Sic.
We hear not of him, neither need we fear;
His remedies are tame: 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 is not much miss'd, but with his friends; the commonwealth doth stand, and so would do, were he more angry at it.

Men.

All's well, and might have been much better, 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.

Bru.
Caius Martius was
A worthy officer i'th' war; but insolent,
O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking,
Self-loving.

Sic.
And affecting one sole throne,
Without assistants.

Men.
Nay, I think not so.

Sic.
We had 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. Enter Ædile.

Æd.
Worthy tribunes,
There is a slave, whom we have put in prison,
Reports the Volscians, with two several powers,
Are entred in the Roman territories,
And with the deepest malice of the war,
Destroy what lies before 'em.

Men.
'Tis Aufidius,
Who hearing of our Martius' banishment,
Thrusts forth his horns again into the world;
Which were in-shell'd, when Martius stood for Rome,
And durst not once peep out.

Sic.
Come, what talk you of Martius?

Bru.
Go see this rumourer whipt. It cannot be
The Volscians 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 shall chance to whip your information,
And beat the messenger who bids beware
Of what is to be dreaded.

Sic.
Tell not me:
I know this cannot be.

Bru.
Not possible.

Enter Messenger.

Mes.
The nobles in great earnestness are going
All to the senate house; some news is come
That turns their countenances.

Sic.
'Tis this slave:
Go whip him 'fore the peoples eyes: his raising!
Nothing but his report!

Mes.
Yes, worthy Sir,
The slave's report is seconded, and more,
More fearful is delivered.

Sic.
What more fearful!

Mes.
It is spoke freely out of many mouths,
How probable I do not know, that Martius
Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome.

Sic.
This is most likely!

Bru.
Rais'd only, that the weaker sort may wish
Good Martius home again.

Sic.
The very trick on't.

Men.
This is unlikely.
He and Aufidius can no more atone,
Than violentest contrarieties. Enter Cominius.

Com.
Oh, you have made good work.

Men.
What news? what news?

Com.
You have holp to ravish your own daughters, and
To melt the city-leads upon your pates,
To see your wives dishonour'd to your noses.

Men.
What's the news? what's the news?

Com.
Your temples burned in their cement, and
Your franchises, whereon you stood, confin'd
Into an auger's bore.

Men.
Pray now the news?
You've made fair work, I fear me: pray, your news?
If Martius should be joined with the Volscians,—

Com.
If? he is their god, he leads them like a thing
Made by some other deity than nature,
That shapes man better; and they follow him

Against us brats, with no less confidence,
Than boys pursuing summer butterflies,
Or butchers killing flies.

Men.
You've made good work,
You and your apron-men; that stood so much
Upon the voice of occupation, and
The breath of garlick-eaters.

Com.
He'll shake your Rome
About your ears.

Men.
As Hercules did shake
Down mellow fruit: so you have made fair work.

Bru.
But is this true, Sir?

Com.
Ay, and you'll look pale,
Before you find it other. All the regions
Do seemingly revolt, and who resist,
Are only mock'd for valiant ignorance,
And perish constant fools: who is't can blame him?
Your enemies and his find something in him.

Men.
We're all undone, unless
The noble man have mercy.

Com.
Who shall ask it?
The Tribunes cannot do't for shame; the people
Deserve such pity of him, as the wolf
Does of the shepherds: his best friends, if they
Shou'd say, Be good to Rome, they charge him even
As those should do that had deserv'd his hate,
And therein shew'd like enemies.

Men.
'Tis true,
If he were putting to my house the brand
That would consume it, I have not the face
To say, Beseech you, cease. You've made fair hands,
You and your crafts! you've crafted fair!

Com.
You've brought
A trembling upon Rome, such as was never
So incapable of help.

Sic.
Say not we brought it.

Men.
How? was it we? we lov'd him: but, like beasts,
And coward nobles, gave way to your clusters,
Who did hoot him out o'th' city.

Com.
But I fear
They'll roar him in again. Tullus Aufidius,
The second name of men, obeys his 'points,
As if he were his officer: desperation
Is all the policy, strength, and defence,
That Rome can make against them.

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