Where the difcafe is violent. Lay hands upon him,
And bear him to the Rock.

Cor. No, I'll dye here;

[Cor. draws his Sword.

There's fome among you have beheld me fighting,

Come try upon your felves, what you have feen me. Men. Down with that Sword, Tribunes withdraw a while.

Bru. Lay Hands upon him.

Men. Help Martius, help---you that be noble, help him young and old.

All. Down with him, down with him.

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

Men. Go, get you to your House; be gone, away, All will be naught elfe.

2 Sen. Get you gone.

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

Sen. The Gods forbid:

I prithee, noble Friend, home to thy Houfe,
Leave us to cure this Caufe.

Men. For 'tis a Sore upon us,

You cannot Tent your felf; begone, 'befeech you.
Com. Come, Sir, along with us.

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:

Begone, put not your worthy Rage into your Tongue,
One time will owe another.

Com. On fair Ground I could beat forty of them. Men. I could my felf take up a Brace o'th' beft of them, yea, the two Tribunes.

Com. But now 'tis odds beyond Arithmetick,

And Manhood is call'd Fool'ry when it stands
Against a falling Fabrick. Will you hence,
Before the Tag return, whofe Rage doth rend
Like interrupted Waters, and o'er-bear
What they are us'd to bear.

Men. Pray you, be gone:

I'll try whether my old Wit be in request

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With

With thofe that have but little; this must be patcht

With Cloth of any Colour.

Com. Nay, come away.

[Exeunt Coriolanus and Cominius

1 Sen. This Man has marr'd his Fortune.

Men. His Nature is too noble for the World:

He would not flatter Neptune for his Trident,

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Or Jove, for's power to Thunder: His Heart's his Mouth: What his Breaft forges, that his Tongue mult 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.

Men. I would they were in Tyber.

[A noife within.

What the vengeance, could he not fpeak 'em fair?
Enter Brutus and Sicinius, with the Rabble again.

Sec. Where is this Viper,

That would depopulate the City, and be every Man himself? Men. You worthy Tribunes

Sic. He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian Rock
With rigorous Hands; he hath refifted Law,

And therefore Law fhall fcorn him further Trial
Than the feverity of the Publick Power,
Which he fo fets at nought.

1 Cit. He fhall well know the noble Tribunes are The Peoples Mouths, and we their Hands.

All. He fhall fure out.

Men. Sir, Sir.

Sic. Peace.

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

Sic. Sir, how comes it that you have holp

To make this refcue?

Men. Hear me fpeak; as I do know

The Conful's worthiness, fo can I name his Faults...

Sic. Conful!-what Conful?

Men. The Conful Coriolanus.

Bru. He Conful!

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

Men. If by the Tribunes leave,
yours, good People,

And

I may be heard, I would 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 one 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
Towards her deferved Children, is enroll'd
In Jove's own Book, like an unnatural Dam
Should now eat up her own.

Sic. He's a Difcafe that muft be cut away.

Men. Oh, he's a Limb, that has but a Disease ;
Mortal, to cut it off; to cure it, eafie.

What has be 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.
Men. The fervice of the Foot,

Being once gangreen'd, is not then respected
For what before it was-

Bru. We'll hear no more.

Purfue him to his House, and pluck him thence,
Left his Infection, being of a catching nature,
Spread further.

Men. One word more, one word:

This Tiger-footed-rage, when it fhall find

The harm of unskann'd fwiftnefs, will (too late)

Tye leaden pounds to's Heels. Proceed by Procefs,
Left Parties (as he is belov'd) break out,

And fack great Rome with Romans.

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Br.

Bru. If it were fo

SIC. What do

ye talk ?

Have we not had a tafte of his Obedience?
Our Ædiles (mote, our felves refifted, come-

Men. Confider this; he hath been bred i'th Wars
Since he could draw a Sword, and is ill-fchool'd
In boulted Language, Meal and Bran together
He throws without diftinction. Give me leave,
I'll go to him, and undertake to bring him in peace,
Where he shall anfwer by a lawful Form,

In peace, to his utmost peril.

I Sen. Noble Tribunes,

It is the human way: The other course
Will prove too bloody, and the end of it

Unknown to the beginning.

Sic. Noble Menenius, be you th.n as the Peoples Officer. Mafters, lay down your Weapons.

Bru. Go not home,

Sic. Meet on the Market-place; we'll attend you there, Where, if you bring not Martins, we'll proceed In our firft way.

Men. I'll bring him to you.

Let me defire your Company; he must come,
Or what is worst will follow.

I Sen. Pray you let's to him.

Enter Coriolanus with Nobles.

Cor. Let them pull all about mine Ears, prefent me
Death on the Wheel, or at wild Horfes heels,
Or pile ten Hills on the Tarpeian Rock,
That the Precipitation might down ftretch
Below the beam of fight, yet will I still
Be thus to them.

Enter Volumnia.

Noble. You do the Nobler.

Cor. I mufe, my Mother

Does not approve me further, who was wont
To call them Woollen Vaffals, things created
To buy and fell with Groats, to fhew bare Heads
In Congregations, to yawn, be ftill, and wonder,
When one but of my Ordinance ftood up
To fpeak of Peace, or War. I talk of you,

[Exeunt.

Why

Why did you with me milder? Wou'd you have me
Falle to my Nature? Rather fay, I play
The Man I am.

Vol. Oh, Sir, Sir, Sir.

I would have had you put your Power well on,
Before you had worn it out.

Cor. Let's go.

Vol. You might have been enough the Man you are,
With ftriving lefs to be fo. Leffer had been
The things that thwart your Difpofitions, if
You had not fhew'd them how ye were difpos'd
E'er they lack'd power to crofs you.

Cor. Let them hang.

Vol. Ay, and burn too. :

Enter Menenius with the Senators.

Men. Come, come, you have been too rough, fomething too rough: You must return, and mend it.

Sen. There's no Remedy,
Unless by not fo doing, our good City
Cleave in the midft, and perish.
Vo. Pray be counsell'd;

I have a Heart as little apt as yours,

But yet a Brain that leads my ufe of Anger

To better vantage.

Men. Well faid, noble Woman:

Before he should thus ftoop to th' Heart, but that
The violent Fit o'th' Times craves it as Phyfick
For the whole State, I would put mine Armour on,
Which I can scarcely bear.

Cor. What must I do?

Men. Return to th' Tribunes.

Cor. Well, what then? what then?

Men. Repent what you have fpoke.

Cor. For them? I cannot do it for the Gods,

Muft I then do't to them?

Vol. You are too abfolute,

Tho' therein you can never be too Noble,

But when Extremities fpeak. I have heard you fay,
Honour and Policy, like unfever'd Friends,
Ith' War do grow together: Grant that, and tell me

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