Rome. A Public Place. |
|
Enter MENENIUS, COMINIUS, SICINIUS, BRUTUS, and Others. |
Men. No, I'll not go: you hear what he hath said |
Which was sometime his general; who lov'd him |
In a most dear particular. He call'd me father: |
But what o' that? Go, you that banish'd him; |
A mile before his tent fall down, and knee |
The way into his mercy. Nay, if he coy'd |
To hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home. |
Com. He would not seem to know me. |
Men. Do you hear? |
Com. Yet one time he did call me by my name. |
I urg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops |
That we have bled together. Coriolanus |
He would not answer to; forbad all names; |
He was a kind of nothing, titleless, |
Till he had forg'd himself a name o' the fire |
Of burning Rome. |
Men. Why, so: you have made good work! |
A pair of tribunes that have rack'd for Rome, |
To make coals cheap: a noble memory! |
Com. I minded him how royal 'twas to pardon |
When it was less expected: he replied, |
It was a bare petition of a state |
To one whom they had punish'd. |
Men. Very well. |
Could he say less? |
Com. I offer'd to awaken his regard |
For's private friends: his answer to me was, |
He could not stay to pick them in a pile |
Of noisome musty chaff: he said 'twas folly, |
For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt, |
And still to nose the offence. |
Men. For one poor grain or two! |
I am one of those; his mother, wife, his child, |
And this brave fellow too, we are the grains: |
You are the musty chaff, and you are smelt |
Above the moon. We must be burnt for you. |
Sic. Nay, pray, be patient: if you refuse your aid |
In this so-never-needed help, yet do not |
Upbraid's with our distress. But, sure, if you |
Would be your country's pleader, your good tongue, |
More than the instant army we can make, |
Might stop our countryman. |
Men. No; I'll not meddle. |
Sic. Pray you, go to him. |
Men. What should I do? |
Bru. Only make trial what your love can do |
For Rome, towards Marcius. |
Men. Well; and say that Marcius |
Return me, as Cominius is return'd, |
Unheard; what then? |
But as a discontented friend, grief-shot |
With his unkindness? say 't be so? |
Sic. Yet your good will |
Must have that thanks from Rome, after the measure |
As you intended well. |
Men. I'll undertake it: |
I think he'll hear me. Yet, to bite his lip, |
And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me. |
He was not taken well; he had not din'd: |
The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then |
We pout upon the morning, are unapt |
To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd |
These pipes and these conveyances of our blood |
With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls |
Than in our priest-like fasts: therefore, I'll watch him |
Till he be dieted to my request, |
And then I'll set upon him. |
Bru. You know the very road into his kindness, |
And cannot lose your way. |
Men. Good faith, I'll prove him, |
Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge |
Of my success. [Exit. |
Com. He'll never hear him. |
Sic. Not? |
Com. I tell you he does sit in gold, his eye |
Red as 'twould burn Rome, and his injury |
The gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him; |
'Twas very faintly he said 'Rise;' dismiss'd me |
Thus, with his speechless hand: what he would do |
He sent in writing after me; what he would not, |
Bound with an oath to yield to his conditions: |
So that all hope is vain |
Unless his noble mother and his wife, |
Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him |
For mercy to his country. Therefore let's hence, |
And with our fair entreaties haste them on. [Exeunt. |
Design © 1995-2007 ZeFLIP.com All rights reserved.