SICINIUS, JUNIUS BRUTUS, Tribunes of the People. Young MARCIUS, Son to Coriolanus. A Roman Herald. TULLUS AUFIDIUS, General of the Volscians. VOLUMNIA, Mother to Coriolanus. VIRGILIA, Wife to Coriolanus. VALERIA, Friend to Virgilia. Roman and Volscian Senators, and Citizens, Servants to Aufidius, and other Attendants. SCENE-partly in Rome; and partly in the Territories of the Volscians. CORIOLANUS. ACT I. Rome. A Street. Enter a Company of mutinous Citizens, with Staves, Clubs, and other Weapons. B I Citizen. JEFORE we proceed any further, hear me speak. Cit. Speak, speak. [Several speaking at once. I Cit. You are all resolved rather to die than to famish? Cit. Resolv'd, resolv'd. I Cit. First you know, Caius Marcius is chief enemy to the people. Cit. We know't, we know't. 1 Cit. Let us kìll him, and we'll have corn at our own price. Is't a verdict? Cit. No more talking on't; let it be dòne: away, away. 2 Cit. Would you proceed especially against Caius Marcius? Cit. Against him first; he's a very dòg to the commonalty. 2 Cit. Consider you what services he has done for his country? 1 Cit. Very well; and could be content to give him good report for't, but that he pays himself with being proud. I say unto you, what he hath done famously, he did to please his mother, and partly to be proud; which he ìs. 2 Cit. You must in no way say he is covetous. I Cit. [Shouts within.] What shouts are these? The other side o' the city is risen.-To the Capitol ! Cit. Come, come. I Cit. Soft! who comes here? Enter MENENIUS AGRIPPA. 2 Cit. Worthy Menenius Agrippa; one that hath always loved the people. I Cit. He's honest enough; 'Would, all the rest were so! Men. What work's, my countrymen, in hand? Where gò you With bats and clubs? The matter? Speak, I pray you. 1 Cit. Our business is not unknown to the senate: They say, poor suitors have strong breaths; they shall know, we have strong àrms too. Men. Why, my good friends, will you undo yourselves? 1 Cit. We are undone already. Men. I tell you, friends, most charitable càre Have the patricians of you. For your wants, Your suffering in this deàrth, you may as well Strike at the heaven with your staves, as lift them |