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Both. What, what, what? Let's partake.
3 Ser. I would not be a Roman of all Nations; I had as Lieve be a condemn'd Man.
Both. Wherefore? wherefore?
3 Ser. Why here's he that was wont to thwack our Gencral, Caius Martins.
i Ser. Why do you say, thwack our General?
3 Ser. I do not say thwack our General, but he was always good enough for him.
2.Ser. Come, we are Fellows and Friends; he was ever too hard for him, I have heard him say so himself.
1 Ser. He was too hard for him dire&ly, to say the Troth on't ; before Coriolus, he scotcht him and notcht him like a Carbonado.
2 Ser. And, had he been Cannibally given, he might have boil'd and eaten him too.
I Șer. But more of thy News.
3 Ser. Why he is so made on here within, as if he were Son and Heir to Mars: Set at upper end o'th' Table ;. no Question askt him by any of the Senators, but they stand bald before him. Our General himself makes a Mistress of him, fan&tifies himself with's Hands, and turns up the white o'th' Eye to his Discourse. But the bottom of the News is, our General is cut i'th' middle, and but one half of what he was yesterday. For the other has half, by the intreaty and grant of the whole Table. He'll go, he says, and fowle the Porter of Rome Gates by th' Ears. He will mow down all before him, and leave his passage poll'd.
2 Ser. And he's as like to do't as any Man I can imagine.
3 Ser. Do't! he will do't: For look you, Sir, he has as many Friends as Enemies; which Friends, Sir, as it were, durst not (look you, Sir) Thew themselves (as we term it) his Friends, whilft he's in Directitude.
I Ser. Dire&itude! What's that?
3 Ser. But when they shall see, Sir, his Crest up again, and the Man in Blood, they will out of their Burroughs (like Conies after Rain) and revel all with him.
1 Ser. But when goes this forward?
3 Ser. To Morrow, to Day, presently, you shall have the Drum ftruck up this Afternoon: 'Tis as it were a parcel of their Feast, and to be executed e'er they wipe their Lips.
duf. What is thy Name?
Cor. A Name urmutical to Valjcians Ears, And hurth in found to thine.
Muf. Say, what's thy Name?
Cur. Prepare thy Brow to frown; know it thou serasz
Cor. My Name is Caius Martius, who tath dore
For I will fight
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2 Ser. Why then we shall have a stirring World again : This Peace is worth nothing, but to rust Iron, encrease Tailors, and breed Ballad-makers.
I Ser. Let me have War, say I, it exceeds Peace, as far as Day does Night, it's sprightly walking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very Apoplexy, Lethargy, mulld, deaf, sleepy, insensible, a getter of more Bastard Children, than Wars a destroyer of Men.
2 Ser. 'Tis so, and as Wars in some fort may be said to be a Ravisher, so it cannot be denied, but Peace is a great maker of Cuckolds.
1 Ser. Ay, and it makes Men hate one another.
3 Ser. Reason, because they then less need one another: The Wars for my Mony. I hope to see Romans as cheap as Volscians. They are rifing, they are rifing. Both. In, in, in, in.
[Exeunt. SCENE IV. Ronie.
Enter Sicinius and Brutus.
Sic. 'Tis he, 'tis he: 0 he is grown most kind of late : Hail, Sir.
Men. Hail to you both.
Sic. Your Coriolanus is not much mist, but with his Friends ; the Commonwealth doth stand, and so 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 :
Enter three or four Citizens.
i Cit. Our Selves, our Wives, and Children, on our Knees Are bound to pray
both. Sic. Live and thrive.
Bru. Farewel, kind Neighbours:
All. Now the Gods keep you.
Bru. Caius Martins was
Sic. And affe&ing one fole Thronę, without allistance,
Sic. We should by this to all our Lamentation, If he had gone forth Consul, found it so.
Bru. The Gods have well prevented it, and Ronse
Men. 'Tis Aufidius,
Sic. Come, what talk you of Martius ?
Bru. Go see this Rumourer whipt, it cannot be,
Men, Cannot be !