians with the diles.

Men. On both fides more refpect.

Sic. Here's he, that would take from you all your power.

Bru. Seize him, Ediles.

All. Down with him, down with him!

2 Sen. Weapons, weapons, weapons!

[They all bustle about Coriolanus. Tribunes, Patricians, Citizens-what hoeSicinius, Brutus, Coriolanus, Citizens !

All. Peace, peace, peace, ftay, hold, peace! Men. What is about to be?I am out of breath; Confufion's near. I cannot fpeak.-You Tribunes, Coriolanus, patience; fpeak, Sicinius.

Sic. Hear me, people-peace.

[fpeak, fpeak.

All. Let's hear our Tribune: 7'peace, ho! fpeak,`

Sic. You are at point to lofe

your liberties:

Martius would have all from you: Martius,

Whom late you nam'd for Conful.

Men. Fie, fie, fie,

This is the way to kindle, not to quench.

6 Ag'd Sir,

7 peace; fpeak,

Sen.

Sen. To unbuild the city, and to lay all flat.
Sic. What is the city, but the people?

All. True, the people are the city.

Bru. By the confent of all, we were eftablish'd The people's magiftrates.

All. You fo remain.

Men. And fo are like to do:

Cor. That is the way to lay the city flat;
To bring the roof to the foundation,
And bury all, which yet diftinctly ranges,
In heaps and piles of ruin.

Sic. This deferves death.

Bru. Or let us ftand to our authority,
Or let us lofe it; we do here pronounce,
Upon the part o' th' people, in whose power
We were elected theirs, Martius is worthy
Of prefent death.

Sic. Therefore lay hold on him;

Bear him to th' rock Tarpeian, and from thence
Into deftruction caft him.

Bru. Ediles, feize him.

All Ple. Yield, Martius, yield.

Men. Hear me one word, 'befeech". 8/you, Ye Tribunes, hear me but a word

Ediles, Peace, peace.

Men. Be that you feem, truly your country's friends, And temp'rately proceed to what you

Thus violently redrefs.

Bru. Sir, thofe cold ways,

would

That feem like prudent helps, are very poisonous,

And bear him to the rock.

Where the disease is violent.

Lay hands on him,

[Drawing bis fword.

Cor. No, I'll die here;

There's fome among you have beheld me fighting,

Come try upon your felves what you have feen me.
Men. Down with that fword; Tribunes, withdraw a
Bru. Lay hands upon him.

8 you, Tribunes,

[while.

Men.

Men. 'Help, help Martius, help,

You that be noble, help him young and old.
All. Down with him, down with him.

[In this mutiny, the Tribunes, the Ediles, and the
People are beat in.

S CE N E III.

Men. Go, get you to your houfe; be gone, away, All will be naught else.

2 Sen. Get you gone, away!

Com. Stand faft, we have as many friends as enemies.
Men. Shall it be put to that?

Sen. The Gods forbid!

I pr'ythee, noble friend, home to thy house,
Leave us to cure this 'cafe.`

2

Men. For 'tis a fore

You cannot tent your felf; begone, 'befeech

Com. Come, Sir, along with us.

you.

Men. I would they were Barbarians, as they are,
Though in Rome litter'd; not Romans, as they are not,
Though calved in the porch o' th' Capitol:

3 'Be gone, be gone, put not your worthy rage
Into your tongue, one time will owe another.
Cor. On fair ground I could beat forty of them.
Men. I could my 'felf, I think, take`
O' th' beft of them, 'yea, even the two Tribunes.
up a brace
Com. But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetick,
And manhood is call'd fool'ry when it ftands
Against a falling fabrick. Will you hence,
Before the tag return, whofe rage doth rend
Like interrupted waters, and o'erbear
What they are us❜d to bear?

Men. Pray you, be gone:

I'll try if my old wit be in request

With those that have but little; this must be patcht

With

[blocks in formation]

3 Begone, put

With cloth of any colour.

Com. Come away. [Exeunt Coriolanus and Cominius.

SCENE

1 Sen. This man has marr'd his fortune.

IV.

Men. His nature is too noble for the world:

He would not flatter Neptune for his trident,

Or Jove for's power to thunder: his heart's his mouth: What his breaft forges, that his tongue muft vent;

And being angry, does forget that ever

He heard the name of death.

Here's goodly work.

2 Sen. I would they were a-bed.

[A noife within.

Men. I would they were in Tyber. What the vengeance, Could he not fpeak 'em fair?

Enter Brutus and Sicinius, with the rabble again.

Sic. Where is this viper,

That would depopulate the city, and

Be every man himself?

Men. You worthy Tribunes

Sic. He fhall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock
With rigorous hands; he hath refifted law,

And therefore law fhall fcorn him further tryal
Than the feverity of publick power,

Which he fo fets at nought.

1 Cit. He fhall well know the noble Tribunes are The people's mouths, and we their hands.

All. He fhall,

Be fure on't.

Men. Sir, Sir,

Sic. Peace.

Men. Do not cry havock, where you should but hunt

With modeft warrant..

Sic. Sir, how comes it you

Have holp to make this rescue?
Men. Hear me fpeak;

As

As I do know the Conful's worthiness,
So can I name his faults-

Sic. Conful!what Conful?
Men. The Conful Coriolanus.
Bru. 6/He the Conful!-

All. No, no, no, no, no.

Men. If by the Tribunes leave, and yours, good people, I may be heard, I'd crave a word or two, The which fhall turn you to no further harm, Than fo much lofs of time.

Sic. Speak briefly then,

For we are peremptory to dispatch

This viperous traitor; to eject him hence
Were but 'our danger, and to keep him here
Our certain death; therefore it is decreed
He dies to-night.

Men. Now the good Gods forbid,
That our renowned Rome, whofe gratitude
Tow'rds her deferving children is enroll'd
In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam
Should now eat up her own!

Sic. He's a difeafe that must be cut away.

8

Men. Oh, he is but a limb, that has difeafe ;`
Mortal, to cut it off; to cure it, eafie.

What has he done to Rome, that's worthy death?
Killing our enemies? the blood he hath loft
(Which, I dare vouch, is more than that he hath,
By many an ounce) he dropt it for his country:
And what is left, to lofe it by his country,
Were to us all that do't, and fuffer it,

A brand to th' end o'th' world.

Sic. This is clean kam.

Bru. Meerly awry: when he did love his country,

It honour'd him.

Sic. The fervice of the foot

Being once gangreen'd, it is not then refpected

6 He Conful!.

7 one..old edit. Theob, emend.

For

8 he's a limb, that has but a disease ;

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