SCENE changes to a Hall in Aufidius's Houfe.

Mufick plays. Enter a Serving-man.

INE, wine, wine! what fervice is here?
I think, our fellows are afleep.

Enter another Serving-man.

[Exit.

2 Ser. Where's Cotus ? my mafter calls for him: Cotus.

Enter Coriolanus.

Cor. A goodly houfe; the feaft fmells well; but I Appear not like a guest.

Enter the first Serving-man.

1 Ser. What would you have, friend? whence are you? here's no place for you: pray, go to the door.

[Exit. Cor. I have deferv'd no better entertainment, in being Coriolanus.

Enter Second Servant.

[Afide.

eyes

2 Ser. Whence are you, Sir? has the porter his in his head, that he gives entrance to fuch companions ♪ pray, get you out.

Cor. Away!

2 Ser. Away

get you away.

Cor. Now thou'rt troublesome.

2 Ser. Are you fo brave? I'll have you talk'd with anon.

Enter a third Servant. The first meets him.

3 Ser. What fellow's this?

I Ser. A ftrange one as ever I look'd on: I cannot get him out o' th' house: pr'ythee, call my mafter to him. 3 Ser. What have you to do here, fellow? pray you,

avoid the house.

Cor. Let me but ftand, I will not hurt your hearth. 3 Ser. What are you?

Cor. A Gentleman.

3 Ser. A marvellous poor one.,

Cor.

Gor. True; fo I am.

3 Ser. Pray you, poor gentleman, take up fome other ftation, here's no place for you; pray you, avoid:

come.

Cor. Follow your function, go and batten on cold bits. [Pufbes him away from him. 3 Ser. What, will you not? pr'ythee, tell my mafter, what a ftrange gueft he has here.

2 Ser. And I fhall.

3 Ser. Where dwell'st thou ? Cor. Under the canopy.

3 Ser. Under the

Cor. Ay.

canopy ?

3 Ser. Where's that?

[Exit fecond Serving-man.

Cor. I' th' city of kites and crows.

3 Ser. I' th' city of kites and crows? what an ass it is! then thou dwell'ft with daws too?

Cor. No, I ferve not thy master.

3 Ser. How, Sir! do you meddle with my mafter? Cor. Ay, 'tis an honefter service, than to meddle with thy miftrefs: thou prat'ft, and prat'ft; ferve with thy trencher: hence. [Beats him away.

Enter Aufidius, with a Serving-man.

Auf. Where is this fellow?

2 Ser. Here, Sir; I'd have beaten him like a dog,

but for disturbing the Lords within.

Auf. Whence com'ft thou?

thy name?

what would't thou?

Why speak'ft not? fpeak, man: what's thy name?

Cor. If, Tullus, yet thou know'it me not, and feeing me, Doft not yet take me for the man I am,

Neceffity commands me name myself.

Auf. What is thy name?

Cor. A name unmufical to Volfcian ears,

And harsh in found to thine.

Auf. Say, what's thy name?

Thou haft a grim appearance, and thy face
Bears a command in't; though thy tackle's torn,
Thou shew'st a noble veffel: what's thy name?

Cor.

Cor. Prepare thy brow to frown; know'st thou me yet?
Auf. I know thee not; thy name?

Cor. My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done
To thee particularly, and to all the Volfcians,
Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may
My firname, Coriolanus. The painful fervice,
The extreme dangers, and the drops of blood
Shed for my thanklefs country, are requited
But with that firname: a good memory,
And witness of the malice and displeasure
Which thou should't bear me, only that name remains.
The cruelty and envy of the people,
Permitted by our daftard nobles, who

Have all forfook me, hath devour'd the reft;
And suffer'd me by th' voice of flaves to be
Hoop'd out of Rome. Now, this extremity
Hath brought me to thy hearth, not out of hope
(Miftake me not) to fave my life; for if
I had fear'd death, of all the men i' th' world
I'd have avoided thee. But in mere fpite
To be full quit of thofe my banishers,
Stand I before thee here: then if thou haft
A heart of wreak in thee, that wilt revenge

Thine own particular wrongs, and stop thofe maims
Of fhame feen through thy country, fpeed thee ftraight,
And make my mifery ferve thy turn: fo ufe it,
That my revengeful fervices may prove

As benefits to thee. For I will fight

Against my canker'd country, with the spleen

Of all the under fiends. But if fo be

Thou dar'ft not this, and that to prove more fortunes Thou'rt tir'd; then, in a word, I also am

Longer to live moft weary, and present

My throat to thee, and to thy ancient malice:
Which not to cut, would fhew thee but a fool,
Since I have ever follow'd thee with hate,
Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast,
And cannot live, but to thy fhame, unless

It be to do thee fervice.

Auf. Oh, Marcius, Marcius,

Each

Each word, thou'ft fpoke, hath weeded from my heart
A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter

Should from yon cloud fpeak to me things divine,
And fay, 'tis true; I'd not believe them more
Than thee, all-noble Marcius. Let me twine
Mine arms about that body, where-against
My grained afh an hundred times hath broke,
And fear'd the moon with splinters: here I clip
The anvil of my fword, and do contest
As hotly and as nobly with thy love,
As ever in ambitious ftrength I did

Contend against thy valour. Know thou first,
I lov'd the maid I married; never man
Sigh'd truer breath: but, that I fee thee here,
Thou noble thing, more dances my rapt heart,
Than when I first my wedded mistress saw
Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars! I tell thee,
We have a power on foot; and I had purpose
Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn,
Or lofe my arm for't: thou haft beat me out
Twelve feveral times, and I have nightly fince
Dream't of encounters 'twixt thyself and me:
We have been down together in my fleep,
Unbuckling helms, fifting each other's throat,
And wak'd half dead with nothing. Worthy Marcius,
Had we no quarrel elfe to Rome, but that
Thou art thence banifh'd, we would mufter all
From twelve to feventy; and pouring war
Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome,

Like a bold flood o'er-bear. O come, go in,
And take our friendly fenators by th' hands.
Who now are here, taking their leaves of me,
Who am prepar'd against your territories,
Though not for Rome itself.

Cor. You biefs me, gods!

Auf. Therefore, moft abfolute Sir, if thou wilt have The leading of thine own revenges, take One half of my commiffion, and fet down As best thou art experienc'd, fince thou know'st

Thy country's ftrength and weakness, thine own ways;

Whether

Whether to knock against the gates of Rome,

Or rudely vifit them in parts remote,

To fright them, ere deftroy. But come, come in ;
Let me commend thee first to thofe, that fhall
Say yea to thy defires. A thousand welcomes !
And more a friend, than e'er an enemy:

Yet, Marcius, that was much.-Your hand; most welcome!

Enter two Servants.

1 Ser. Here's a ftrange alteration.

[Exeunt.

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.

I Ser. What an arm he has! he turn'd me about with his finger and his thumb, as one would set 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.

2 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 foldier than he, you wot one.

2 Ser. Who, my master?

1 Ser. Nay, it's no matter for that.

2 Ser. Worth fix on him.

1 Ser. Nay, not so neither; but I take him to be the. greater foldier.

2 Ser. Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to say 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.