Puslapio vaizdai

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.

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Sic. We hear not of him, neither need we fear him,
His Remedies are tame: the present Peace
And Quietness of the People, which before
Were in wild hurry. Here do we make his Friends
Blush, that the World goes well; who rather had,
Though they themselves did fuffer by't, behold
Diffentious Numbers peftring Streets, than fee
Our Tradesmen finging in their Shops, and going
About their Functions friendly.

Enter Menenius.

Bru. We ftood to't in good time. Is this Menenius ?
Sic. 'Tis he, 'tis he: O he is grown moft kind of late:

Hail, Sir.

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

[Exeunt Citizens,

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,
O'ercome with Pride, Ambitious past all thinking,

Sic. And affecting one fole Throne, without affiftance,
Men. I think not fo.

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.

Enter Edile.

Adile. Worthy Tribunes,

There is a Slave, whom we have put in Prison,
Reports the Volfcies, with two feveral Powers,
Are entred in the Roman Territories,

And with the deepest Malice of the War,
Destroy what lyes before 'em.

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
Within my Age. But reafon with the Fellow
Before you punish him, where he heard this,
Left you fhall chance to whip your Information,
And beat the Meffenger, who bids beware
Of what is to be dreaded.

Sic. Tell not me: I know this cannot be:
Bru. Not poffible.

Enter a Messenger.

Mef. The Nobles in great Earneftness are going
All to the Senate-houfe; fome News is come
That turns their Countenances.

Sic. 'Tis this Slave:

Go whip him 'fore the Peoples Eyes: His raifing;
Nothing but his Report.

Mef. Yes, worthy Sir.

The Slave's Report is feconded, and more,
More fearful is delivered.

Sic. What more fearful?

Mef. It is fpoke freely out of many Mouths,
How probable I do not know, that Martius
Join'd with Aufidius, leads a Power 'gainst Rome,
And vows Revenge as fpacious, as between
The youngest and oldeft thing.

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.

Enter Messenger.

Mef. You are fent for to the Senate:

A fearful Army, led by Caius Martius,
Affociated with Aufidius, rages

Upon our Territories, and have already

O'er-born their way, confum'd with Fire, and took
What lay before them.

Enter Cominius.

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
Your Franchifes, whereon you ftood, confin'd
Into an Auger's bore.

Men. Pray now the News?

You have made fair work, I fear me: pray, your news?
If Martius fhould be joyned with the Volfcians.

Com. If? He is their God, he leads them like a thing
Made by fome other Deity than Nature,

That shapes Man better; and they follow him.
Against us Brats, with no lefs Confidence,

Than Boys pursuing Summer Butter-flies,
Or Butchers killing Flies.

Men. You have made good work,

You and your Apron men; you that stood fo much
Upon the Voice of Occupation, and

The Breath of Garlick-eaters.

Com. He'll shake your Rome about your Ears.
Men. As Hercules did shake down mellow Fruit:

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?
Your Enemies and his find something in 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
Deserve such pity of him, as the Wolf

Do's of the Shepherds: For his best Friends, if they
Shou'd fay, be good to Rome, they charg'd him, even,
As thofe fhould do that had deferv'd his Hate,
And therein fhew'd like Enemies.


Me. 'Tis true, if he were putting to my House, the Brand
That would confume it, I have not the Face

Tofay, befeech you cease. You have made fair Hands,
You and your Crafts! you have crafted fair!
Com. You have brought

A trembling upon Rome, fuch as was never
So incapable of help.

Tri. Say not we brought it.

Men. How? Was't we? We lov'd him;
But, like Beafts and cowardly Nobles,

Gave Way unto your Clufters, who did hoot
Him out o'th' City.

Com. But I fear

They'll roar him in again.

Tullus Aufidius,
The fecond Name of Men, obeys his points
As if he were his Officer: Defperation,
Is all the Policy, Strength, and Defence
That Rome can make against them.

Enter a Troop of Citizens

Men. Here come the Clufters.

And is Aufidius with him?

You are they

you caft

That made the Air unwholfome, when
Your stinking, greafie Caps, in hooting
At Coriolanus's Exile. Now he's coming,
And not a Hair upon a Soldiers Head

Which will not prove a Whip: as many Coxcombs
As you threw Caps up, will he tumble down,
And pay you for your Voices. 'Tis no matter,
If he thou'd burn us all into one Coal,

We have deferv'd it.

Omnes. Faith, we hear fearful News.
I Cit. For mine own part,

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?


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