Shakespeare's First Folio Part 470

All. To'th' Rocke, to'th' Rocke with him

Sicin. Peace: We neede not put new matter to his charge: What you haue seene him do, and heard him speake: Beating your Officers, cursing your selues, Opposing Lawes with stroakes, and heere defying Those whose great power must try him.

Euen this so criminall, and in such capitall kinde Deserues th' extreamest death

Bru. But since he hath seru'd well for Rome

Corio. What do you prate of Seruice

Brut. I talke of that, that know it

Corio. You?

Mene. Is this the promise that you made your mother

Com. Know, I pray you

Corio. Ile know no further: Let them p.r.o.nounce the steepe Tarpeian death, Vagabond exile, Fleaing, pent to linger But with a graine a day, I would not buy Their mercie, at the price of one faire word, Nor checke my Courage for what they can giue, To haue't with saying, Good morrow

Sicin. For that he ha's (As much as in him lies) from time to time Enui'd against the people; seeking meanes To plucke away their power: as now at last, Giuen Hostile strokes, and that not in the presence Of dreaded Iustice, but on the Ministers That doth distribute it. In the name a'th' people, And in the power of vs the Tribunes, wee (Eu'n from this instant) banish him our Citie In perill of precipitation From off the Rocke Tarpeian, neuer more To enter our Rome gates. I'th' Peoples name, I say it shall bee so

All. It shall be so, it shall be so: let him away: Hee's banish'd, and it shall be so

Com. Heare me my Masters, and my common friends

Sicin. He's sentenc'd: No more hearing

Com. Let me speake: I haue bene Consull, and can shew from Rome Her Enemies markes vpon me. I do loue My Countries good, with a respect more tender, More holy, and profound, then mine owne life, My deere Wiues estimate, her wombes encrease, And treasure of my Loynes: then if I would Speake that

Sicin. We know your drift. Speake what?

Bru. There's no more to be said, but he is banish'd As Enemy to the people, and his Countrey.

It shall bee so

All. It shall be so, it shall be so

Corio. You common cry of Curs, whose breath I hate, As reeke a'th' rotten Fennes: whose Loues I prize, As the dead Carka.s.ses of vnburied men, That do corrupt my Ayre: I banish you, And heere remaine with your vncertaintie.

Let euery feeble Rumor shake your hearts: Your Enemies, with nodding of their Plumes Fan you into dispaire: Haue the power still To banish your Defenders, till at length Your ignorance (which findes not till it feeles, Making but reseruation of your selues, Still your owne Foes) deliuer you As most abated Captiues, to some Nation That wonne you without blowes, despising For you the City. Thus I turne my backe; There is a world elsewhere.

Exeunt. Coriola.n.u.s, Cominius, with c.u.malijs. They all shout, and throw vp their Caps.

Edile. The peoples Enemy is gone, is gone

All. Our enemy is banish'd, he is gone: Hoo, oo

Sicin. Go see him out at Gates, and follow him As he hath follow'd you, with all despight Giue him deseru'd vexation. Let a guard Attend vs through the City

All. Come, come, lets see him out at gates, come: The G.o.ds preserue our n.o.ble Tribunes, come.

Exeunt.

Actus Quartus.

Enter Coriola.n.u.s, Volumnia, Virgilia, Menenius, Cominius, with the yong n.o.bility of Rome.

Corio. Come leaue your teares: a brief farwel: the beast With many heads b.u.t.ts me away. Nay Mother, Where is your ancient Courage? You were vs'd To say, Extreamities was the trier of spirits, That common chances. Common men could beare, That when the Sea was calme, all Boats alike Shew'd Masters.h.i.+p in floating. Fortunes blowes, When most strooke home, being gentle wounded, craues A n.o.ble cunning. You were vs'd to load me With Precepts that would make inuincible The heart that conn'd them

Virg. Oh heauens! O heauens!

Corio. Nay, I prythee woman

Vol. Now the Red Pestilence strike al Trades in Rome, And Occupations perish

Corio. What, what, what: I shall be lou'd when I am lack'd. Nay Mother, Resume that Spirit, when you were wont to say, If you had beene the Wife of Hercules, Six of his Labours youl'd haue done, and sau'd Your Husband so much swet. Cominius, Droope not, Adieu: Farewell my Wife, my Mother, Ile do well yet. Thou old and true Menenius, Thy teares are salter then a yonger mans, And venomous to thine eyes. My (sometime) Generall, I haue seene the Sterne, and thou hast oft beheld Heart-hardning spectacles. Tell these sad women, Tis fond to waile ineuitable strokes, As 'tis to laugh at 'em. My Mother, you wot well My hazards still haue beene your solace, and Beleeu't not lightly, though I go alone Like to a lonely Dragon, that his Fenne Makes fear'd, and talk'd of more then seene: your Sonne Will or exceed the Common, or be caught With cautelous baits and practice

Volum. My first sonne, Whether will thou go? Take good Cominius With thee awhile: Determine on some course More then a wilde exposture, to each chance That starts i'th' way before thee

Corio. O the G.o.ds!

Com. Ile follow thee a Moneth, deuise with thee Where thou shalt rest, that thou may'st heare of vs, And we of thee. So if the time thrust forth A cause for thy Repeale, we shall not send O're the vast world, to seeke a single man, And loose aduantage, which doth euer coole Ith' absence of the needer

Corio. Fare ye well: Thou hast yeares vpon thee, and thou art too full Of the warres surfets, to go roue with one That's yet vnbruis'd: bring me but out at gate.

Come my sweet wife, my deerest Mother, and My Friends of n.o.ble touch: when I am forth, Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you come: While I remaine aboue the ground, you shall Heare from me still, and neuer of me ought But what is like me formerly

Menen. That's worthily As any eare can heare. Come, let's not weepe, If I could shake off but one seuen yeeres From these old armes and legges, by the good G.o.ds I'ld with thee, euery foot

Corio. Giue me thy hand, come.

Exeunt.

Enter the two Tribunes, Sicinius, and Brutus, with the Edile.

Sicin. Bid them all home, he's gone: & wee'l no further, The n.o.bility are vexed, whom we see haue sided In his behalfe

Brut. Now we haue shewne our power, Let vs seeme humbler after it is done, Then when it was a dooing

Sicin. Bid them home: say their great enemy is gone, And they, stand in their ancient strength

Brut. Dismisse them home. Here comes his Mother.

Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Menenius.

Sicin. Let's not meet her

Brut. Why?

Sicin. They say she's mad

Brut. They haue tane note of vs: keepe on your way

Volum. Oh y'are well met: Th' hoorded plague a'th' G.o.ds requit your loue

Menen. Peace, peace, be not so loud

Volum. If that I could for weeping, you should heare, Nay, and you shall heare some. Will you be gone?