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On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd.
Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve
To have a temple built you all the swords
in Italy, and her confederate arms,
Could not have made this peace.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. — Rome. A publick Place.

Enter MENENIUS and SICINIUS.

The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes,
Tabors, and cymbals, and the shouting Romans,
Make the sun dance. Hark you! [Shouting again
This is good news i

Men.

I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia
Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians,
A city full; of tribunes, such as you,
A sea and land full:
day;

You have pray'd well to

Men. See you yond' coign o'the Capitol; yond' This morning, for ten thousand of your throats corner-stone? I'd not have given a doit.

Sic. Why, what of that?

Men. If it be possible for you to displace it with your little finger, there is some hope the ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him. But I say, there is no hope in't; our throats are sentenced, and stay upon execution.

Sic. Is't possible, that so short a time can alter the condition of a man?

Men. There is differency between a grub, and a butterfly; yet your butterfly was a grub. This Marcius is grown from man to dragon: he has wings; he's more than a creeping thing.

Sic. He loved his mother dearly.

Men. So did he me: and he no more remembers his mother now, than an eight year old horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes. When he walks, he moves like an engine, and the ground shrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce a corslet with his eye; talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. He sits in his state, as a thing made for Alexander. What he bids be done, is finished with his bidding. He wants nothing of a god, but eternity, and a heaven to throne in.

Sic. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly.

Men. I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy his mother shall bring from him: There is no more mercy in him, than there is milk in a male tiger; that shall our poor city find: and all this is 'long of you.

Sic. The gods be good unto us!

Men. No, in such a case the gods will not be good unto us. When we banished him, we respected not them: and, he returning to break our necks, they respect not us.

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Hark, how they joy! [Shouting and musick. Sic. First, the gods bless you for their tidings:

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SCENE V.

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Antium. A publick Place.

Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS, with Attendants.
Auf. Go tell the lords of the city, I am here:
Deliver them this paper: having read it,
Bid them repair to the market-place; where I,
Even in theirs and in the commons' ears,
Will vouch the truth of it.
Him I accuse,
The city ports by this hath enter'd, and
Intends to appear before the people, hoping
To purge himself with words: Despatch.

[Exeunt Attendants. Enter Three or Four Conspirators of Aufidius' faction.

Most welcome!

1 Con. How is it with our general? Auf.

Even so,
As with a man by his own alms empoison'd,
And with his charity slain.

2 Con.
Most noble sir,
If you do hold the same intent wherein
You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you
Of your great danger.
Auf.

Sir, I cannot tell;

We must proceed, as we do find the people.

3 Con. The people will remain uncertain, whilst 'Twixt you there's difference; but the fall of either Makes the survivor heir of all.

Auf.
I know it;
And my pretext to strike at him admits

A good construction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd
Mine bonour for his truth: Who being so heighten'd,
He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery,
Seducing so my friends: and, to this end,

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By lack of stooping,

A f That I would have spoke of : Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth; Presented to my knife his throat: I took him; Made him joint-servant with me; gave him way In all his own desires; nay, let him choose Out of my files, his projects to accomplish, My best and freshest men; serv'd his designments In mine own person; holp to reap the fame, Which he did end all his; and took some pride To do myself this wrong: till, at the last, I seem'd his follower, not partner; and He wag'd me with his countenance, as if I had been mercenary.

1 Con.

So he did, my lord: The army marvell'd at it. And, in the last, When he had carried Rome; and that we look'd For no less spoil, than glory, Auf. There was it; For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him. At a few drops of women's rheum, which are As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour Of our great action; Therefore shall he die, And I'll renew me in his fall.

But, hark!

[Drums and trumpets sound, with great shouts of the people.

1 Con. Your native town you enter'd like a post, And had no welcomes home; but he returns, Splitting the air with noise.

2 Con. And patient fools, Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear, With giving him glory.

3 Con. Therefore, at your vantage, Ere he express himself, or move the people With what he would say, let him feel your sword, Which we will second. When he lies along, After your way his tale pronounc'd shall bury His reasons with his body.

Auf.

Here come the lords.

Say no more;

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I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name
Coriolanus in Corioli?

You lords and heads of the state, perfidiously
He has betray'd your business, and given up,
For certain drops of salt, your city Rome
(I say, your city,) to his wife and mother:
Breaking his oath and resolution, like
A twist of rotten silk; never admitting
Counsel o'the war; but at his nurse's tears
He whin'd and roar'd away your victory;
That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart
Look'd wondering each at other.
Cor.

Hear'st thou, Mars? Auf Name not the god, thou boy of tears,

Cor.

Auf. No more.

Ha!

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Peace, both, and hear me speak. Cor. Cut me to pieces, Volces; men and lads, Stain all your edges on me. - Boy! False hound! If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there, That like an eagle in a dove-cote, I Flutter'd your voices in Corioli: Alone I did it.

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Boy!

Auf.

Why, noble lords,

[Several speak at once.

Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, 'Fore your own eyes and ears? Con. Let him die for't. Cit. [Speaking promiscuously.] Tear him to pieces, do it presently. He killed my son; my daughter; He killed my cousin Marcus; He killed my father.

peace.

2 Lord. Peace, ho; - no outrage ; — ] The man is noble, and his fame folds in This orb o'the earth. His last offence to us Shall have judicious hearing. — Stand, Aufidius, And trouble not the peace.

Cor.

O, that I had him, With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe, To use my lawful sword! Auf.

Insolent villain !

Con. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him. [AUFIDIUS and the Conspirators draw, and kill CORIOLANUS, who falls, and AUFIDIUS stands on him.

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1 Lord.

O Tullus,

2 Lord. Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep.

3 Lord. Tread not upon him. quiet;

Put up your swords.

Auf. My lords, when you shall know (as in this

rage,

And mourn you for him: let him be regarded
As the most noble corse, that ever herald
Did follow to his urn.

2 Lord.

His own impatience
Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame.
Masters all, be Let's make the best of it.
Auf.
My rage is gone,
And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up :-
Help, three o'the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one. —
Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully:
Trail your steel pikes. — Though in this city he
Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one,
Which to this hour bewail the injury,
Yet he shall have a noble memory.
Assist. [Exeunt, bearing the body of CORIOLANUS,
A dead march sounded.

Provok'd by him, you cannot,) the great danger
Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice
That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours,
To call me to your senate, I'll deliver
Myself your loyal servant, or endure
Your heaviest censure.

1 Lord.

Bear from hence his body,

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SCENE, - during a great part of the Play, at ROME; afterwards at SARDIS; and near PHILIPPI.

ACT I.

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Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and a rabble of Citizens.

Flav. Hence; home, you idle creatures, get you home;

Is this a holiday? What! know you not,
Being mechanical, you ought not walk,
Upon a labouring day, without the sign
Of your profession?

Speak, what trade art thou?

1 Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter. Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule? What dost thou with thy best apparel on? You, sir; what trade are you?

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2 Cit. Why, sir, cobble you.
Flav. Thou art a cobler, art thou?

2 Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is, with the awl: I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neats-leather, have gone upon my handywork.

Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?

2 Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday, to see Cæsar, and to rejoice in his triumph. Mar. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home?

What tributaries follow him to Rome,
To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels?
You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless
things!

O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,
Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft
Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements,
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops,
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat
The live-long day, with patient expectation,
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome:
Z z

And when you saw his chariot but appear,
Have you not made an universal shout,
That Tiber trembled underneath her banks,
To hear the replication of your sounds,
Made in her concave shores?

And do you now put on your best attire?
And do you now cull out a holiday?
And do you now strew flowers in his way,
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood?
Be gone;

Run to your houses, fall upon your knees,
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague
That needs must light on this ingratitude.
Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this
fault,

Assemble all the poor men of your sort;
Draw them to Tyber banks, and weep your tears
Into the channel, till the lowest stream
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.

[Exeunt Citizens.
See, whe'r their basest metal be not mov'd;
They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.
Go you down that way towards the Capitol;
This way will I Disrobe the images,

If

you do find them deck'd with ceremonies. Mar. May we do so?

You know, it is the feast of Lupercal.

Flav. It is no matter; let no images Be hung with Cæsar's trophies. I'll about, And drive away the vulgar from the streets : So do you too, where you perceive them thick. These growing feathers pluck'd from Cæsar's wing, Will make him fly an ordinary pitch; Who else would soar above the view of men, And keep us all in servile fearfulness.

[Exeunt.

A puplic Plaec,

SCENE II. The same. Enter, in procession, with musick, CÆSAR; ANTONY, for the course; CALPHURNIA, PORTIA, DECIUS, CICERO, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, and CASCA, a great croud following; among them a Soothsayer. Caes. Calphurnia,

Casca.

Cæs.

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Cal. Here, my lord.

Peace, ho! Cæsar speaks. [Musick ceases. Calphurnia,

Cas. Stand you directly in Antonius' way, When he doth run his course. — Antonius.

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Cas. I pray you, do.

Bru. I am not gamesome: I do lack some part Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires; I'll leave you.

Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late:
I have not from your eyes that gentleness,
And show of love, as I was wont to have:
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand
Over your friend that loves you.

Bru.
Cassius,
Be not deceiv'd: If I have veil'd my look,
I turn the trouble of my countenance
Merely upon myself. Vexed I am,
Of late, with passions of some difference,
Conceptions only proper to myself,

Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours:
But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd;
(Among which number, Cassius, be you one ;)
Nor construe any further my neglect,
Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,
Forgets the shows of love to other men.

Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion;

By means whereof, this breast of mine hath buried
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?
Bru. No, Cassius: for the eye sees not itself,
But by reflection, by some other things.

Cas. 'Tis just :

And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
That you have no such mirrors, as will turn
Your hidden worthiness into your eye,

That you might see your shadow. I have heard,
Where many of the best respect in Rome,
(Except immortal Cæsar,) speaking of Brutus,
And groaning underneath this age's yokɛ,
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.

Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me,

Cassius,

That you would have me seek into myself
For that which is not in me?

Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear:
And, since you know you cannot see yourself
So well as by reflection, I, your glass,
Will modestly discover to yourself

That of yourself which you yet know not of.
And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus :
Were I a common laugher, or did use
To stale with ordinary oaths my love
To every new protester; if you know
That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard,
And after scandal them; or if you know
That I profess myself in banqueting
To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.

[Flourish, and suru. Bru. What means this shouting? I do fear, the people Choose Cesar for their king.

Cas.

Ay, do you fear it? Then must I think you would not have it so.

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