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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