Sic.
(33) ^note


We hear not of him, neither need we fear him;
His remedies are tame i'th' present peace,
And quietness o'th' People, which before
Were in wild hurry. Here we make his Friends
Blush, that the world goes well; who rather had,
Though they themselves did suffer by't, beheld
Dissentious numbers pestring streets, than see
Our Tradesmen singing in their shops, and going
About their functions friendly. 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. Enter three or four Citizens.

All.
The Gods preserve you Both!

Sic.
Good-e'en, neighbours.

Bru
Good-e'en to you all, good-e'en to you all.

1 Cit.
Our selves, our wives, and children, on our knees,
Are bound to pray for you both.

Sic.
Live and thrive.

Bru.
Farewel, kind neighbours:
We wish'd, Coriolanus had lov'd you, as we did.

All.
Now the Gods keep you!

Both Tri.
Farewel, farewel. [Exeunt Citizens.

Sic.
This is a happier and more comely time,
Than when these fellows ran about the streets,
Crying confusion.

Bru.
Caius Marcius 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 Assistance.

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.

Ædile.
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 Marcius' Banishment,
Thrusts forth his horns again into the world;

Which were in-shell'd when Marcius stood for Rome,
And durst not once peep out.

Sic.
Come, what talk you of Marcius!

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 a Messenger.

Mess.
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 people's 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 Marcius,
Join'd with Aufidius, leads a Power 'gainst Rome;
And vows Revenge as spacious, as between
The young'st and oldest thing.

Sic.
This is most likely!—

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

Sic.
The very trick on't.

Men.
This is unlikely.

He and Aufidius can no more attone,(34) ^note

Mes.
You are sent for to the Senate:
A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius,
Associated with Aufidius, rages
Upon our territories; and have already
O'er-born their way, consum'd with fire, and took
What lay before them. 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 augre's bore.

Men.
Pray now, the news?
You've made fair work, I fear me: pray, your news?
If Marcius should be joyned 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 butter-flies,

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:
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 smilingly revolt; and, who resists,
Are 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.

Tri.
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. Enter a Troop of Citizens.

Men.
Here come the clusters.—
And is Aufidius with him?—You are they,
That made the air unwholsome, when you cast
Your stinking, greasie caps, in hooting at
Coriolanus' Exile. Now he's coming,
And not a hair upon a soldier's head,
Which will not prove a whip: as many coxcombs,
As you threw caps up, will he tumble down,
And pay you for your voices. 'Tis no matter,
If he should burn us all into one coal,
We have deserv'd it.

Omnes.
Faith, we hear fearful news.

1 Cit.
For mine own part,
When I said, banish him; I said, 'twas pity.

2 Cit.
And so did I.

3 Cit.

And so did I; and to say the truth, so did very many of us; that we did, we did for the best: and tho' we willingly consented to his Banishment, yet it was against our will.

Com.
Y'are goodly things; you, voices!—

Men.
You have made good work,
You and your cry. Shall's to the Capitol?

Com.
Oh, ay, what else? [Exeunt.

Sic.
Go, masters, get you home, be not dismay'd.
These are a Side, that would be glad to have
This true, which they so seem to fear. Go home,
And shew no sign of fear.

1 Cit.

The Gods be good to us: come, masters, let's home. I ever said, we were i'th' wrong, when we banish'd him.

2 Cit.

So did we all; but come, let's home.

Bru.
I do not like this news.

Sic.
Nor I.

Bru.
Let's to the Capitol; would, half my wealth
Would buy this for a lie!

Sic.
Pray, let us go. [Exeunt Tribunes.

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