Rome. A Public Place. |
| |
Enter SICINIUS and BRUTUS. |
| Sic. We hear not of him, neither need we fear him; |
| His remedies are tame i' the present peace |
| And quietness o' 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 't, behold |
| Dissentious numbers pestering streets, than see |
| Our tradesmen singing in their shops and going |
| About their functions friendly. |
| |
Enter MENENIUS. |
| Bru. We stood to 't in good time. Is this Menenius? |
| Sic. 'Tis he, 'tis he. O! he is grown most kind |
| Of late. Hail, sir! |
| Men. Hail to you both! |
| Sic. Your Coriolanus is not much miss'd |
| 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 three or four Citizens. |
| Citizens. The gods preserve you both! |
| Sic. Good den, our neighbours. |
| Bru. Good den to you all, good den to you all. |
| First Cit. Ourselves, our wives, and children, on our knees, |
| Are bound to pray for you both. |
| Sic. Live, and thrive! |
| Bru. Farewell, kind neighbours: we wish'd Coriolanus |
| Had lov'd you as we did. |
| Citizens. Now the gods keep you! |
Sic. Bru. Farewell, farewell. [Exeunt Citizens. |
| Sic. This is a happier and more comely time |
| Than when these fellows ran about the streets |
| Crying confusion. |
| Bru. Caius Marcius was |
| A worthy officer i' the war; but insolent, |
| O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking, |
| Self-loving,— |
| Sic. And affecting one sole throne, |
| Without assistance. |
| 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 Rome |
| Sits safe and still without him. |
| |
Enter an Ædile. |
| Æd. Worthy tribunes, |
| There is a slave, whom we have put in prison, |
| Reports, the Volsces with two several powers |
| Are enter'd in the Roman territories, |
| And with the deepest malice of the war |
| Destroy what lies before them. |
| Men. 'Tis Aufidius, |
| Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment, |
| Thrusts forth his horns again into the world; |
| Which were inshell'd when Marcius stood for Rome, |
| And durst not once peep out. |
| Sic. Come, what talk you of Marcius? |
| Bru. Go see this rumourer whipp'd. It cannot be |
| The Volsces dare break with us. |
| Men. Cannot be! |
| We have record that very well it can, |
| And three examples of the like have been |
| Within my age. But reason with the fellow, |
| Before you punish him, where he heard this, |
| Lest you shall chance to whip your information, |
| And beat the messenger who bids beware |
| Of what is to be dreaded. |
| Sic. Tell not me: |
| I know this cannot be. |
| Bru. Not possible. |
| |
Enter a Messenger. |
| Mess. The nobles in great earnestness are going |
| All to the senate-house: some news is come, |
| That turns their countenances. |
| Sic. 'Tis this slave.— |
| Go whip him 'fore the people's eyes: his raising; |
| Nothing but his report. |
| Mess. Yes, worthy sir, |
| The slave's report is seconded; and more, |
| More fearful, is deliver'd. |
| Sic. What more fearful? |
| Mess. It is spoke freely out of many mouths— |
| How probable I do not know—that Marcius, |
| Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome, |
| And vows revenge as spacious as between |
| The young'st and oldest thing. |
| Sic. This is most likely. |
| Bru. Rais'd only, that the weaker sort may wish |
| Good Marcius home again. |
| Sic. The very trick on 't. |
| Men. This is unlikely: |
| He and Aufidius can no more atone, |
| Than violentest contrariety. |
| |
Enter another Messenger. |
| Sec. Mess. You are sent for to the senate: |
| A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius, |
| Associated with Aufidius, rages |
| Upon our territories; and have already |
| O'erborne their way, consum'd with fire, and took |
| What lay before them. |
| |
Enter COMINIUS. |
| Com. O! you have made good work! |
| Men. What news? what news? |
| Com. You have holp to ravish your own daughters, and |
| To melt the city leads upon your pates. |
| To see your wives dishonour'd to your noses,— |
| Men. What's the news? what's the news? |
| Com. Your temples burned in their cement, and |
| Your franchises, whereon you stood, confin'd |
| Into an auger's bore. |
| Men. Pray now, your news?— |
| You have made fair work, I fear me. Pray, your news? |
| If Marcius should be join'd with Volscians,— |
| Com. If! |
| He is their god: he leads them like a thing |
| Made by some other deity than Nature, |
| That shapes man better; and they follow him, |
| Against us brats, with no less confidence |
| Than boys pursuing summer butterflies, |
| Or butchers killing flies. |
| Men. You have made good work, |
| You, and your apron-men; you that stood so much |
| Upon the voice of occupation and |
| The breath of garlic-eaters! |
| Com. He will shake |
| Your Rome about your ears. |
| Men. As Hercules |
| Did shake down mellow fruit. You have made fair work! |
| Bru. But is this true, sir? |
| Com. Ay; and you'll look pale |
| Before you find it other. All the regions |
| Do smilingly revolt; and who resist |
| Are mock'd for valiant ignorance, |
| And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him? |
| Your enemies, and his, find something in him. |
| Men. We are all undone unless |
| The noble man have mercy. |
| Com. Who shall ask it? |
| The tribunes cannot do't for shame; the people |
| Deserve such pity of him as the wolf |
| Does of the shepherds: for his best friends, if they |
| Should say, 'Be good to Rome,' they charg'd him even |
| As those should do that had deserv'd his hate, |
| And therein show'd like enemies. |
| Men. 'Tis true: |
| If he were putting to my house the brand |
| That should consume it, I have not the face |
| To say, 'Beseech you, cease.'—You have made fair hands, |
| You and your crafts! you have crafted fair! |
| Com. You have brought |
| A trembling upon Rome, such as was never |
| So incapable of help. |
| Sic. & Bru. Say not we brought it. |
| Men. How! Was it we? We lov'd him; but, like beasts |
| And cowardly nobles, gave way unto your clusters, |
| Who did hoot him out o' the city. |
| Com. But I fear |
| They'll roar him in again. Tullus Aufidius, |
| The second name of men, obeys his points |
| As if he were his officer: desperation |
| Is all the policy, strength, and defence, |
| That Rome can make against them. |
| |
Enter a troop of Citizens. |
| Men. Here come the clusters. |
| And is Aufidius with him? You are they |
| That made the air unwholesome, when you cast |
| Your stinking greasy caps in hooting at |
| Coriolanus' exile. Now he's coming; |
| And not a hair upon a soldier's head |
| Which will not prove a whip: as many cox-combs |
| As you threw caps up will he tumble down, |
| And pay you for your voices. 'Tis no matter; |
| If he could burn us all into one coal, |
| We have deserv'd it. |
| Citizens. Faith, we hear fearful news. |
| First Cit. For mine own part, |
| When I said banish him, I said 'twas pity. |
| Sec. Cit. And so did I. |
| Third Cit. And so did I; and, to say the truth, so did very many of us. That we did we did for the best; and though we willingly consented to his banishment, yet it was against our will. |
| Com. You're goodly things, you voices! |
| Men. You have made |
| Good work, you and your cry! Shall's to the Capitol? |
| Com. O! ay; what else? [Exeunt COMINIUS and MENENIUS. |
| Sic. Go, masters, get you home; be not dismay'd: |
| These are a side that would be glad to have |
| This true which they so seem to fear. Go home, |
| And show no sign of fear. |
| First Cit. The gods be good to us! Come, masters, let's home. I ever said we were i' the wrong when we banished him. |
| Sec. Cit. So did we all. But come, let's home. [Exeunt Citizens. |
| Bru. I do not like this news. |
| Sic. Nor I. |
| Bru. Let's to the Capitol. Would half my wealth |
| Would buy this for a lie! |
| Sic. Pray let us go. [Exeunt. |
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