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2 Ser. Why then we fhall have a stirring World again : This Peace is worth nothing, but to ruft Iron, encrease Tailors, and breed Ballad-makers.
1 Ser. Let me have War, fay I, it exceeds Peace, as far as Day does Night, it's fprightly walking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very Apoplexy, Lethargy, mull'd, deaf, fleepy, infenfible, a getter of more Baftard Children, than Wars a destroyer of Men.
2 Ser. 'Tis fo, and as Wars in fome fort may be faid to be a Ravisher, fo it cannot be denied, but Peace is a great maker of Cuckolds.
I Ser. Ay, and it makes Men hate one another.
3 Ser. Reason, because they then lefs need one another: The Wars for my Mony. I hope to fee Romans as cheap as Volfcians. They are rifing, they are rifing.
Both. In, in, in, in.
Sic. We hear not of him, neither need we fear him,
Bru. We ftood to't in good time. Is this Menenius ?
Men. Hail to you both.
Sic. Your Coriolanus is not much mist, but with his Friends; the Commonwealth doth ftand, and fo would do, were he more angry at it.
Men. All's well, and might have been much better, if he could have temporiz'd.
Sic. Where is he, hear you?
Men. Nay, I hear nothing:
His Mother and his Wife hear nothing from him.
Enter three or four Citizens.
All. The Gods preferve you both.
Sic. Good-t'en, Neighbours.
Bru. Good-e'en to you all, good-e'en to you all.
I Cit. Our Selves, our Wives, and Children, on our Knees Are bound to pray for you both.
Sic. Live and thrive.
Bru. Farewel, kind Neighbours:
We wisht Coriolanus had lov'd you, as we did.
All. Now the Gods keep you.
Both Tri. Farewel, farewel
Sic. This is a happier, and more comely time, Than when thefe Fellows ran about the Streets, Crying, Confufion.
Bru. Caius Martins was
A worthy Officer i'th' War, but Infolent,
Sic. And affecting one fole Throne, without affiftance,
Sic. We fhould by this to all our Lamentation,
If he had gone forth Conful, found it fo.
Bru. The Gods have well prevented it, and Rome Sits fafe and ftill without him.
Adile. Worthy Tribunes,
There is a Slave, whom we have put in Prison,
And with the deepest Malice of the War,
Men. 'Tis Aufidius,
Who hearing of our Martius's Banishment,
Thrufts forth his Horns again into the World,
Which were In-fhell'd, when Martins ftood for Rome,
And durft not once peep out.
Sic. Come, what talk you of Martius?
Bru. Go fee this Rumourer whipt, it cannot be, The Volfcies dare break with us.
Men. Cannot be !
We have Record that very well it can,
And three Examples of the like have been
Sic. Tell not me: I know this cannot be:
Enter a Messenger.
Mef. The Nobles in great Earneftness are going
Sic. 'Tis this Slave:
Go whip him 'fore the Peoples Eyes: His raifing;
Mef. Yes, worthy Sir.
The Slave's Report is feconded, and more,
Sic. What more fearful?
Mef. It is fpoke freely out of many Mouths,
Sic. This is most likely.
Bru. Rais'd only, that the weaker fort may wifh Good Martius home again.
Sic. The very trick on't.
Men. This is unlikely,
He'and Aufidius can no more atone,
Than violent'st Contrariety.
Mef. You are fent for to the Senate:
A fearful Army, led by Caius Martius,
Upon our Territories, and have already
O'er-born their way, confum'd with Fire, and took
Com. Oh, you have made good work.
Men. What News? What News?
Com. You have holp to ravish your own Daughters, and To melt the City Leads upon your Pates,
To fee your Wives difhonour'd to your Nofes.
Men. What's the news? What's the news?
Com. Your Temples burn'd in their Cement, and
Men. Pray now the News?
You have made fair work, I fear me: pray, your news?
Com. If? He is their God, he leads them like a thing
That shapes Man better; and they follow him.
Than Boys pursuing Summer Butter-flies,
Men. You have made good work,
You and your Apron men; you that stood fo much
The Breath of Garlick-eaters.
Com. He'll shake your Rome about your Ears.
You have made fair work.
Bru. But is this true, Sir?
Com. Ay, and you'll look pale
Before you find it other. All the Regions
Do fmilingly revolt, and who refifts
Are mock'd for valiant Ignorance,
And perish conftant Fools: Who is't can blame him?
Men. We are all undone, unless
The Noble Man have Mercy.
Com. Who fhall ask it?
The Tribunes cannot do't for fhame; the People
Do's of the Shepherds: For his best Friends, if they
Me. 'Tis true, if he were putting to my House, the Brand
Tofay, befeech you cease. You have made fair Hands,
A trembling upon Rome, fuch as was never
Tri. Say not we brought it.
Men. How? Was't we? We lov'd him;
Gave Way unto your Clufters, who did hoot
Com. But I fear
They'll roar him in again.
Enter a Troop of Citizens
Men. Here come the Clufters.
And is Aufidius with him?
You are they
That made the Air unwholfome, when
Which will not prove a Whip: as many Coxcombs
We have deferv'd it.
Omnes. Faith, we hear fearful News.
When I faid banish him, I said 'twas Pity.
2 Cit. And fo did I.
3 Cit. And fo did I; and to fay the truth, fo did very many of us; that we did, we did for the beft: And tho' we willingly confented to his Banishment, yet it was against Our Will.
Com. Y'are goodly things; you Voices! Men. You have made you good work, You and your Cry. Shall's to the Capitol?