Cit.

Now the gods keep you!
Both Tri. Farewel, farewel. (Ereunt Citizens.

Sic. This is a happier and more comely time,
Than when these fellow's ran about the streets,
Crying, Confusion.
Bru.

Caius Marcius was
A worthy officer i' the war; but insolent,
O‘ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking,
Self-loving, -

Sic. And affecting one sole throne,
Without assistance.
Men.

I think not so.
Sic. We should by this, to all our lamentation,
If he had gone forth consul, found it so.

Bru. The gods have well prevented it, and Rome Sits safe and still without him.

Enter Ædile.
Æd.

Worthy tribunes,
There is a slave, whom we have put in prison,
Reports,—the Volces with two several powers
Are enter'd in the Roman territories;
And with the deepest malice of the war
Destroy what lies before them.
Men.

'Tis Aufidius,
Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment,
Thrusts forth his horns again into the world;
Which were inshellid, when Marcius stood for

Rome,
And durst not once peep out.
Sic.

Come, what talk you Of Marcius?

Bru. Go see this rumourer whipp'd.-It cannot

be, The Volces dare break with us. Men.

Cannot be!
We have record, that very well it can;
And three examples of the like have been
Within my age. But reason with the fellow,
Before you punish him, where he heard this;
Lest you shall chance to whip your information,
And beat the messenger who bids beware
Of what is to be dreaded.
Sic.

Tell not me:
I know, this cannot be.
Bru.

Not possible.

Sic.

Enter a Messenger. Mes. The nobles, in great earnestness, are going All to the senate house: some news is come, That turns their countenances.

'Tis this slave;-
Go whip him 'fore the people's eyes :-his raising!
Nothing but his report!
Mes.

Yes, worthy sir,
The slave's report is seconded; and more,
More fearful, is deliver'd.
Sic.

What more fearful?
Mes. It is spoke freely out of many mouths,
(How probable, I do not know,) that Marcius,
Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome;
And vows revenge as spacious, as between
The young'st and oldest thing.
Sic.

This is most likely!

Bru. Rais’d only, that the weaker sort may wish
Good Marcius home again.
Sic.

The very trick on't.
Men. This is unlikely:
He and Aufidius can no more atone,
Than violentest contrariety.

Enter another Messenger. Mes. You are sent for to the senate: A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius, Associated with Aufidius, rages Upon our territories; and have already O'er-borne their way, consum'd with fire, and took What lay before them.

Enter Cominius.
Com. O, you have made good work!
Men.

What news? what news? Com. You have holp to ravish your own daugh

ters, and
To melt the city leads upon your pates;
To see your wives dishonour'd to your noses;-
Men. What's the news? what's the news?

Com. Your temples burned in their cement; and
Your franchises, whereon you stood, confin’d
Into an augre's bore.

Men. . Pray now, your news? You have made fair work, I fear me:-Pray, your

news? If Marcius should be join’d with Volcians, Com.

If! He is their god; he leads them like a thing

Men.

Made by some other deity than nature,
That shapes man better: and they follow him,
Against us brats, with no less confidence,
Than boys pursuing summer butter-flies,
Or butchers killing flies.

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 will shake
Your Rome about your ears.
Men.

As Hercules
Did shake down mellow fruit: You have made fair

work! Bru. But is this true, sir?

Ay; and you'll look pale Before you find it other. All the regions Do smilingly revolt; and, who resist, Are only mock'd for valiant ignorance, And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame

him?
Your enemies, and his, find something in him.

Men. We are all undone, unless
The noble man have mercy.
Com.

Who shall ask it?
The tribunes cannot do't for shame; the people
Deserve such pity of him, as the wolf
Does of the shepherds: for his best friends, if they
Should say, Be good to Rome, they charg'd him

Com.

Men.

'Tis true: If he were putting to my house the brand That should consume it, I have not the face To say, 'Beseech you, cease. You have made fair

hands, You, and your crafts! you have crafted fair! Com.

You have brought A trembling upon Rome, such as was never So incapable of help. Tri.

Say not, we brought it. Men. How! Was it we? We lov'd him; but, like

beasts,
And cowardly nobles, gave way to your clusters,
Who did hoot him out o' the city.
Com.

But, I fear
They'll roar him in again. Tullus Aufidius,
The second name of men, obeys his points
As if he were his officer:-Desperation
Is all the policy, strength, and defence,
That Rome can make against them.

Enter a troop of Citizens.
Men.

Here come the clusters.-
And is Aufidius with him:-You are they
That made the air unwholesome, when you cast
Your stinking, greasy caps, in hooting at
Coriolanus' exile. Now he's coming;
And not a hair upon a soldier's head,
Which will not prove a whip; as many coxcombs,
As you threw caps up, will he tumble down,
And pay you for your voices. 'Tis no matter;
If he could burn us all into one coal,

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