1

Anf. Say no more, here come the Lords.

Enter the Lords of the City.
All Lords. You are most welcome home.

Auf. I have not deserv'd it.
But, worthy Lords, have you with heed perus'd
What I have written to you?

All. We have.

1 Lord. And grieve to hear it.
What Faults he made before the last, I think
Might have found easie Fines: But there to end,
Where he was to begin, and give away
The benefit of our Levies, answering us
With our own Charge, making a Treaty where
There was a yielding; this admits no excuse.

Auf. He approaches, you shall hear him.
Enter Coriolanus marching with Drums and Colours, the

Commons being with him.
Cor. Hail, Lords, I am return'd, your Soldier;
No more infected with my country's love,
Thin when I parted hence, but still subfisting
Under your great Command. You are to know,
That prosperously I have attempted, and
With bloody paffige led your Wars, even to
The Gates of Rome: Our Spoils we have brought home
Doth more than Counterpoise a full third part
The charges of the Adion. We have made Peace
With no less Honour to the Antiates
Than Shame to th' Romans: And we here deliver,
Subscrib'd by th' Consuls and Patricians,
Tog ther with the Seal oʻth' Senate, what
We have compounded on.

Auf. Read it not, Noble Lords,
But tell the Traitor in the highest degree
He hath abus'd your Powers.

Cor. Traitor !How now!
Auf. Ay, Traitor, Martins.
Cor. Martius!

Auf. Ay, Martius, Caius Martius; doft thou think
I'll grace thee with that Robbery, thy stoln name
Coriolanus, in Coriolus?
You Lords and Head o'th State, perfidiously

He

a

He has betray'd your Busines, and given up,
For certain drops of Salt, your City Rome,
I say your City, to his Wife and Mother,
Breaking his Oath and Resolution like
A twist of rotten Silk, never admitcing
Counsel o'th' War; but at his Nurse's Tears
He whind and roar'd away your Vi&ory,
That Pages blush'd at him, and Men of Heart
Look'd wondring each at other.

Cor. Hear'st thou, Mars
Auf. Name not the God, thou Boy of Tears.
Cor. Ha!
Auf. No more,

Cor. Measureless Liar, thou hast made my Heart
Too great for what contains it. Boy! O Slave !---
Pardon me, Lords, 'tis the first time that ever
I was forc'd to scold. Your Judgments, my grave Lords,
Must give this Cur the Lie; and his own Notion,
Who wears my stripes imprest upon him, that
Must bear my beating to his Grave, thall join
To thrust the Lie unto him.

i Lord. Peace both, and hear me spopk.

Cor. Cut me to pieces, Volscies, Men and Lads,
Stain all your edges in me. Boy! false Hound
If

you have writ your Annals true, 'tis there,
That like an Eagle in a Dove-coat, I
Flutter'd your Volscies in Coriolus.
Alore I did it. Boy !-

Auf. Why, Noble Lords,
Will
you
be

put in mind of his blind Fortune, Which was your shame, by this unholy Braggart, 'Fore your own Eyes and Ears?

All Con. Let him dye for't.
All People. Tear hini to pieces, do it presently:
He kill'd my Son, my Daughter, he kill'd my cousin
Marcus, he kill'd my Father.
2 Lord. Peace, ho— no outrage
,

-peace
The Man is noble, and his Fame folds in
This Orb o'th' Earth; his last Offences to us
Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius,
And trouble not the Peace.

Cor.

Cor. O that I had him, with fix Aufidiusses, or more; His Tribe ; to use my lawful Sword

Auf. Infolent Villain.
All Con. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him.

[The Conspirators all draw, and kill Martius, who

falls, and Aufidius stands on him.
Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold.
Auf. My Noble Lords, hear me speak.
i Lord. O, Tullus.

2 Lord. Thou hast done a deed, whereat Valour will weep.

3 Lord. Tread not upon him---Masters all, be quiet, Put up your Swords.

Auf. My Lords,
When you shall know (as in this Rage
Provoked by him, you cannot) the great danger
Which this Man's Life did owe you, you'll rejoice
That he is thus cut off. Please it your Honours

.
To call me to your Senate, I'll deliver
My self your Loyal Servant, or endure
Your heaviest Cenfure.

Į Lord. Bear from hence his Body,
And mourn you for him. Let him be regarded
As the most Noble Coarse, that ever Herald
Did follow to his Urn.

2 Lord. His own impatience
Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame:
Let's make the best use of it.

Auf. My Rage is gone,
And I am struck with Sorrow: Take him up:
Help three o'th' chiefest Soldiers; I'll be one.
Beat thou the Drum that it speak mournfully:

your steel Pikes. Though in this city he
Hath widowed and upchilded many a one,
Which to this hour bewail the Injury,
Yet he shall have a Noble Memory. Affift.

[Excunt, bearing the Body of Martius. A dead March founded.

Trail your

ANDRONICUS

A

TRAGED Y.

Printed in the YEAR 1709.