Men. I paint him in the Character. Mark what Mercy his Mother fhall bring from him; there is no more Mercy in him, than there is Milk in a Male-Tyger; that shall our poor City find; and all this is long of you. us. Sic. The Gods be good unto us. Men. No, in fuch a cafe the Gods will not be good unto When we banish'd him, we refpe&ted not them: And he returning to break our Necks, they refpe& not us. Enter a Messenger, Mef. Sir, if you'd fave your Lifeiflye to your House, The Plebeians have got your Fellow-Tribune, And hale him up and down, all fwearing, if The Roman Ladies bring not Comfort home, They'll give him Death by Inches. Enter another Messenger. Sic. What's the News? Mef. Good News, good News, the Ladies have prevail❜d, The Volfcies are diflodg'd, and Martius gone : A merrier Day did never yet greet Rome, No, not th' Expulfion of the Tarquins. Sic. Friend, art thou certain this is true? Is't moft certain ? Mef. As certain as I know the Sun is Fire: Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it? Tabors and Cymbals, and the fhouting Romans Men. This is good News: I will go meet the Ladies. This Volumnia [A fhout within. A Sea and Land full; you have pray'd well to Day: [Sound ftill with the Shouts. Mef. Mef. Almoft at point to enter. Sic. We'll meet them, and help the Joy. [Exeunt. Enter two Senators, with Ladies paffing over the Stage with other Lords. Sen. Behold our Patronefs, the life of Rome: All. Welcome Ladies, welcome. [Exeunt. [A Flourish with Drums and Trumpets. Enter Tullus Aufidius, with Attendants. Enter three or four Confpirators of Aufidius's Faction. Moft welcome. I Con. How is it with our General ? Auf. Even fo, as with a Man by his own Alms impoyfon'd, and with his Charity flain. 2 Con. Moft noble Sir, if you do hold the fame intent, Wherein you wifh'd us Parties; we'll deliver you Of your great danger. Auf. Sir, I cannot tell, We must proceed as we do find the People. 3 Con. The People will remain uncertain, whilst 'Twixt you there's difference; but the fall of either Makes the Survivor Heir of all. Auf. I know it; And my pretext to ftrike at him admits A good Conftruction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd He He bow'd his Nature, never known before, When he did ftand for Conful, which he loft Auf. That I would have spoke of: Being banish'd for't, he came unto my Hearth, 1 Con. So he did, my Lord; The Army marvell'd at it, and in the laft, Auf. There was it; For which my Sinews fhall be ftretch'd upon him: [Drums and Trumpets found, with great shouts of the People. I Con. Your Native Town you enter'd like a Poft, And had no welcomes home, but he returns Splitting the Air with Neife. 2 Con. And patient Fools, Whofe Children he hath flain, their bafe Threats tear 3 Con. Therefore at your vantage, E'er he express himself, or move the People With what he would fay, let him feel your Sword, After your way, his Tale pronounc'd, fhall bury Auf. Auf. Say no more, here come the Lords. All Lords. You are moft welcome home. Auf. I have not deferv'd it. But, worthy Lords, have you with heed perus'd All. We have. I Lord. And grieve to hear it. What Faults he made before the laft, I think Enter Coriolanus marching with Drums and Colours, the Cor. Hail, Lords, I am return'd, your Soldier; With no lefs Honour to the Antiates Than Shame to th' Romans: And we here deliver, Auf. Read it not, Noble Lords, But tell the Traitor in the highest degree Cor. Traitor!How now! Auf. Ay, Traitor, Martius. Cor. Martius! Auf. Ay, Martius, Caius Martius; doft thou think I'll grace thee with that Robbery, thy ftoln name Coriolanus, in Coriolus? You Lords and Head o' th' State, perfidiously He He has betray'd your Bufinef, and given up, Cor. Hear'ft thou, Mars? Auf. Name not the God, thou Boy of Tears. Auf. No more. Cor. Measureless Liar, thou haft made my Heart I was forc'd to fcold. Your Judgments, my grave Lords, 1 Lord. Peace both, and hear me speak. Cor. Cut me to pieces, Volfcies, Men and Lads, Flutter'd your Volfcies in Coriolus. Auf. Why, Noble Lords, Will you be put in mind of his blind Fortune, Which was your fhame, by this unholy Braggart, 'Fore your own Eyes and Ears? All Con. Let him dye for't. All People. Tear him to pieces, do it prefently: -peace 2 Lord. Peace, ho-no outrage- Cor. |