Which thou?'fhould't 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 flaves to be
Whoop'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 men i' th' world
I'd have avoided thee. But in meer spite
To be full quit of thofe my banifhers,

Stand I before thee here: then if thou haft
A heart of wreak in thee, that will revenge
Thine own particular wrongs, and stop thofe maims
Of fhame feen through thy country, fpeed thee ftraight,
And make my mifery ferve thy turn: fo ufe it,
That my revengeful fervices may prove

As benefits to thee. For I will fight

Against my canker'd country, with the spleen
Of all the under fiends. But if fo be

Thou dar'st not this, and that to prove more fortunes
Thou'rt tir'd; then in a word I alfo am,

Longer to live, moft 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 breast,
And cannot live, but to thy fhame, unless
It be to do thee fervice.

Auf. Oh, Martius, Martius,

Each word thou'ft fpoke hath weeded from my heart
A root of ancient envy. if Jupiter

Should from yon cloud fpeak to me things divine,
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,

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And

And fear'd the moon with fplinters: here I clip
The anvil of my fword, and do contest
As hotly and as nobly with thy love,
As ever in ambitious ftrength 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 my arm for't: thou haft beat me out
Twelve several times, and I have nightly fince
Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thy felf and me:
We have been down together in my fleep,
Unbuckling helms, fifting each other's throat,
And wak'd half dead with nothing. Worthy Martius,
Had we no quarrel elfe to Rome, but that
Thou art thence banish'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. O 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.

Cor. You blefs me, Gods!

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

One half of my commiffion, and fet down,

As beft thou art experienc'd, fince thou know'st
Thy country's ftrength and weakness, thine own ways;
Whether to knock against the gates of Rome,
Or rudely vifit them in parts remote,

To fright them, ere deftroy. But come, come in,
Let me commend thee first to thote that fhall

Say yea to thy defires. A thoufand welcomes,

And

And more a friend, than e'er an enemy:

Yet, Martius, that was much. Your hand; most welcome!

SCENE

Enter two Servants.

1 Ser. Here's a strange alteration.

V.

[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 set 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.

I Ser. He had 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 rarest man i' th' world.

1 Ser. I think he is; but a greater foldier than he, you

wot one.

2 Ser. Who? my mafter?

1 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 foldier.

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 flaves, I can tell you news; news, you rafcals. 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.

Both. Wherefore? wherefore?

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3 Ser.

3 Ser. Why, here's he that was wont to thwack our General, Caius Martius.

1 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.

1 Ser. He was too hard for him directly, to fay the troth on't before Corioli, he fcotcht him and notcht him like a carbonado:

2 Ser. And, had he been cannibally given, he might have broil'd and eaten him too.

1 Ser. But more of thy news.

3 Ser. Why, he is fo made on here within, as if he were fon and heir to Mars: fet at upper end o' th' table; no question ask'd him by any of the Senators, but they stand bald before him. Our General himself makes a mistress of him, fanctifies himfelf 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 fays, 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 themfelves (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 that have the drum ftruck up this afternoon: 'tis as it were a parcel of their feaft, and to be executed 'ere they wipe their lips.

2 Ser.

2 Ser. Why then we fhall have a stirring world again: this peace is worth nothing, but to ruft iron, encrease tailors, and breed ballad-makers.

1 Ser. Let me have war, fay I; it exceeds peace, as far as day does night; it's fprightly, waking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy, mull'd, deaf, fleepy, infenfible, a getter of more baftard children than war's a destroyer of men.

2 Ser. 'Tis fo, and as war in fome fort may be faid to be a ravisher, fo it cannot be denied, but peace is a great maker of cuckolds.

I Ser. Ay, and it makes men hate one another.

3 Ser. Reafon; because they then lefs need one another : the wars for my mony. I hope to fee Romans as cheap as Volfcians. They are rifing, they are rifing.

Both. In, in, in, in.

SCENE VI.

ROME.

Enter Sicinius and Brutus.

[Exeunt.

Sic. WE hear not of him, neither need we fear him ;

His remedies are tame: the prefent 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 fuffer by't, beheld
Diffentious numbers peft'ring streets, than fee
Our tradesmen finging in their fhops, and going
About their functions friendly.

Enter Menenius.

Bru. We ftood to't in good time. Is this Menenius ? Sic. 'Tis he, 'tis he: O, he's grown moft kind of late. Hail, Sir.

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z hurry. Here we make

Men.