Rom. The main blaze of it is paft, but a small thing would make it flame again. For the Nobles receive fo to heart the banishment of that worthy Coriolanus, that they are in a ripe aptness to take all power from the People, and to pluck from them their Tribunes for ever. This lyes

glowing I can tell you, and is almoft mature for the violent breaking out.

Vol. Coriolanus banish'd?

Rom. Banish'd, Sir.

Vol. You will be welcome with this intelligence, Nicanor. Rom. The day ferves well for them now.

I have heard it faid, the fittest time, to corrupt a man's wife, is when fhe's fallen out with her husband. Your noble Tullus Aufidius will appear well in these wars, his great opposer Coriolanus being now in no request with his country.

Vol. He cannot chufe. I am most fortunate thus accidentally to encounter you. You have ended my business, and I will merrily accompany you home.

Rom. I fhall between this and fupper tell you moft ftrange things from Rome; all tending to the good of their adverfaries. Have you an army ready, say you?

Vol. A moft royal one. The centurions and their charges diftinctly billeted, already in the entertainment, and to be on foot at an hour's warning.

Rom. I am joyful to hear of their readiness, and am the man, I think, that shall fet them in prefent action. So, Sir, heartily well met, and moft glad of your company.

Vol. You take my part from me, Sir, I have the most caufe to be glad of yours.

Rom. Well, let us go together.

[Exeunt. Enter Coriolanus in mean Apparel, difguis'd and muffled. Cor. A goodly city is this Antium. City,

'Tis I that made thy widows: many an heir

Of these fair edifices for my wars

Have I heard groan, and drop: then know me not,
Left that thy wives with fpits, and boys with ftones,

In puny battel flay me. Save you, Sir.

Cit. And you.

Enter a Citizen.

Cor. Direct me, if it be your will, where great Aufidius lyes: Is he in Antium?

Cit.

Cit. He is, and feafts the Nobles of the State, at his

house this night.

Cor. Which is his house, I beseech you?

Cit. This here before you.

Cor. Thank you, Sir: Farewel.

[Exit Citizen

Oh world, thy flippery turns! friends now fast sworn,
Whofe double bofoms feem to wear one heart,
Whofe hours, whofe bed, whofe meal and exercise
Are ftill together; who twine (as 'twere) in love
Unfeparable, fhall within this hour,

On a diffention of a doit, break out
To bittereft enmity. So felleft foes,

Whose paffions and whofe plots have broke their fleep
To take the one the other, by fome chance,
Some trick not worth an egg, fhall grow dear friends,
And inter-join their iffues. So with me;
My birth-place have I and my lovers left;
This enemy's houfe I'll enter; if he slay me,
He does fair juftice; if he give me way,
I'll do his country service.

[Exit.

SCENE IV. A Hall in Aufidius's House.
Mufick plays. Enter a Serving-man.

1 Ser. Wine, wine, wine! what fervice is here? I think our fellows are asleep.

Enter another Serving-ma

-man.

[Exit.

2 Ser. Where's Cotus? my mafter calls for him, Cotus!

Enter Coriolanus.

Cor. A goodly house; the feaft smells well; but I Appear not like a guest.

Enter the firft Serving-man.

[Exit.

I Ser. What would you have, friend? whence are you? here's no place for you: pray go to the door.

[Exit. Cor. I have deferv'd no better entertainment, in being Coriolanus.

Enter fecond Servant.

2 Ser. Whence are you, Sir? has the porter his eyes in his head, that he gives entrance to fuch companions? pray get you out.

Gor. Away!

2 Ser. Are you fo brave? I'll have you talk'd with anon. Enter a third Servant. The first meets him.

3

Ser. What fellow's this?

1 Ser. A ftrange one as ever I look'd on: I cannot get him out o' th' houfe: pr'ythee call my mafter to him. 3 Ser. What have you to do here, fellow? pray you avoid the house.

Cor. Let me but ftand, I will not hurt your hearth, 3 Ser. What are you?

Cor. A gentleman.

3 Ser. A marvellous poor one.

Cor. True; fo I am.

3 Ser. Pray you, poor gentleman, take up fome other ftation, here's no place for you; pray you avoid: come. Cor. Follow your function, go and batten on cold bits.

[Pufbes him arvay from him. 3 Ser. What, will you not? pr'ythee tell my matter, what a ftrange gueft he has here.

2 Ser. And I fhall.
3 Ser. Where dwell'ft thou?
Cor. Under the canopy.

3 Ser. Under the canopy?
Cor. Ay.

3 Ser. Where's that?

3

[Exit fecond Serving-man,

Cor. I' th' city of kites and crows.

Ser. I' th' city of kites and crows? what an ass it is! then thou dwell'ft with daws too?

Cor. No, I ferve not thy mafter.

3 Ser. How, Sir! do you meddle with my mafter? Cor. Ay, 'tis an honester service, than to meddle with thy mistress thou prat'ft, and prat'ft; ferve with thy trencher: hence ! [Beats bim away. Enter Aufidius, with a Serving-man,

Auf. Where is this fellow ?

2 Ser. Here, Sir; I'd have beaten him like a dog, but for disturbing the Lords within.

Auf. Whence com'ft thou? what would't thou ? thy name? Why speak'ft not? speak, man: what's thy name?

Cor.

Cor. If, Tullus, yet thou know'ft me not, and feeing me, Doft not yet take me for the man I am, Neceffity commands me name my self. Auf. What is thy name?

Cor. A name unmufical to Volfcian ears, And harsh in found to thine,

Auf Say, what's thy name?

Thou haft a grim appearance, and thy face

Bears a command in't; though thy tackle's torn,
Thou fhew't a noble veffel: what's thy name?

Cor. Prepare thy brow to frown; know'ft thou me yet?
Auf. I know thee not; thy name?

Cor. My name is Caius Martius, who hath done To thee particularly, and to all the Volfcians, Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may My Sirname, Coriolanus. The painful service, The extream dangers, and the drops of blood Shed for my thanklefs country, are requited But with that firname; a good memorial, And witness of the malice and displeasure Which thou should't bear me; only that name remains. The cruelty and envy of the people,

Permitted by our daftard Nobles, who

Have all forfook me, hath devour'd the reft;
And fuffer'd me by th' voice of flaves to be
Whoop'd out of Rome. Now this extremity
Hath brought me to thy hearth, not out of hope
(Miftake me not) to fave my life; for if
I had fear'd death, of all the men i' th' world
I'd have avoided thee. But in meer fpite
To be full quit of those my banishers,
Stand I before thee here: then if thou haft
A heart of wreak in thee, that will revenge

Thine own particular wrongs, and ftop those maims
Of shame feen through thy country, speed thee ftraight,
And make my mifery ferve thy turn: fo ufe it,
That my revengeful fervices may prove

As benefits to thee. For I will fight
Against my canker'd country, with the spleen
Of all the under fiends. But if so be

Thou

Thou dar'ft not this, and that to prove more fortunes
Thou'rt tir'd; then in a word I also am,
Longer to live, most weary; and prefent
My throat to thee, and to thy ancient malice:
Which not to cut, would fhew thee but a fool,
Since I have ever follow'd thee with hate,
Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breaft,
And cannot live, but to thy fhame, unless
It be to do thee fervice.

Auf. Oh, Martius, Martius,

Each word thou'ft spoke hath weeded from my heart
A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter

Should from yon cloud fpeak to me things divine,
And fay, 'Tis true; I'd not believe them more
Than thee, all-noble Martius. Let me twine
Mine arms about that body, where-against
My grained afh an hundred times hath broke,
And fear'd the moon with splinters: here I clip
The anvil of my fword, and do conteft
As hotly and as nobly with thy love,
As ever in ambitious ftrength I did.
Contend against thy valour. Know thou first,
I lov'd the maid I married: never man
Sigh'd truer breath: but, that I fee thee here,
Thou noble thing, more dances my rapt heart,
Than when I first my wedded mistress faw

Beftride my threshold. Why, thou Mars, I tell thee,
We have a power on foot; and I had purpose
Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn,
Or lofe my arm for't: thou haft beat me out
Twelve feveral times, and I have nightly fince
Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thy felf and me:
We have been down together in my sleep,
Unbuckling helms, fifting each other's throat,
And wak'd half dead with nothing. Worthy Martius,
Had we no quarrel elfe to Rome, but that
Thou art thence banish'd, we would mufter all
From twelve to seventy; and pouring war
Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome,
Like a bold flood o'er-bear. O come, go in,

And