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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 |
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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 conveyances of our blood |
Subsets and Splits
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