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LIEUTENANT.

Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry Rome?

AUFIDIUS.

All places yield to him ere he sits down,

And the nobility of Rome are his;

The senators and patricians love him too.

The tribunes are no soldiers, and their people

Will be as rash in the repeal as hasty

To expel him thence. I think he'll be to Rome

As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it

By sovereignty of nature. First he was

A noble servant to them, but he could not

Carry his honours even. Whether 'twas pride,

Which out of daily fortune ever taints

The happy man; whether defect of judgment,

To fail in the disposing of those chances

Which he was lord of; or whether nature,

Not to be other than one thing, not moving

From th' casque to th' cushion, but commanding peace

Even with the same austerity and garb

As he controll'd the war; but one of these-

As he hath spices of them all- not all,

For I dare so far free him- made him fear'd,

So hated, and so banish'd. But he has a merit

To choke it in the utt'rance. So our virtues

Lie in th' interpretation of the time;

And power, unto itself most commendable,

Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair

T' extol what it hath done.

One fire drives out one fire; one nail, one nail;

Rights by rights falter, strengths by strengths do fail.

Come, let's away. When, Caius, Rome is thine,

Thou art poor'st of all; then shortly art thou mine.

Exeunt

ACT V. SCENE I. Rome. A public place

Enter MENENIUS, COMINIUS, SICINIUS and BRUTUS, the two Tribunes, with others

MENENIUS.

No, I'll not go. You hear what he hath said

Which was sometime his general, who lov'd him

In a most dear particular. He call'd me father;

But what o' that? Go, you that banish'd him:

A mile before his tent fall down, and knee

The way into his mercy. Nay, if he coy'd

To hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home.

COMINIUS.

He would not seem to know me.

MENENIUS.

Do you hear?

COMINIUS.

Yet one time he did call me by my name.

I urg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops

That we have bled together. 'Coriolanus'

He would not answer to; forbid all names;

He was a kind of nothing, titleless,

Till he had forg'd himself a name i' th' fire

Of burning Rome.

MENENIUS.

Why, so! You have made good work.

A pair of tribunes that have wrack'd for Rome

To make coals cheap- a noble memory!

COMINIUS.

I minded him how royal 'twas to pardon

When it was less expected; he replied,

It was a bare petition of a state

To one whom they had punish'd.

MENENIUS.

Very well.

Could he say less?

COMINIUS.

I offer'd to awaken his regard

For's private friends; his answer to me was,

He could not stay to pick them in a pile

Of noisome musty chaff. He said 'twas folly,

For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt

And still to nose th' offence.

MENENIUS.

For one poor grain or two!

I am one of those. His mother, wife, his child,

And this brave fellow too- we are the grains:

You are the musty chaff, and you are smelt

Above the moon. We must be burnt for you.

SICINIUS.

Nay, pray be patient; if you refuse your aid

In this so never-needed help, yet do not

Upbraid's with our distress. But sure, if you

Would be your country's pleader, your good tongue,

More than the instant army we can make,

Might stop our countryman.

MENENIUS.

No; I'll not meddle.

SICINIUS.

Pray you go to him.

MENENIUS.

What should I do?

BRUTUS.

Only make trial what your love can do

For Rome, towards Marcius.

MENENIUS.

Well, and say that Marcius

Return me, as Cominius is return'd,

Unheard- what then?

But as a discontented friend, grief-shot

With his unkindness? Say't be so?

SICINIUS.

Yet your good will

Must have that thanks from Rome after the measure

As you intended well.

MENENIUS.

I'll undertake't;

I think he'll hear me. Yet to bite his lip

And hum at good Cominius much unhearts me.

He was not taken well: he had not din'd;

The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then

We pout upon the morning, are unapt

To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd

These pipes and these