Enter Menenius, Cominius, Sicinius, Brutus,
the two Tribunes, with others.
No, Ile not go: you heare what he hath faid
Which was ſometime his Generall: who loued him
In a moſt deere particular. He call'd me Father:
But what o'that? Go you that baniſh'd him
A Mile before his Tent, fall downe, and knee
The way into his mercy: Nay, if he coy'd
To heare Cominius ſpeake, Ile keepe at home.
He would not ſeeme to know me.
Do you heare?
Yet one time he did call me by my name:
I vrg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops
That we haue bled together. Coriolanus
He would not anſwer too: Forbad all Names,
He was a kinde of Nothing, Titleleſſe,
Till he had forg'd himſelfe a name a'th'fire
Of burning Rome.
Why ſo: you haue made good worke:
A paire of Tribunes, that haue wrack'd for Rome,
To make Coales cheape: A Noble memory.
I minded him, how Royall 'twas to pardon
When it was leſſe expected. He replyed
It was a bare petition of a State
To one whom they had puniſh'd.
Very well, could he ſay leſſe.
I offered to awaken his regard
For's priuate Friends. His anſwer to me was
He could not ſtay to picke them, in a pile
Of noyſome muſty Chaffe. He ſaid, 'twas folly
For one poore graine or two, to leaue vnburnt
And ſtill to noſe th'offence.
For one poore graine or two?
I am one of thoſe: his Mother, Wife, his Childe,
And this braue Fellow too: we are the Graines,
You are the muſty Chaffe, and you are ſmelt
Aboue the Moone. We muſt be burnt for you.
Nay, pray be patient: If you refuſe your ayde
In this ſo neuer-needed helpe, yet do not
Vpbraid's with our diſtreſſe. But ſure if you
Would be your Countries Pleader, your good tongue
More then the inſtant Armie we can make
Might ſtop our Countryman.
No: Ile not meddle.
Pray you go to him.
What ſhould I do?
Onely make triall what your Loue can do,
For Rome, towards Martius.
Well, and ſay that Martius returne mee,
As Cominius is return'd, vnheard: what then?
But as a diſcontented Friend, greefe-ſhot
With his vnkindneſſe. Say't be ſo?
Yet your good will
Muſt haue that thankes from Rome, after the meaſure
As you intended well.
I thinke hee'l heare me. Yet to bite his lip,
And humme at good Cominius, much vnhearts mee.
He was not taken well, he had not din'd,
The Veines vnfill'd, our blood is cold, and then
We powt vpon the Morning, are vnapt
To giue or to forgiue; but when we haue ſtufft
Theſe Pipes, and theſe Conueyances of our blood
With Wine and Feeding, we haue ſuppler Soules
Then in our Prieſt-like Faſts: therefore Ile watch him
Till he be dieted to my requeſt,
And then Ile ſet vpon him.
You know the very rode into his kindneſſe,
And cannot loſe your way.
Good faith Ile proue him,
Speed how it will. I ſhall ere long, haue knowledge
Of my ſucceſſe. Exit.
Hee'l neuer heare him.
I tell you, he doe's ſit in Gold, his eye
Red as 'twould burne Rome: and his Iniury
The Gaoler to his pitty. I kneel'd before him,
'Twas very faintly he ſaid Riſe: diſmiſt me
Thus with his ſpeechleſſe hand. What he would do
He ſent in writing after me: what he would not,
Bound with an Oath to yeeld to his conditions:
So that all hope is vaine, vnleſſe his Noble Mother,
And his Wife, who (as I heare) meane to ſolicite him
For mercy to his Countrey: therefore let's hence,
And with our faire intreaties haſt them on. Exeunt