Rome. A Public Place. | |
| |
Enter MENENIUS, COMINIUS, SICINIUS, BRUTUS, and Others. | |
| Men. No, I’ll not go: you hear what he hath said | |
| Which was sometime his general; who lov’d him | 4 |
| 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 | 8 |
| To hear Cominius speak, I’ll keep at home. | |
| Com. He would not seem to know me. | |
| Men. Do you hear? | |
| Com. Yet one time he did call me by my name. | 12 |
| I urg’d our old acquaintance, and the drops | |
| That we have bled together. Coriolanus | |
| He would not answer to; forbad all names; | |
| He was a kind of nothing, titleless, | 16 |
| Till he had forg’d himself a name o’ the fire | |
| Of burning Rome. | |
| Men. Why, so: you have made good work! | |
| A pair of tribunes that have rack’d for Rome, | 20 |
| To make coals cheap: a noble memory! | |
| Com. I minded him how royal ’twas to pardon | |
| When it was less expected: he replied, | |
| It was a bare petition of a state | 24 |
| To one whom they had punish’d. | |
| Men. Very well. | |
| Could he say less? | |
| Com. I offer’d to awaken his regard | 28 |
| 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, | 32 |
| And still to nose the offence. | |
| Men. 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: | 36 |
| You are the musty chaff, and you are smelt | |
| Above the moon. We must be burnt for you. | |
| Sic. Nay, pray, be patient: if you refuse your aid | |
| In this so-never-needed help, yet do not | 40 |
| 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. | 44 |
| Men. No; I’ll not meddle. | |
| Sic. Pray you, go to him. | |
| Men. What should I do? | |
| Bru. Only make trial what your love can do | 48 |
| For Rome, towards Marcius. | |
| Men. Well; and say that Marcius | |
| Return me, as Cominius is return’d, | |
| Unheard; what then? | 52 |
| But as a discontented friend, grief-shot | |
| With his unkindness? say ’t be so? | |
| Sic. Yet your good will | |
| Must have that thanks from Rome, after the measure | 56 |
| As you intended well. | |
| Men. I’ll undertake it: | |
| I think he’ll hear me. Yet, to bite his lip, | |
| And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me. | 60 |
| 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 | 64 |
| These pipes and these conveyances of our blood | |
| With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls | |
| Than in our priest-like fasts: therefore, I’ll watch him | |
| Till he be dieted to my request, | 68 |
| And then I’ll set upon him. | |
| Bru. You know the very road into his kindness, | |
| And cannot lose your way. | |
| Men. Good faith, I’ll prove him, | 72 |
| Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge | |
| Of my success. [Exit. | |
| Com. He’ll never hear him. | |
| Sic. Not? | 76 |
| Com. I tell you he does sit in gold, his eye | |
| Red as ’twould burn Rome, and his injury | |
| The gaoler to his pity. I kneel’d before him; | |
| ’Twas very faintly he said ‘Rise;’ dismiss’d me | 80 |
| Thus, with his speechless hand: what he would do | |
| He sent in writing after me; what he would not, | |
| Bound with an oath to yield to his conditions: | |
| So that all hope is vain | 84 |
| Unless his noble mother and his wife, | |
| Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him | |
| For mercy to his country. Therefore let’s hence, | |
| And with our fair entreaties haste them on. [Exeunt. | 88 |
