We hear not of him, neither need we fear him;
His remedies are tame i' the present peace
And quietness of the people, which before
Were in wild hurry. Here do make his friends
Blush that the world goes well; who rather had,
Though they themselves did suffer by't, behold
Dissentious numbers pestering streets than see
Our tradesmen singing in their shops, and going
About their functions friendly.
We stood to't in good time.--Is this Menenius?
'Tis he, 'tis he. O, he is grown most kind
There is a slave, whom we have put in prison,
Reports,--the Volsces with several powers
Are enter'd in the Roman territories,
And with the deepest malice of the war
Destroy what lies before 'em.
Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment,
Thrusts forth his horns again into the world;
Which were inshell'd when Marcius stood for Rome,
And durst not once peep out.
Go see this rumourer whipp'd.--It cannot be
The Volsces dare break with us.
We have record that very well it can;
And three examples of the like hath 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.
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.
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'erborne their way, consum'd with fire and took
What lay before them.
Your temples burned in their cement; and
Your franchises, whereon you stood, confin'd
Into an auger's bore.
Pray now, your news?--
You have made fair work, I fear me.--Pray, your news.
If Marcius should be join'd wi' the Volscians,--
He is their god: he leads them like a thing
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 butterflies,
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 garlic-eaters!
Ay; and you'll look pale
Before you find it other. All the regions
Do smilingly revolt; and who resists
Are mock'd for valiant ignorance,
And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him?
Your enemies and his find something in him.
We are all undone unless
The noble man have mercy.
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 even
As those should do that had deserv'd his hate,
And therein show'd like enemies.
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!
You have brought
A trembling upon Rome, such as was never
So incapable of help.
How! Was it we? we lov'd him, but, like beasts,
And cowardly nobles, gave way unto your clusters,
Who did hoot him out o' the city.
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.
Here comes 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
We have deserv'd it.