Car. Now thou'rt troublefom,

a Ser. Are you fo brave? I'll have you talk'd with anon, Enter a third Servant. The first meets him.

3

Ser. What Follow's this?

I Ser. A ftrange one as ever I look'd on: I cannot get out o'th' House: Prithee call my Mafter to him.

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. True; fo I am.

3 Ser. Pray you, poor Gentleman, take up fome other Station, 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, you will not? Prithee tell my Mafter, what a ftrange Guest he has here,

2 Ser. And I shall.

3 Ser. Where dwell'ft thou?
Cor. Under the Canopy.
3 Ser. Under the Canopy
Cor. Ay.

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 Afs it is; then thou dwell'ft with Daws too?

Cor. No, I ferve not thy Mafter.

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 difturbing the Lords within.

(Name ? Auf Whence cm'ft thou? What would't thou? Thy Why fpeak'ft not? Speak Man: What's thy Name?

Cor. If, Tullus, not yet thou know'st me, and seeing me, doft not take me for the Man I am, neceffity commands me Dame my Self.

F f 3

Auf.

Auf. What is thy Name?

Cor. A. Name unmufical to Volfcians Ears, And arth 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'ft a noble Veffel: What's thy Name?

Cor. Prepare thy Brow to frown; know'ft thou me not?
Auf I know thee not; thy. Name?

Cor My Name is Caius Martius, who hath done
To thee particularly, and to all the Volfcies,
Great Hurt and Mifchief; thereto witnefs may
My Sirname, Coriolanus. The painful Service,
The extream Dangers, and the drops of Blood
Shed for my thanklefs Country, are requited
But with that Sirname; a good Memory
And witnefs of the Malice and Difpleasure
Which thou could'ft 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 fuffer'd me by th' voice of Slaves to be
Hoop'd out of Rome. Now this extremity
Hath brought me to thy Hearth, not out of hope
(Mistake me not) to fave my Life; for if

I had fear'd Death, of all the Mes i'th' World
I would have avoided thee. But in meer spite
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 shame feen through thy Country, speed thee straight,

And make my mifery ferve thy turn: So use it,

That my revengeful Services may prove

As Benefits to thee. For I will fight

Against my Cankred 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 molt weary, and prefent

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 Breaft,
And cannot live, but to thy Shame, unless
It be to do thee Service.

Auf. Oh, Martius, Martius,

Each word thou haft spoke, hath weeded from my Heart A root of ancient Envy. If Jupiter

Should from yon Cloud fpeak Divine things,

And fay, 'tis true; I'd not believe them more
Than thee, all-noble Martius.

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 cleep
The Anvile of my Sword, and do contest
As hotly and as nobly with thy Love,
As ever in ambitious Strength, 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 firft my wedded Mistress faw
Beftride 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 mine Arm for't: Thou haft bear me out
Twelve feveral times, and I have nightly fince
Dream't of Encounters 'twixt thy felf and me:
We have been down together in my Sleep,
Unbuckling Helms, fifting each others Throat,
And wak'd half dead with nothing. Worthy Martius,
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. Oh come, go in,
And take our Friendly Senators by th' Hands,
Who now are here, taking their leaves of me,
Who am prepar'd against your Territories,
Though not for Rome it felf.

Ff 4

Cor.

Cor. You blefs me, Gods.

Auf. Therefore, muft abfolute Sir, if thou wilt have
The leading of thine own Revenges, take

The one half of my Commiffion, and fet down
As beft thou art experienc'd, fince thou know'st
Thy Country's Strength and Weaknefs, thine own ways;
Whether to knock against the Gates of Rome,
Or rudely vifit them in parts remote,

To fright them, e'er deftroy. But come in,
Let me commend thee firft to thofe that fhall
Say yea to thy Defires. A thousand welcomes,
And more a Friend, than e'er an Enemy:

Yet, Martius, that was much. Your Hand; moft 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.

1 Ser. What an Arm he has, he turn'd me about with his Finger and his Thumb, as one would fet up a Top.

2 Ser. Nay, I knew by his Face that there was fomething in him. He had, Sir, a kind of Face, methought-I cannot tell how to term it.

1 Ser. He ha 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 Soldier than he,

You wot one.

2 Ser. Who, my Master?

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

2 Ser. Worth fix on him.

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

2 Ser. Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to fay 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 Slaves, I can tell you News; News, you Rafcals.

Bothe

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.

Beth. 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 fay 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 fay 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 says, 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 many Friends as Enemies; which Friends, Sir, as it were, durft not (look you, Sir) fhew themselves (as we term it) his Friends, whilft he's in Directitude.

I Ser. Directitude! 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 shall have the Drum ftruck up this Afternoon: 'Tis as it were a parcel of their Feaft, and to be executed e'er they wipe their Lips.