2 Ser. Why then we shall 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 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 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. Both. In, in, in, in. [Exeunt, Sic. We hear not of him, neither need we fear him, Enter Menenius. Bru. We stood 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 mift, but with his Friends; the Commonwealth doth ftand, and fo would do, were he more angry at it. P 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 preserve you both. Sic. Good-e'en, Neighbours. Bru. Good-e'en to you all, good-e'en to you all. 1 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 thefe Fellows ran about the Streets, Crying, Confufion. Bru. Caius Martius was A worthy Officer i'th'War, but Infolent, Sic. And affecting one fole Throne, without affiftance. 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 ftill without him. Enter Edile. Ædile. Worthy Tribunes, There is a Slave, whom we have put in Prison, And with the deepeft Malice of the War, Destroy what lyes before 'em. Men. 'Tis Aufidius, Who hearing of our Martius's Banishment, Thrufts forth his Horns again into the World, Which were In-fhell'd, when Martius ftood 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 Sic. Tell not me: I know this cannot be. Enter a Meffenger. Mef. The Nobles in great earneftness are going Sic. 'Tis this Slave: Go whip him 'fore the Peoples Eyes: His raifing; Mef. Yes, worthy Sir. The Slave's Report is feconded, and more, Sic. What more fearful ? Mef. It is fpoke freely out of many Mouths, Sic. This is moft likely. Bru. Rais'd only, that the weaker fort may wish Good Martius 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, Upon our Territories, and have already 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. Men. What News? What News? Com. You have holp to ravish your own Daughters, and To melt the City Leads upon your Pates, To fee your Wives difhonour'd to your Nofes. Men. What's the news? What's the news? Men. Pray now the News? You have made fair work, I fear me: pray, your news? Com. If? He is their God, he leads them like a thing That shapes Man better; and they follow him Men. You have made good work, You and your Apron-men; you that ftood fo much The Breath of Garlick-eaters. Com. He'll shake your Rome about your Ears. 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? Men. We are all undone, unless 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 And therein fhew'd like Enemies. Men. Men. 'Tis true, if he were putting to my Houfe, the Brand That would confume it, I have not the Face To fay, befeech you ceafe. You have made fair Hands, Com. You have brought A trembling upon Rome, fuch as was never Tri. Say not we brought it. Men. How? Was't we? We lov'd him; Gave Way unto your Clufters, who did hoot Com. But I fear They'll roar him in again. Tullus Aufidius, Enter a Troop of Citizens. Men. Here come the Clufters. And is Aufidius with him?-You are they Which will not prove a Whip: as many Coccombs Omnes. Faith, we hear fearful News. When I faid banish him, I faid 'twas Pity. 2 Cit. And fo did I. 3 Cit. And fo did I; and to fay the truth, fo did very many of us; that we did, we did for the beft: And tho' we willingly confented to his Banifhment, yet it was against our Will. Com. Y'are goodly things; you Voices! Men. You have made you good work, You and your Cry. Shall's to the Capitol? Com |