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 Martius.

I 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.

2. Ser. Come, we are Fellows and Friends; he was ever too hard for him, I have heard him fay fo himself.

I Ser. He was too hard for him directly, to lay the Troth on't; before Coriolus, he fcotcht him and notcht him like a Carbonado.

2 Ser. And, had he been Cannibally given, he might have boil'd and eaten him too.

I 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: Set at upper end o'th' Table; no Question ask'd him by any of the Senators, but they fland bald before him. Our General himself makes a Miftrefs. 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 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 maBy 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. Dire&titude! 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 fhall have the Drum ftruck up this Afternoon: 'Tis as it were a parcel of their Feast, and to be executed e'er they wipe their Lips.

2. Ser.

2 Ser. Why then we shall have a stirring 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 walking, 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 Ravifher, 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.

Both. In, in, in, in.

[Exeunt.

Sic. We hear not of him, neither need we fear him,
His Remedies are tame: the present Peace
And Quietness of the People, which before
Were in wild hurry. Here do we make his Friends
Blufh, that the World goes well; who rather had,
Though they themselves did fuffer by't, behold
Diffentious Numbers peftring Streets, than fee
Our Tradefmen finging in their Shops, and going
About their Functions friendly.

Enter Menenius.

Bru. We ftood to't in good time. Is this Menenius? Sic. 'Tis he, 'tis he: O he is grown moft kind of late: Hail, Sir.

Men. Hail to you both.

Sic. Your Coriolanus is not much mist, 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.

Sic. Where is he, hear you?

Men. Nay, I hear nothing:

His Mother and his Wife hear nothing from him.

Enter

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.

I 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 wifht 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, Confufion.

Bru. Caius Martius was

A worthy Officer i'th'War, but Infolent,
O'ercome with Pride, Ambitious past all thinking,
Self-loving.

Sic. And affecting one fole Throne, without affiftance.
Men. I think not fo.

Sic. We fhould 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 fill without him.

Enter Edile.

Adile. Worthy Tribunes,

There is a Slave, whom we have put in Prifon,
Reports the Volfcies, with two feveral Powers,
Are entred in the Roman Territories,

And with the deepeft Malice of the War,
Deftroy what lyes before 'em.

Men. 'Tis Aufidius,

Who hearing of our Martins's Banishment,

Thrufts forth his Horns again into the World,

Which were In-fhell'd, when Martius stood for Rome,

And durft not once peep out.

Sic. Come, what talk you of Martius?

Bru. Go fee this Rumourer whipt, it cannot be, The Volfcies dare break with us.

Men. Cannot be !

We have Record that very well it can,

And

And three Examples of the like have been
Within my Age. But reafon with the Fellow
Before you punish him, where he heard this,
Left you shall chance to whip your Information,
And beat the Meffenger, who bids beware
Of what is to be dreaded.

Sic. Tell not me: I know this cannot be.
Bru. Not poffible.

Enter a Meffenger.

Mef. The Nobles in great earneftness are going
All to the Senate-houfe; fome News is come
That turns their Countenances.

Sic. 'Tis this Slave:

Go whip him 'fore the Peoples Eyes: His raifing;
Nothing but his Report.

Mef. Yes, worthy Sir.

The Slave's Report is feconded, and more,
More fearful is delivered.

Sic. What more fearful?

Mef. It is fpoke freely out of many Mouths,
How probable I do not know, that Martius,
Join'd with Aufidius, leads a Power 'gainst Rome,
And vows Revenge as fpacious, as between
The youngest and oldest thing.

Sic. This is moft likely.

Bru. Rais'd only, that the weaker fort

Good Martins home again.

Sic. The very trick on't.
Men. This is unlikely.

He and Aufidius can no more atone,

Than violent ft Contrariety.

Enter Messenger.

Mef. You are fent for to the Senate:

A fearful Army, lead by Caius Martius,
Affociated with Aufidius, rages

Upon our Territories, and have already

may wifh

O'er-born their way, confum'd with Fire, and took

What lay before them,

Enter Cominius.

Com. Oh, you have made good work.

Men

2

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 difhonour'd to your Nofes.
Men. What's the news? What's the news?

Com. Your Temples burn'd in their Cement, and
Your Franchises, whereon you ftood, confin'd
Into an Auger's bore.

Men. Pray now the News?

You have made fair work, I fear me: pray, your news?
If Martius should be joyned with the Volfcians,

Com. If? He is their God, he leads them like a thing
Made by fome other Deity than Nature,

That shapes Man better; and they follow him
Against us Brats, with no lefs Confidence,
Than Boys pursuing Summer Butter-Aies,
Or Butchers killing Flies.

Men. You have made good work,

You and your Apron-men; you 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 fake 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 fmilingly revolt, and who refifts

Are mock'd for valiant Ignorance,

And perish conftant Fools: Who is't can blame him?
Your Enemies and his find fomething in him.

Men. We are all undone, unlefs

The Noble Man have Mercy.

Com. Who fhall ask it?

The Tribunes cannot do't for fhame; the People
Deferve fuch pity of him, as the Wolf

Do's of the Shepherds: For his beft Friends, if they

Shou'd fay, be good to Rome, they charg'd him, even,
As thofe fhould do that had deferv'd his Hate,

And therein fhew'd like Enemies.

Men,