Re-enter third Servant. 3 Serv. O, slaves, I can tell you news; news, you rascals. 1. 2. Serv. What, what, what? let's partake. 3 Serv. I would not be a Roman, of all nations; I had as lieve be a condemned man. 1. 2. Serv. Wherefore? wherefore? 3. Serv. Why, here's he that was wont to thwack our general,-Caius Marcius. 1 Serv. Why do you say, thwack our general? 3 Serv. I do not say, thwack our general; but he was always good enough for him, Serv. Come, we are fellows, and friends: he was ever too hard for him; I have heard him say so himself. 1 Serv. He was too hard for him directly, to say the truth on't: before Corioli, he scotched him and notched him like a carbonado*. 2 Serv. An he had been cannibally given, he might have broiled and eaten him too. 1. Serv. But, more of thy news? 3 Serv. Why, he is so made on here within, as if he were son and heir to Mars: set at upper end o'the table: no question asked him by any of the senators, but they stand bald before him: Our general himself makes a mistress of him; sanctifies himself with's hand, and turns up the white o'the eye to his discourse. But the bottom of the news is, our general is cut i' the middle, and but one half of what he was yesterday; for the other has half, by the entreaty and grant of the whole table. He'll go, he says, and sowlet the porter of Rome gates by the ears: He will mow down all before him, and leave his passage polled t. Meat cut across to be broiled.. + Pull. VOL. VI. + Cut clear. T 2 Serv. And he's as like to do't, as any man I can imagine. 3 Serv. 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), show themselves (as we term it), his friends, whilst he's in directitude. 1 Serv. Directitude! what's that? 3 Serv. But when they shall see, sir, his crest up again, and the man in blood*, they will out of their burrows, like coneys after rain, and revel all with him. 1 Serv. But when goes this forward? 3 Serv. To-morrow; to-day, presently. You shall have the drum struck up this afternoon: 'tis, as it were, a parcelt of their feast, and to be executed ere they wipe their lips. 2 Serv. Why, then we shall have a stirring world again. This peace is nothing, but to rust iron, increase tailors, and breed ballad-makers. 1 Sero. Let me have war, say I; it exceeds peace, as far as day does night; it's sprightly, waking, audible, and full of ventt. Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy; mulled §, deaf, sleepy, insensible; a getter of more bastard children, than war's a destroyer of men. 2 Serv. 'Tis so: and as war, in some sort, may be said to be a ravisher; so it cannot be denied, but peace is a great maker of cuckolds. 1 Serv. Ay, and it makes men hate one another. 3 Serv. Reason; because they then less need one another. The wars, for my money. I hope to see Romans as cheap as Volscians. They are rising, they are rising. All. In, in, in, in. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. 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, sir, is not much miss'd, But with his friends; the common-wealth doth stand; And so would do, were he more angry at it. Men. All's well; and might have been much bet ter, 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. Cit. The gods preserve you both! Sic. Good-e'en, our neighbours. Bru. Good-e'en to you all, good-e'en to you all. 1 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 Cori olanus Had lov'd you as we did. Cit. Now the gods keep you! Both Tri. 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, 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. Ed: Enter Edile. Worthy tribunes, There is a slave, whom we have put in prison, And with the deepest malice of the war Men. 'Tis Aufidius, Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment, Thrusts forth his horns again into the world: Which were inshell'd, when Marcius stoodt for Rome, And durst not once peep out. • Suffrage. + Stood up in its defence. Sic. Of Marcius? Come, what talk you Bru. Go see this rumourer whipp'd.-It cannot be, The Volces 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 should chance to whip your information, And beat the messenger who bids beware Of what is to be dreaded. Mess. The nobles, in great earnestness, are going All to the senate house: some news is come, That turns † their countenances. Sic. Go whip him 'fore the people's eyes:-his raising! Nothing but his report! Mess. 'Tis this slave ; Yes, worthy sir, The slave's report is seconded; and more, 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. Men. This is unlikely: The very trick on't. * Talk, + Changes. |