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Cor. Traitor !-How now ?-
Ay, traitor, Marcius.
Marcius ! Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius : Dost thou think I 'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name Coriolanus in Corioli ? You lords and heads of the state, perfidiously He has betray'd your business, and given up, For certain drops of salt, your city Rome (I say your city) to his wife and mother : Breaking his oath and resolution, liko A twist of rotten silk; never admitting Counsel o' the war; but at his nurse's tears He whind and roard away your victory; That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart Look'd wondering each at others. Cor.
Hear'st thou, Mars? Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears,Cor.
Ha! Auf. No more.
Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart Too great for what contains it. Boy! O slave! Pardon me, lords, 't is the first time that ever I was forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords, Must give this cur the lie: and his own notion (Who wears my stripes impress'd on him, that must bear My beating to his grave) shall join to thrust The lie unto him.
1 Lord. Peace, both, and hear me speak.
Cor. Cut me to pieces, Volces; men and lads,
Why, noble lords,
Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, 'Fore your own eyes and ears ?
Con. Let him die for 't. Several speak at once.
Cit. [Speaking promiscuously.] Tear him to pieces, do it presently. He killed my son ;-my daughter ;He killed my cousin Marcus ;-—He killed my father.
2 Lord. Peace, ho !-- no outrage;—peace!
O, that I had him,
Insolent villain! Con. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him! [Aufidius and the Conspirators draw, and kill
CorioLANUS, who falls, and Aufidius stands
on him. · Lords.
Hold, hold, hold, hold! Auf. My noble masters, hear me speak. i Lord.
O Tullus, 2 Lord. Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will
weep. 3 Lord. Tread not upon him.—Masters all, be quiet; Put up your swords.
Auf. My lords, when you shall know (as in this rage, 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 Myself your loyal servant, or endure Your heaviest censure. I Lord.
Bear from hence his body, a Judicious—judiciul.
And mourn you for him: let him be regarded
His own impatience
My rage is gone,
A dead march sounded.
End of Coriolanus.