Who am prepar'd against your Territories, Cor. You blefs me, Gods! Auf. Therefore, moft abfolute Sir, if thou wilt have As beft thou art experienc'd, fince thou know'ft Or rudely vifit them in parts remote, To fright them, ere deftroy. But come, come in ; welcome! Your hand; moft [Exeunt. Enter two Servants. 1 Ser. Here's a ftrange alteration. 2 Ser. By my hand, I had thought to have ftrucken him with a cudgel, and yet my mind gave me, his clothes made a falfe report of him. 1 Ser. What an arm he has! he turn'd me about with his finger and his thumb, as one would fet up a top. 2 Ser. Nay, I knew by his face that there was fomething in him. He had, Sir, a kind of face, methoughtI cannot tell how to term it. 1 Ser. He had fo: looking, as it were 'would I were hanged, but I thought there was more in him than I could think. z Ser. So did I, I'll be fworn; he is fimply the rareft man i'th' world. 1 Ser. I think, he is; but a greater Soldier than he, you wot one. 2 Ser. Who, my Mafter? 1 Ser. Nay, it's no matter for that. 2 Ser. Worth fix on him. Ser. Nay, not so neither; but I take him to be the greater Soldier. 2 Ser. Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to fay that; for the defence of a Town, our General is excellent. 1 Ser. Ay, and for an affault too. Enter a third Servant. 3 Ser. Oh, flaves, I can tell you news; news, you rafcals. Both. What, what, what? let's partake. 3 Ser. I would not be a Roman, of all nations; I had as lieve be a condemn'd man. Both. Wherefore? wherefore? 3 Ser. Why, here's he that was wont to thwack our General, Caius Marcius. 1 Ser. Why do you fay, thwack our General? 3 Ser. I do not lay, thwack our General; but he was always good enough for him. z Ser. Come, we are fellows and friends; he was ever too hard for him, I have heard him fay fo himfelf. 1 Ser. He was too hard for him directly, to fay the troth on't: before Corioli, he fcotcht him and notcht him like a carbonado. 2 Ser. And, had he been cannibally given, he might have broil'd and eaten him too. 1 Ser. But, more of thy news; ——— 3 Ser. Why, he is fo made on here within, as if he were Son and Heir to Mars: fet at upper end o'th' table; no question ask'd him by any of the Senators, but they ftand bald before him. Our General himself makes a Mistress of him, fanctifies himself with's hands, and turns up the white o'th' eye to his difcourfe. But the bottom of the news is, our General is cut i'th' middle, and but one half of what he was yesterday. For the Other has half, by the Intreaty and Grant of the whole table. He'll go, he fays, and fowle the porter of Rome VOL. VI. Τ gates gates by th' ears. He will mow down all before him, and leave his paffage poll'd. 2 Ser. And he's as like to do't as any man I can imagine. 3 Ser. Do't! he will do't: for, look you, Sir, he has as many friends as enemies; which friends, Sir, as it were, durft not (look you, Sir) fhew themfelves (as we term it) his friends, whilft he's in directitude. 1 Ser. Directitude! what's that? 3 Ser. But when they fhall fee, Sir, his Creft up again, and the man in blood, they will out of their burroughs (like conies after rain) and revel all with him. 1 Ser. But when goes this forward? 3 Ser. To morrow, to day, prefently, you shall have the drum ftruck up this afternoon: 'tis, as it were, a parcel of their feast, and to be executed ere they wipe their lips. 2 Ser. Why, then we fhall have a ftirring world again this peace is worth nothing, but to ruft iron, encrease tailors, and breed ballad-makers. 1 Ser. Let me have war, fay I; it exceeds peace, as far as day does night; it's fprightly, waking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy, mull'd, deaf, fleepy, infenfible, a getter of more baftard children than war's a destroyer of men. 2 Ser. 'Tis fo; and as war in fome fort may be faid to be a ravisher, fo it cannot be denied, but peace is a great maker of cuckolds. 1 Ser. Ay, and it makes men hate one another. 3 Ser. Reafon; because they then lefs need one another: the wars, for my mony. I hope, to fee Romans as cheap as Volfcians. They are rifing, they are rifing. [Exeunt. 1 SCENE, SCENE, a publick Place in Rome. Sic. (24) W Enter Sicinius and Brutus. E hear not of him, neither need we His remedies are tame i'th' prefent peace, Enter Menenius. Bru. We ftood 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 fo would do, were he more angry at it. Men. All's well, and might have been much better, if he could have temporiz'd. (24) We bear not of him, neither need we fear bim, His Remedies are tame: the present Peace And Quietness o'th' People, which before Were in wild burry.] As this Paffage has been hitherto pointed, it labours under two Abfurdities; first, that the Peace abroad, and the Quietnefs of the Populace at home, are call'd Marcius's Remedies; whereas, in Truth, thefe were the Impediments of his Revenge: In the next place. the latter Branch of the Sentence is imperfect and ungrammatical. My Regulation prevents both thefe Inconveaiencies. 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 preferve you both! Sic. Good e'en, neighbours. Bru. Good e'en to you all, good-e'en to you all. Cit. Our felves, our wives, and children, on our knees, Are bound to pray for you both. Sic. Live and thrive! Bru. Farewel, kind neighbours: We with'd, Coriolanus had lov'd you, as we did. Both Trib. Farewel, farewel. [Exeunt Citizens. Sic. This is a happier and more comely time, Than when these fellows ran about the streets, Bru. Caius Marcius was A worthy officer i'th' war, but infolent, Self loving. Sic. And affecting one fole Throne, Without Affiftance. Men. Nay, I think not fo. Sic. We had by this, to all our lamentation, If he had gone forth Conful, found it fo. Bru. The Gods have well prevented it, and Rome Sits fafe and still without him. Enter Edile. Edile. Worthy Tribunes, There is a flave, whom we have put in prifon, And with the deepest malice of the war Destroy |