After your way his tale pronounc'd shall bury

His reasons with his body.

Auf. Say no more,

Here come the Lords.

Enter the Lords of the city.

All Lords. You're most welcome home.
Auf. I have not deferv'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 eafy fines: but there to end
Where he was to begin, and give away
The benefit of our levies, anfwering us
With our own charge, making a treaty where
There was a yielding; this admits no excufe.
Auf. He approaches, you fhall hear him.

SCENE VI.

Enter Coriolanus, marching with drums and colours, the Commors being with him.

Cor. Hail, Lords; I am return'd,

your

No more infected with my country's love,

foldier;

Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting
Under your great command. You are to know,
That profperoufly I have attempted, and

With bloody paffage led your wars, even to

The gates of Rome. Our poils we have brought home, Do more than counterpoife, a full third part,

The charges of the action.

We've made peace

With no lefs honour to the Antiates,

Than fhame to 'th' Romans: and we here deliver,
Subfcribed by the Confuls and Patricians,

Together with the feal o' th' fenate, 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.

Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius.

Cor. Marcius!

Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius; doft thou think, I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy ftol'n name

Coriolanus in Corioli?

You Lords and heads o' th' ftate, perfidiously
He has betray'd your bufinefs, and given up
For certain drops of falt, your city Rome!
I fay, your city, to his wife and mother;
Breaking his oath and refolution, like
A twist of rotten filk, never admitting
Counsel o' th' war; but at his nurfe's tears
He whin'd and roar'd away your victory,
That pages blufh'd at him, and men of heart
Look'd wond'ring each at other.

Cor. Hear't thou, Mars!

Auf Name not the god! thou boy of tears!
Cor. Ha!

Auf. No more.

Cor. Meafurelefs lyar, thou haft made my heart
Too great for what contains it. Boy? O flave!
Pardon me, Lords, 'tis the first time that ever

I'm forc'd to fcold. Your judgments, my grave Lords,
Muft give this cur the lye; and his own notion.
(Who wears my ftripes imprefs'd upon him, that ·
Muft bear my beating to his grave) shall join

To thrust the lye unto him.

1 Lord. Peace both, and hear me speak.
Cor. Cut me to pieces, Volfcians, men and lads,

Stain all your edges in me.

Boy? falfe hound!

If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there

That, like an eagle in a dovecote, I

Flutter'd your Volfcians in Corioli.

Alone I did it. Boy!

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 die for't.

All People. Tear him to pieces, do it presently. He kill'd my fon,-my daughter,-kill'd my coufin,He kill'd my father, [The croud fpeak promiscuously.

2 Lord..

2 Lord. Peace,-no outrage-peace

The man is noble, and his fame folds in

This orb o' th' earth; his laft offences to us
Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius,
And trouble not the peace.

Cor. O that I had him,

With fix Aufidius's, or more, his tribe,
To ufe my lawful fword-

Auf. Infolent villain!

All Con. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him.

[The Confpirators all draw, and kill Marcius, whe falls, and Aufidius flands on him.

Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold.

Auf. My Noble Mafters, hear me fpeak. 1 Lord. O Tüllus

2 Lord. Thou haft done a deed whereat Valour will weep.

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

Auf My Lords, when you fhall know (as in this rage
"Provok'd 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 fenate, I'll deliver
Myfelf your loyal fervant, or endure
Your heavift cenfure.

I Lord. Bear from hence his body,

And mourn you for him. Let him be regarded
As the most noble corfe that ever herald

Did follow to his urn.

2 Lord. His own in patience

Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame.
Let's make the best of it.

duf. My rage is gone,

And I am truck with forrow. Take him up:
Help, three o' th' chiefeft foldiers; I'll be one.
Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully.
Trail your fteel pikes. Though in this city he
Hath widowed and unchilded many a one,
Which to this hour bewail the injury,

Yet he shall have a noble memory.

[Exe. bearing Marcius's body. A dead march founded.

THE END OF THE SIXTH VOLUME.

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