Sic. Go, call the people, in whose name myself Attach thee as a traiterous innovator:

A foe to th' public weal. Obey, I charge thee,
And follow to thine anfwer.

Cor. Hence, old goat!

All. We'll furety him.

Com. Ag'd Sir, hands off.

[Laying hold on Cori.

Cor. Hence, rotten thing, or I fhall fhake thy bones Out of thy garments.

Sic. Help me, citizens.

Men.

Enter a Rabble of Plebeians, with the Ediles.
N both fides, more respect.

Sic. Here's he, that would take from you all your power.

Bru. Seize him, Ædiles.

All. Down with him, down with him!

2 Sen. Weapons, weapons, weapons!

[They all bustle about Coriolanus. Tribunes, Patricians, Citizens-what ho!-Sicinius, Brutus, Coriolanus, citizens !

All. Peace, peace, peace, stay, hold, peace! Men. What is about to be?—I am out of breath; Confufion's near, I cannot fpeak,-You Tribunes, Coriolanus, patience; fpeak, Sicinius.

Sic. Hear me, people- -peace.

All. Let's hear our Tribune; peace; speak, speak, speak.

Sic. You are at point to lofe your liberties: Marcius would have all from you: Marcius, Whom late you nam'd for Conful.

Men. Fie, fie, fie.

This is the way to kindle, not to quench.
Sen. To unbuild the city, and to lay all flat.
Sic. What is the city, but the people?
All. True, the people are the city.

Bru.

Bru. By the confent of all, we were establish'd

The people's magiftrates.

All. You fo remain.

Men. And fo 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 diftinctly ranges,
In heaps and piles of ruin.

Sic. This deferves death.

Bru. Or let us ftand to our Authority, Or let us lose it; we do here pronounce,

,

Upon the part o' th' people, in whose power
We were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy
Of prefent death.

Sic. Therefore lay hold on him;

Bear him to th' rock Tarpeian, and from thence
Into deftruction caft him.

Bru. Ediles, feize him.

All Ple. Yield, Marcius, yield.

Men. Hear me one word; 'befeech you,

hear me but a word

Ediles. Peace, peace.

Tribunes,

Men. Be that you feem, truly your Country's friends, And temp'rately proceed to what you would

Thus violently redrefs.

Bru. Sir, thofe cold ways,

That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous, Where the difeafe is violent. Lay hands on him, And bear him to the rock.

Cor. No; I'll die here.

[Coriolanus draws his fword.

There's fome among you have beheld me fighting, Come, try upon yourfelves, what you have feen me. Men. Down with that fword; Tribunes, withdraw a while.

Bru. Lay hands upon him.

Men. Help Marcius, help you that be noble, help him young and old.

All.

All. Down with him, down with him.

[Exeunt.

[In this mutiny, the Tribunes, the Ediles, and

the people are beat in.

Men. GO, get you to your houfe; be gone, away,

All will be nought elfe.

2 Sen. Get you gone.

* Cor. Sand faft, we have as many

Men. Shall it be put to That?

Sen. The Gods forbid!

friends as enemies.

I pr'ythee, noble friend, home to thy houfe,
Leave us to cure this caufe.

Men. For 'tis a fore,

You cannot tent yourself; be gone, 'befeech you.
Com. Come, Sir, along with us.

Men. I would, they were Barbarians, (as they are, Though in Rome litter'd ;) not Romans: (as they are

not,

Though calved in the porch o' th' Capitol:)

Be gone, put not your worthy rage into your tongue, One time will owe another.

Cor. On fair ground I could beat forty of them. Men. I could myself take up a brace o' th' best of them; yea, the two Tribunes.

Com. But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic:
And manhood is call'd fool'ry, when it ftands.
Against a falling fabric. Will you hence,
Before the tag return, whofe rage doth rend
Like interrupted waters, and o'erbear
What they are us'd to bear.

Men. Pray you, be gone:

I'll try, if my old wit be in request

*Com. Stand faft, &c.] This fpeech certainly fhould be given to Coriolanus; for all his Friends perfuade him to retire. So Cominius presently after;

Come, Sir, along with us.

Warburton.

With those that have but little; this must be patcht With cloth of any colour.

Com. Come, away.

[Exeunt Coriolanus and Cominius.

SCENE IV.

HI S man has marr'd his fortune.

1 Sen. Men. His nature is too noble for the world: THE

He would not flatter Neptune for his trident,

Or Jove for's power to thunder: his heart's his mouth: What his breaft forges, that his tongue muft vent; And, being angry, does forget that ever

He heard the name of death.

Here's goodly work.

2 Sen. I would, they were a-bed. Men. I would, they were in Tiber..

vengeance,

Could he not fpeak 'em fair?

[A noife within.

-What, the

Enter Brutus and Sicinius, with the rabble again.

Sic. Where is this viper,

That would depopulate the city, and

Be every man himself?

Men. You worthy Tribunes

--

Sic. He fhall be thrown down the Tarpeian Rock With rigorous hands; he hath refifted Law,

And therefore Law fhall fcorn him further trial
Than the severity of public Power,

Which he fo fets at nought.

1 Cit. He fhall well know, the noble Tribunes are The people's mouths, and we their hands.

All. He fhall, be fure on't.

Men. Sir, Sir,

Sic. Peace.

Men. Do not cry havock, where you should but

hunt

With modeft warrant.

Sic. Sir, now comes it, you

Have holp to make this refcue?

Men. Hear me speak;

As I do know the Conful's worthiness,

So can I name his faults

I

Sic. Conful!——————what Conful!

Men. The Conful Coriolanus.

Bru. He Conful!

All. No, no, no, no, no.

[people, Men. If by the Tribunes' leave, and yours, good be heard, I'd crave a word or two;

may

The which shall turn you to no further harm,
Than fo much lofs of time.

Sic. Speak briefly then,

For we are peremptory to difpatch

1

This viperous traitor; to eject him hence,
Were but our danger; and to keep him here,
Our certain death; therefore it is decreed,
He dies to-night.

Men. Now the good Gods forbid,

That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude
Tow'rds her deferving children is enroll'd
In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam
Should now eat up her own!

Sic. He's a difeafe that must be cut away.
Men. Oh, he's a limb, that has but a difeafe;
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 loft
(Which I dare vouch, is more than That he hath,
By many an ounce) he dropt it for his Country:
And what is left, to lofe it by his Country,
Were to us all that do't, and suffer it,

A brand to th' end o'th' world.

Bru. Merely awry: when he did love his Country, It honour'd him.

This is clean kam.] i. e. Awry.