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Which not to cut, would fhew thee but a Fool,
Since I have ever follow'd thee with hate,

Drawn Tuns of Blood out of thy Country's Breast,
And cannot live but to thy Shame, unless
It be to do thee Service.

Auf. Oh, Martius, Martius,

Each word thou haft fpoke, hath weeded from my Heart
A root of anciert Envy. If Jupiter

Should from yon Cloud fpeak Divine things,
And fay, 'tis true; I'd not believe them more
Than thee, all-noble Martius. Let me twine
Mine Arms about that Body, where against
My grained Ash an hundred times hath broke,
And fcarr'd the Moon with Splinters; here I cleep
The Anvile of my Sword, and do conteft
As hotly and as nobly with thy Love,
As ever in ambitious Strength, I did
Contend against thy Valour. Know thou, firft
I lov'd the Maid I married; never Man
Sigh'd truer Breath. But that I fee thee here,
Thou Noble thing, more dances my rapt Heart,
Than when I firft my wedded Mistress faw
Beftride my Threshold. Why, thou Mars, I tell thee,
We have a Power on foot; and I had purpose
Once more to hew thy Target from thy Brawn,
Or lofe mine Arm for't: Thou haft bear me out
Twelve feveral times, and I have nightly fince
Dream't of Encounters 'twixt thy felf and me:
We have been down together in my Sleep,
Unbuckling Helms, fifting each others Throat,
And wak'd half dead with nothing. Worthy Martius,
Had we no Quarrel elfe to Rome, but that
Thou art thence banifh'd, we would mufter all
From twelve to feventy; and pouring War
Into the Bowels of ungrateful Rome,
Like a bold Flood o'er-bear. Oh come, go in,
And take our Friendly Senators by th' Hands,
Who now are here, taking their leaves of me,
Who am prepar'd against your Territories,
Though not for Rome it felf.

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Cor. You blefs me, Gods.

Auf. Therefore, moft abfolute Sir, if thou wilt have The leading of thine own Revenges, take

The one half of my Commiffion, and set down
As beft thou art experienc'd, fince thou know'ft
Thy Country's Strength and Weaknefs, thine own ways;
Whether to knock against the Gates of Rome,
Or rudely visit them in parts remote,

To fright them, e'er deftroy. But come in,
Let me commend thee firft to those that shall
Say yea to thy Defires. A thousand welcomes,
And more a Friend, than e'er an Enemy:

Yet, Martius, that was much. Your Hand; moft welcome.

Enter two Servants.

1 Ser. Here's a ftrange Alteration.


2 Ser. By my Hand, I had thought to have ftrucken him with a Cudgel, and yet my Mind gave me, his Clothes made a falfe report of him.

1 Ser. What an Arm he has, he turn'd me about with his Finger and his Thumb, as one would fet up a Top.

2 Ser. Nay, I knew by his Face that there was fomething in him. He had, Sir, a kind of Face, methought-I cannot tell how to term it.

1 Ser. He had fo: looking, as it were---would I were hanged but I thought there was more in him than I could think. 2 Ser. So did I, I'll be fworn: He is fimply the rarest Man i'th' World.

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1 Ser. I think he is; but a greater Soldier than he,

You wot one.

a Ser. Who, my Mafter?

1 Ser. Nay, it's no matter for that.

2 Ser. Worth fix on him.

1 Ser. Nay, not fo neither; but I take him to be the great

er Soldier.

2 Ser. Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to fay that; for the defence of a Town, our General is excellent.

Ser. Ay, and for an Affault too.

Enter a third Servant.

3 Ser. Oh Slaves, I can tell you News; News, you Rafcals.


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 General, Caius Martins.

1 Ser. Why do you fay, thwack our General?

3 Ser. I do not fay 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 fay so himself.

1 Ser. He was too hard for him directly, to fay the Troth on't; before Coriolus, he fcotcht him and notcht him like a Carbonado.

2 Ser. And, had he been Cannibally given, he might have boil'd and eaten him too.

1 Ser. 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, fanctifies himself with's Hands, and turns up the white o'th' Eye to his Difcourfe. 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 fays, and fowle the Porter of Rome Gates by th' Ears. He will mow down all before him, and leave his paffage 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, durft not (look you, Sir) fhew themselves (as we term it) his Friends, whilft he's in Directitude.

1 Ser. Directitude! What's that?

3 Ser. But when they fhall fee, Sir, his Creft 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, prefently, you shall have the Drum ftruck up this Afternoon: 'Tis as it were a parcel of their Feaft, and to be executed e'er they wipe their Lips.


Auf. What is thy Name?

Cor. A Name unmufical to Volfcians Ears, And harth in found to thine.

Auf. Say, what's thy Name?

Thou haft a grim appearance, and thy Face
Bears a Command in't; though thy Tackle's torr,
1 hou fhew it a noble Veffel: What's thy Name?
Cor. Prepare thy Brow to frown; know ft thou me no:?
Auf. I know thee not; thy Name?

Cor. My Name is Caius Martius, who hath done
To thee particularly, and to all the Volfcies,
Great Hurt and Mifchief; thereto witness may
My Sirname, Coriolanus. The painful S rvice,
The extream Dangers, and the drops of Blood
Shed for my thanklets Country, are requited
But with that Sirname; a good Memory
And witness of the Malice and Difpleasure
Which thou could't bear me; only that Name remains
The Cruelty and Envy of the People,
Permitted by our daftard Nobles, who
Have all forfook me, hath devour'd the reft;
And fuffer'd me by th' voice of Slaves to be
Hoop'd cut of Rome. Now this extremity
Hath brought me to thy Hearth, not out of br
(Miftake me not) to fave my Life; for if
I had fear'd Death, of all the Men i'th' World
I would have voided thee. But in meer fpite
To be full quit of thote my Banishers,
Stand I before the here: Then if thou haft
A Heart of wreak in thee, that wilt revenge
Thure own particular Wrongs, and top tholeman
Of hare en through thy Country, speed to,
Are The DV miery ferve thy turn: So ufe it,
The IT
Strvices may prove
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