Tribunes, patricians, citizens!-what, ho!- Cit. Peace, peace, peace; stay, hold, peace! Men. What is about to be?—I am out of breath; Confusion's near: I cannot speak :-You, tribunes To the people,-Coriolanus, patience : Speak, good Sicinius. Sic. : Hear me, people ;-Peace. Cit. Let's hear our tribune:-Peace. Speak, speak, speak. Sic. You are at point to lose your liberties: Marcius would have all from you; Marcius, Whom late you have nam'd for consul. Men. Fy, fy, fy! This is the way to kindle, not to quench. Cit. The people are the city. True, Bru. By the consent of all, we were establish'd The people's magistrates. Cit. You so remain. Men. And so are like to do. Cor. That is the way to lay the city flat; To bring the roof to the foundation; And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges, This deserves death. Sic. Sic. Therefore, lay hold of him; Bear him to the rock Tarpeian*, and from thence Into destruction cast him. Bru. Ediles, seize him. From whence criminals were thrown, and dashed to pieces. Cit. Yield, Marcius, yield. Men. Hear me one word. Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word. Edi. Peace, peace. Men. Be that you seem, truly your country's friend, And temperately proceed to what you would Thus violently redress. Bru. Sir, those cold ways, That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous Where the disease is violent:-Lay hands upon him, And bear him to the rock. Cor. No; I'll die here. There's some among you have beheld me fighting; Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me. Men. Down with that sword;-Tribunes, withdraw a while. Bru. Lay hands upon him. Help, Marcius! help, Men. [In this mutiny, the Tribunes, the Ediles, Men. Go, get you to your house; be gone away, All will be naught else. 2 Sen. Cor. Get you gone. Stand fast; The gods forbid ! We have as many friends as enemies. Men. Shall it be put to that? 1 Sen. I pr'ythee, noble friend, home to thy house; Leave us to cure this cause. Men. For 'tis a sore upon us, You cannot tent yourself: Begone, 'beseech you. Com. Come, sir, along with us. Cor. I would they were barbarians (as they are, Though in Rome litter'd), not Romans (as they are not, Though calv'd i' the porch o'the Capitol), Men. Be gone; Put not your worthy rage into your tongue; One time will owe another. Cor. I could beat forty of them. Men. On fair ground, I could myself Take up a brace of the best of them; yea, the two tribunes. Com. But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetick; Men. Pray you, be gone : I'll try whether my old wit be in request With those that have but little; this must be patch'd With cloth of any colour. Com. Nay, come away. [Exeunt Cor. Com. and others. 1 Pat. This man has marr'd his fortune. Men. His nature is too noble for the world: He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, Or Jove for his power to thunder. His heart's his mouth: What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent; And, being angry, does forget that ever He heard the name of death. Here's goodly work! 2 Pat. [A noise within. I would they were a-bed! Men. I would they were in Tyber! What, the vengeance, Could he not speak them fair? Re-enter Brutus and Sicinius, with the Rabble. Sic. Where is this viper, The lowest of the populace; tag, rag, and bobtail. That would depopulate the city, and Be every man himself? Men. You worthy tribunes, Sic. He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock With rigorous hands; he hath resisted law, And therefore law shall scorn him further trial Than the severity of the public power, Which he so sets at nought. 1 Cit. The noble tribunes are the people's mouths, Cit. Men. Sic. He shall well know, He shall, sure on't*. [Several speak together. Sir, Peace. Men. Do not cry, havockt, where you should but He a consul? So can I name his faults: Sic. Men. The consul Coriolanus. Cit. No, no, no, no, no. Men. If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good people, I may be heard, I'd crave a word or two; The which shall turn you to no further harm, Sic. Speak briefly then; For we are peremptory, to despatch This viperous traitor: to eject him hence, Were but one danger; and, to keep him here, Our certain death; therefore it is decreed, He dies to-night. Be sure on't. + The signal for slaughter. Men. Sic. He's a disease, that must be cut away. Men. O, he's a limb, that has but a disease; Mortal, to cut it off; to cure it, easy. What has he done to Rome, that's worthy death? Killing our enemies? The blood he hath lost, (Which, I dare vouch, is more than that he hath, By many an ounce), he dropp'd it for his country; And, what is left, to lose it by his country, Were to us all, that do't, and suffer it, A brand to the end o'the world. Sic. This is clean kam t. Bru. Merelyt awry: when he did love his country, It honour'd him. Men. The service of the foot Being once gangren'd, is it not then respected Bru. We'll hear no more : Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence; Spread further. Men. One word more, one word. This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find The harm of unscann'd swiftness §, will, too late, Tie leaden pounds to his heels. Proceed by process; Lest parties (as he is belov'd) break out, And sack great Rome with Romans. Bru. Sic. What do ye talk? If it were so, Have we not had a taste of his obedience ? Our ædiles smote? ourselves resisted?-Come: • Deserving. + Quite awry. Inconsiderate haste. |