Ere he express himself, or move the people
With what he would fay, let him feel your fword,
Which we will fecond. When he lies along,
After your way his tale pronounc'd fhall bury
His reasons with his body.

Auf. Say no more,

Here come the Lords.

Enter the Lords of the City.

All Lords. You're most welcome home.
Auf. I have not deserv'd it.

But, worthy Lords, have you with heed perus'd
What I have written to you?

All. We have.

1 Lord. And grieve to hear it.

What faults he made before the laft, I think,
Might have found eafy fines: but there to end,
Where he was to begin, and give away
The benefit of our levies, anfwering us
With our own charge, making a treaty where
There was a yielding; this admits no excufe.
Auf. He approaches, you fhall hear him.

Enter Coriolanus, marching with drums and colours: the
Commons being with him.

Cor. Hail, Lords; I am return'd, your foldier;
No more infected with my country's love,
Than when I parted hence, but still fubfifting
Under your great command. You are to know,
That profperously I have attempted, and
With bloody paffage led your wars, even to

The gates of Rome: Our fpoils, we have brought home,
Do more than counterpoife, a full third part,

The charges of the action.

We've made peace
With no less honour to the Antiates,

Than fhame to th' Romans: and we here deliver,
Subscribed by the confuls and patricians,

Together with the feal o'th' Senate, what
We have compounded on.

Auf. Read it not, noble Lords,

But

But tell the traitor, in the highest degree
He hath abus'd your powers.
Cor. Traitor!-how now!
Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius.
Cor. Marcius !-

Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius; doft thou think,
I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy ftoln name
Coriolanus, in Corioli?

You Lords and heads o' th' ftate, perfidiously
He has betray'd your bufinefs, and given up,
For certain drops of falt, your city Rome;
I fay, your city, to his wife and mother;
Breaking his oath and refolution, like
A twift of rotten filk, never admitting
Counfel o' th' war; but at his nurse's tears
He whin'd and roar'd away your victory,
That pages blufh'd at him; and men of heart
Look'd wond'ring each at other.

Cor. Hear't thou, Mars!

Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears!
Cor. Ha!

Auf. No more.

Cor. Meafurelefs liar, thou haft made my heart
Too great for what contains it. Boy? O flave !-
Pardon me, Lords, 'tis the first time that ever

I'm forc'd to fcold. Your judgments, my grave Lords,
Muft give this cur the lye; and his own notion,
(Who wears my ftripes impreft upon him; that
Muft bear my beating to his grave;) fhall join
To thrust the lye unto him.

1 Lord. Peace both, and hear me speak.

Cor. Cut me to pieces, Volfcians, men and lads,
Stain all your edges in me. Boy! falfe hound!-
If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there,
That, like an eagle in a dove-coat, I
Flutter'd your Volfcians in Corioli.

Alone I did it. Boy!

Auf. Why, noble Lords,

Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune,.
Which was your fhaine, by this unholy braggart,

'Fore

All People. Tear him to pieces, do it presently: He kill'd my fon, my daughter,-kill'd my coufin,-He kill'd my father.- [The Croud fpeak promiscuously. 2 Lord. Peace,- -no outrage-peace

The man is noble, and his fame folds in

This orb o' th' earth; his laft offences to us
Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius,
And trouble not the peace.

Cor. O that I had him,

With fix Aufidius's, or more, his tribe,
To ufe my lawful sword-

Auf. Infolent villain !

All Con. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him.

[The Confpirators all draw, and kill Marcius, who falls, and Aufidius ftands on him.

Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold.

Auf. My noble matters, hear me speak..

1 Lord. O Tullus

2 Lord. Thou hast done a deed, whereat Valour will weep.

3 Lord. Tread not upon him-mafters all, be quiet; Put up your fwords.

Auf. My Lords, when you fhall know (as in this ragɔ Provok'd by him, you cannot) the great danger Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice That he is thus cut off. Please it your Honours To call me to your Senate, I'll deliver Myfelf your loyal fervant, or endure Your heaviest cenfure.

1 Lord. Bear from hence his body,

And mourn you for him. Let him be regarded
As the most noble coarse, that ever herald
Did follow to his urn.

2 Lord. His own impatience

Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame:
Let's make the best of it.

Auf. My rage is gone,

And I am ftruck with forrow: take him

up:

Help,

Help, three o' th' chiefeft foldiers; I'll be one. (42)
Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully:
Trail your fteel pikes. Though in this city he
Hath widowed and unchilded many a one,
Which to this hour bewail the injury,
Yet he shall have a noble memory.

[Exeunt,bearing the body of Marcius. A dead march founded.

(42) Help, three o' th' chiefeft foldiers; I'll be one.]

Not one of the three, but one to affift them: he would make the fourth man. So, in the conclufion of Hamlet;

-Let four captains.

Bear Hamlet like a foldier to the stage:

The End of the SIXTH Volume.