Enter Sicinius and Brutus
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 we 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 with in their shops and going About their functions friendly.
Your Coriolanus Is not much miss'd, but with his friends: The commonwealth doth stand, and so would do, Were he more angry at it.
Enter three or four Citizens
This is a happier and more comely time Than when these fellows ran about the streets, Crying confusion.
Caius Marcius was A worthy officer i' the war; but insolent, O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking, Self-loving,—
Enter an AEdile
Worthy tribunes, There is a slave, whom we have put in prison, Reports, the Volsces with two several powers Are enter'd in the Roman territories, And with the deepest malice of the war Destroy what lies before 'em.
'Tis Aufidius, 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.
Cannot be! We have record that very well it can, And three examples of the like have 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.
Enter a Messenger
The nobles in great earnestness are going All to the senate-house: some news is come That turns their countenances.
'Tis this slave;— Go whip him, 'fore the people's eyes:—his raising; Nothing but his report.
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.
Enter a second Messenger
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, consumed with fire, and took What lay before them.
You have holp to ravish your own daughters and To melt the city leads upon your pates, To see your wives dishonour'd to your noses,—
Your temples burned in their cement, and Your franchises, whereon you stood, confined 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 with Volscians,—
If! 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 up much on 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 resist Are mock'd for valiant ignorance, And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him? Your enemies and his find something in him.
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 charged him even As those should do that had deserved his hate, And therein show'd like enemies.
'Tis true: 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!
How! Was it we? we loved 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.
Enter a troop of Citizens
Here come 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 deserved it.
And so did I; and, to say the truth, so did very many of us: that we did, we did for the best; and though we willingly consented to his banishment, yet it was against our will.
Exeunt Cominius and Menenius
Go, masters, get you home; be not dismay'd: These are a side that would be glad to have This true which they so seem to fear. Go home, And show no sign of fear.
The gods be good to us! Come, masters, let's home. I ever said we were i' the wrong when we banished him.