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.

1974

duf. What is thy Name?

Cor. A Name urmutical to Valjcians Ears, And hurth in found to thine.

Muf. Say, what's thy Name?
'1 hou hult a grim appearance, and thy Face
Trans a Command in't; though thy Tackle's tor: ,
'1 hou lhewilt a noble Velle: What's thy Name?

Cur. Prepare thy Brow to frown; know it thou serasz
Muf. I know thee not; thy Name?

Cor. My Name is Caius Martius, who tath dore
To thee particularly, and to all the Volscies,
Great Hurt and Mi chief; thereto witness may
My Sirname, Coriolinus. The painful S rvice,
The extream Dangers, and the drops of Blood
Sacd for my thanklets Country, are requited
But with that Sırname; a good Memory
And witness of the Malice and Displealure
Which thou could't bear me; only that Name remairs
The Cruelty and Envy of the People,
Permitted by our daftard Nobles, who
Hive all forfook me, hati dercur'd the reft
And fufferd me by ch' voice of Slaves to be
Hoop'd cut cf Rimc. Now this extremity
Hath brougke me to thy Hearth, not out of bria
(Mittake me not) to fave my Life; for if
I had ter's Death, of all the Jlen i'th' World
I would have roided tree. But in mcer (pite
To be Full quit or joie mv Banihers,
Stand I Jerere tits Gere: 1 hen if thou hart
A Esrs vreak in thee, that wilt revenge
Tare Jw Particular Wrongs, and stop thote:
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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. 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 suffer by's, behold
Diffentious Numbers pestring Streets, than see
Our Tradesmen finging in their Shops, and going
About their Fundions friendly.

Enter Menenius.
Bru. We stood to't in good time. Is this Meneniss ?

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 :
His Mother and his Wife hear nothing from him.

Enter

Enter three or four Citizens.
All. The Gods preserve you both.
Sic. Good-e'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 wilht 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 these Fellows ran about the Streets,
Crying, Confusion.

Bru. Caius Martins was
A worthy Officer i'ch' War, but Insolent,
O'ercome with Pride, Ambitious past all thinking,
Self-loving

Sic. And affe&ing one fole Thronę, without allistance,
Men. I think not so,

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
Sits safe and still without him,

Enter Ædile.
Ædile. Worthy Tribunes,
There is a Slave, whom we have put in Prison,
Reports the Volscies, with two several 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,
Thrusts forth his Horns again into the World,
Which were In-shelld, when Martins stood for Rome,
And durft not once peep out.

Sic. Come, what talk you of Martius ?

Bru. Go see this Rumourer whipt, it cannot be,
The Volscies dare break with us.

Men, Cannot be !
We have Record that very well it can,

And