Your felf unto a Power Tyrannical, For which you are a Traitor to the People. Cor. How? Traitor? Men. Nay, temperately: your promise. Cor. The Fires i'th' loweft Hell, Fold in the People: Sic. Mark you this, People? All. To th' Rock with him. We need not put new Matter to his Charge:1 Bru. But fince he hath ferv'd well for Rome- Bru. I talk of that, that know it. Cor. You?. Men. Is this the promise that you made your Mother? Com. Know, I pray you. Cor. I'll know no farther: Let them pronounce the fteep Tarpeian Death, Sic. For that he has (As much as in him lyes) from time to time* And And in the Power of us the Tribunes, we From off the Rock Tarpeian, never more To enter our Rome's Gates. I'th' People's Name, All. It fhall be fo, it fhall be fo: Let him away: Com. Hear me, my Mafters, and my common Friends--Sic. He's Sentenc'd: No more Hearing. Com. Let me fpeak: I have been Conful, and can fhew from Rome, I do love My Country's good, with a refpect more tender, Sic. We know your drif. Speak what? Bru. There's no more to be faid, but he is banish'd As Enemy to the People, and his Country. It fhall be fo. All. It fhall be fo, it shall be so. Cor. You common cry of Curs, whofe Breath I hate, As reek o'th' rotten Fenns; whofe Loves I prize, As the dead Carkaffes of unburied Men, [Exeunt Coriolanus, Cominius, and others. [The People fout, and throw up their Caps. Adile. The Peoples Enemy is gone, is gone. All. Come, come; lets fee him out at the Gates, come. The Gods preserve our noble Tribunes, come. A CT IV. [Exeunt. SCENE I. SCENE without the Walls of Rome. Enter Coriolanus, Volumnia, Virgilia, Menenius, Cominius, with the young Nobility of Rome. Cor. Ome, leave your Tears: A brief farewel: The Beaft Where is your ancient Courage: You were us'd The Heart that conn'd them. Vir. Oh Heavens! O Heavens ! Cor. Nay, I prithee Woman Vol. Now the Red-Peftilence ftrike all Trades in Rome, And Occupations perish. Cor. What! what! what! I fhall be lov'd, when I am lack'd. Nay, Mother, If you had been the Wife of Hercules, Six of his Labours you'd have done, and fav'd Droop not; Adieu: Farewel my Wife, my Mother, And venomous to thine Eyes. My (fometime) General, Heart Heart-hardning Spectacles. Tell these fad Women, As 'tis to laugh at 'em. My Mother, you wot not well Like to a lonely Dragon, that his Fen Makes fear'd, and talk'd of more than feen: Your Son With cautelous baits and practice. Vol. My first Son, Whither will you go? Take good Cominius Cor. O the Gods! Com. I'll follow thee a month, devife with thee Cor. Fare ye well: Thou haft Years upon thee, and thou art too full Men. That's worthily As any Ear can bear. Come, let's not weep, If I could shake off but one feven Years From these old Arms and Legs, by the good Gods I'd with thee every foot. Cor. Give me thy Hand, come. [Exeunt Enter Sicinius and Brutus, with the Edile. Sic. Bid them all home, he's gone; and we'll no further. The Nobility are vexed, whom we fee have fided In his behalf. Bru. Now we have fhewn our Power, Let us feem humbler after it is done, Than when it was a doing, Sic. Bid them home, fay their great Enemy is gone, And they, ftand in their ancient ftrength. Bru. Difmifs them home. Here comes his Mother. Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Menenius. Sic. Let's not meet her. d Bru. Why? Sic. They fay fhe's mad. Bru. They have talen note of us Keep on your way. Th' hoorded Plague o'th' Gods requite your Love. Vol. If that I could for weeping, you should hear Sic. Are you Mankind? Vol. Ay, Fool, is that a Shame? Note but this Fool, Sic. Oh bleffed Heavens! Vol. More noble Blows, than ever thou wifeWords, And for Rome's good I'll tell thee what yet go Nay, but thou shalt ftay too I would, my Son Were in Arabia, and thy Tribe before him, His good Sword in his Hand. Sic. What then? Virg. What then? He'd make an end of thy Pofterity. Good Man, the Wounds that he does bear for Rome. Men. Come, come, peace Sic. I would he had continued to his Country As he began, and not unknit, himself, The noble Knot he made. 1 Bru. I would he had. Vol. I would he had! 'Twas you incens'd the Rabble. Cats, that can judge as fitly of his Worth, As I can of thofe Myfteries which Heaven Ff Will |