For his 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 the offence.

For one poor grain

Men.
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.

Sic. Nay, pray, be patient: if you refuse your aid
In this so never-heeded help, yet do not
Upbraid us 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.

Men.

No; I'll not meddle,

What should I do?

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 dined:
The veins unfill'd, the 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,
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,

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, Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge Of my success. [Exit. Com.

Sic.

He'll never hear him,

Not?

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
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,

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.

(Of whom he's chief), with all the size that verity Would without lapsing suffer: nay, sometimes, Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground,

I have tumbled past the throw; and in his praise Have, almost, stamp'd the leasing; therefore, fellow, I must have leave to pass.

1 G. 'Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in his behalf, as you have uttered words in your own, you should not pass here; no, though it was as virtuous to lie as to live chastely. Therefore, go back.

Men. Pr'ythee, fellow, remember my name is Menenius, always factionary on the party of your general.

2 G. Howsoever you have been his liar (as you say you have), I am one that, telling true under him, must say, you cannot pass. Therefore, go back.

Men. Has he dined, canst thou tell? for I would not speak with him till after dinner.

1 G. You are a Roman, are you? Men. I am as thy general is.

1 G. Then you should hate Rome, as he does. Can you, when you have pushed out your gates the very defender of them, and, in a violent popular ignorance, given your enemy your shield, think to front his revenges with the easy groans of old women, the virgi nal palms of your daughters, or with the palsied intercession of such a decayed dotant as you seem to be? Can you think to blow out the intended fire your city is ready to flame in, with such weak breath as this? No, you are deceived: therefore, back to Rome, and prepare for your execution: you are condemned, our general has sworn you out of reprieve and pardon.

Men. Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, he would use me with estimation.

2 G. Come, my captain knows you not.

Men. I mean, thy general.

1 G. My general cares not for you. Back, I say: go, lest I let forth your half-pint of blood;-back,that's the utmost of your having;-back. Men. Nay, but fellow, fellow,

-

Enter CORIOLANUS and AUFIDIUS.

Cor. What's the matter?

Men. Now, you companion, I'll say an errand for you; you shall know now, that I am in estimation; you shall perceive that a jack guardant cannot office me from my son Coriolanus: guess, but by my entertainment with him, if thou stand'st not i' the state of hanging, or of some death more long in spectatorship, and crueller in suffering; behold now presently, and swoon for what's to come upon thee.-The glorious gods sit in hourly synod about thy particular progperity, and love thee no worse than thy old father Menenius does! O, my son! my son! thou art preparing fire for us; look thee, here's water to quench it. I was hardly moved to come to thee: but being assured none but myself could move thee, I have been blown out of your gates with sighs; and conjure thee to pardon Rome, and thy petitionary countrymen. The good gods assuage thy wrath, and turn the dregs of it upon this varlet here; this, who, like a block, hath denied my access to thee.

Cor. Away.

Men, How! away?

Cor. Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs Are servanted to others; though I owe

My revenge properly, my remission lies

In Volcian breasts, That we have been familiar

Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather
Than pity note how much.-Therefore, be gone.
Mine ears against your suits are stronger than
Your gates against my force. Yet, for I lov'd thee,
Take this along; I writ it for thy sake,

[Gives a letter.
And would have sent it. Another word, Menenius,
I will not hear thee speak.-This man, Aufidius,
Was my beloved in Rome; yet thou behold'st-
Auf. You keep a constant temper.

[Exeunt CORIOLANUS and AUFID. 1 G. Now, sir, is your name Meuenius ? 2 G. 'Tis a spell, you see, of much power: You know the way home again.

1 G. Do you hear how we are shent for keeping your greatness back ?

2 G. What cause, do you think, I have to swoon? Men. I neither care for the world, nor your gener al: for such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, you are so slight. He that hath a will to die by himself, fears it not from another. Let your general do his worst. For you, be that you are, long; and

your misery increase with your age! I say to you, as I was said to, Away! [Exit.

1 G. A noble fellow, I warrant him.

2 G. The worthy fellow is our general: he is the rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken, [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-The Tent of Coriolanus. Enter CORIOLANUS, AUFIDIUS, and others. Cor. We will before the walls of Rome to-morrow Set down our host.-My partner in this action, You must report to the Volcian lords, how plainly I have borne this business.

Auf. Only their ends

You have respected; stopp'd your ears against
The general suit of Rome; never admitted
A private whisper-no, not with such friends
That thought them sure of; you.

Cor. This last old man,

Whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Rome,
Lov'd me above the measure of a father;
Nay, godded me, indeed, Their latest refuge
Was to send him; for whose old love, I have
(Though I showed sourly to him), once more offer'd
The first conditions, which they did refuse,
And cannot now accept, to grace him only,
That thought he could do more; a very little
I have yielded to: fresh embassies, and suits,
Nor from the state, nor private friends, hereafter
Will I lend ear to.-Ha! what shout is this?
[Shout within.

Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow
In the same time 'tis made? I will not.-
Enter, in mourning habits, VIRGILIA, VOLUMNIA lead-
ing young MARCIUS, VALERIA, and Attendants.
My wife comes foremost; then the honour'd mould
Wherein this trunk was fram'd; and in her hand
The grand-child to her blood. But, out, affection!
All bond and privilege of nature, break!
Let it be virtuous, to be obstinate.-

What is that court'sy worth? or those doves' eyes,
Which can make gods forsworn ?-I melt, and am

not

Cor. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome. Vir. The sorrow, that delivers us thus chang'd Makes you think so.

Cor.

Like a dull actor now, I have forgot my part, and I am out, Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh. Forgive my tyranny; but do not say, For that, Forgive our Romans.-O, a kiss! Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge; Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip Hath virgin'd it e'er since.-You gods! I prate,

And the most noble mother of the world
Leave unsaluted: sink, my knee, i'the earth;

Of thy deep duty more impression show
Than that of common sons.

[Kneels.

Vol. O, stand up bless'd! Whilst, with no softer cushion than the fiut, I kneel before thee: and unproperly Show duty, as mistaken all the while Between the child and parent.

Cor.

[Kneels.

What is this r

Your knees to me? to your corrected son ?
Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach
Fillip the stars; then let the mutinous winds
Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun;
Murd'ring impossibility, to make
What cannot be, slight work.
Vol.

Thou art my warrior;
I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady?
Cor. The noble sister of Publicola,
The moon of Rome; chaste as an icicle,
That's curded by the frost from purest snow.
And hangs on Dian's temple; Dear Valeria!

Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours, Which by the interpretation of full time May show like all yourself,

Or, if you'd ask, remember this before:
The things, I have forsworn to grant, may never
Be held by you denials. Do not bid me
Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate
Again with Rome's mechanics:-Tell me not
Wherein I seem unnatural :-Desire not
To allay my rages and revenges, with
Your colder reasons.

Vol.

O, no more, no more!
You have said, you will not grant us any thing;
For we have nothing else to ask, but that
Which you deny already: yet we will ask;
That, if you fail in our request, the blame
May hang upon your hardness; therefore hear us.
Cor. Aufidius and you Volces, mark; for we'll
Hear nought from Rome in private. Your request?
Vol. Should we be silent and not speak, our rai-
ment,

And state of bodies would bewray what life
We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself,
How more unfortunate than all living women
Are we come hither: since that thy sight, which

should

Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts.

Constrains them weep, and shake with fear and sor

row:

Making the mother, wife, and child, to see
The son, the husband, and the father, tearing
His country's bowels out. And to poor we,
Thine enmity's most capital: thou barr'st us
Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort
That all but we enjoy : for how can we,-
Alas! how can we for our country pray,
Whereto we are bound? Alack! or we must lose
The country, our dear nurse; or else thy person,
Our comfort in the country. We must find
An evident calamity, though we had
Our wish, which side should win; for either thou
Must, as a foreign recreant, be led

With manacles through our streets, or else
Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin;
And bear the palm, for having bravely shed
Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son,

1 purpose not to wait on fortune, till

These wars determine: If I cannot persuade thee
Rather to show a noble grace to both parts,
Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner
March to assault thy country, than to tread
(Trust to't, thou shalt not), on thy mother's womb,
That brought thee to this world.

Vir.

Ay, and on mine, That brought you forth this boy, to keep your name Living to time.

Boy.

He shall not tread on me;

I'll run away till I am bigger, but then I'll fight.
Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be,
Requires nor child nor woman's face to see.
I have sat too long.

[Rising.

Vol. Nay, go not from us thus. If it were so, that our request did tend To save the Romans, thereby to destroy The Volces whom you serve, you might condemn us, As poisonous of your honour: no, our suit

Is, that you reconcile them: while the Volces

May say, This mercy we have show'd; the Romans,

This we receiv'd; and each in either side

Give the all-hail to thee, and cry, Be bless'd

For making up this peace! Thou knowest, great son,
The end of war's uncertain; but this certain,
That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit
Which thou shalt thereby reap, is such a name,
Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses;
Whose chroniele thus writ,-The man was noble,
But with his last attempt he wip'd it out;
Destroy'd his country; and his name remains
To the ensuing age, abhorr'd. Speak to me, son;
Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour;
To imitate the graces of the gods;

To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air;

And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt
That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak?
Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man
Still to remember wrongs? Daughter, speak you:
He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy:
Perhaps, thy childishness will move him more
Than can our reasons.-There is no man in the world
More bound to his mother; yet here he lets me prate
Like one i' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life
Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy;

When she (poor hen), fond of no second brood,
Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home,
Loaden with honour. Say, my request's unjust,
And spurn me back; but, if it be not so,
Thou art not honest, and the gods will plague thee,
That thou restrain'st from me the duty, which
To a mother's part belongs.-He turns away;
Down, ladies; let us shame him with our knees.
To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride
Than pity to our prayers. Down; an end;
This is the last;-so we will home to Rome,
And die among our neighbours.-Nay, behold us;
This boy, that cannot tell what he would have,
But kneels, and holds up hands, for fellowship,
Does reason our petition with more strength
Than thou hast to deny't.-Come, let us go;
This fellow had a Volcian to his mother;
His wife is in Corioli, and his child
Like him by chance :-Yet give us our despatch;
I am hush'd until our city be afire,
And then I'll speak a little.

Cor.

O mother, mother!

[Holding Volumnia by the hand, silent. What have you done? Behold the heavens do ope, The gods look down, and this unnatural scene They laugh at. O, my mother, mother! O! You have won a happy victory to Rome: But, for your son, believe it, O believe it, Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd, If not most mortal to him. But let it come;Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius, Were you in my stead, say, would you have heard A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius ? Auf. I was mov'd withal.

Cor. I dare be sworn you were: And, sir, it is no little thing to make

Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir, What peace you'll make, advise me: for my part, I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you; and pray you, Stand to me in this cause.-O mother!-wife!

Auf. I am glad, thou hast set thy mercy and thy honour

At difference in thee: out of that I'll work
Myself a former fortune.

Cor.

[Aside. [The Ladies make signs to CORIOLANUS. Ay, by and by;

[To VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, &c. But we will drink together; and ye shall bear A better witness back than words, which we, On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd. Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve To have a temple built you: all the swords In Italy, and her confederate arms, Could not have made this peace.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-Rome. A Public Place.
Enter MENENIUS and SICINIUS.

Men. See you yond' coign o' the Capitol; yond'cor

ner-stone.

Sic. Why, what of that ?

Men. If it be possible for you to displace it with your little finger, there is some hope the ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him. But I say, there is no hope in't: our throats are sentenced, and stay upon execution.

Sic. Is't possible, that so short a time can alter the condition of a man ?

Men. There is differency between a grub and a butterfly; yet your butterfly was a grub. This Marcius has grown from man to dragon: he has wings; he's more than a creeping thing,

Sic. He loved his mother dearly.

The

Men. So did he me: and he no more remembers his mother now, than an eight-year-old horse. tartness of his face sours ripe grapes. When he walks he moves like an engine, and the ground shrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce a corslet with his eye; talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. He sits in his state, as a thing made for Alexander. What he bids be done, is finished with bidding.

He wants nothing of a God, but eternity, and a heaven to throne in.

Sic. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly. Men. I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy his mother shall bring from him: there is no more mercy in him, than there is milk in a male ti. ger; that shall our poor city find: and all this is 'long of you.

Sic. The gods be good unto us!

Men. No, in such a case the gods will not be good unto us. When we banished him, we respected not them: and, he returning to break our necks, they respect not us.

Enter a Messenger.

you;

[Trumpets and hautboys sounded, and drums beaten all together. Shouting also within. The trumpets, sack-buts, psalteries, and fifes, Tabors, and cymbals, and the shouting Romans, Make the sun dance, Hark you! [Shouting again. Men. This is good news;

I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia
Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians,
A city full; of tribunes, such as you,

A sea and land full: you have pray'd well to-day;
This morning, for ten thousand of your throats
I'd not have given a doit, Hark, how they joy! •
[Shouting and music.
Sic. First, the gods bless you for your tidings:
next,

Accept my thankfulness.

Mess.

Sir, we have all Great cause to give great thanks. Sic. They are near the city? Mess. Almost at point to enter. Sic. We will meet them, [Going.

And help the joy. Enter the Ladies, accompanied by Senators, Patricians, and People. They pass over the Stage. 1 Sen. Behold our patroness, the life of Rome: Call all your tribes together, praise the gods, And make triumphant fires; strew flowers before

them:

Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius, Repeal him with the welcome of his mother; Cry,-Welcome, ladies, welcome!

All.

Welcome, ladies! Welcome! [A flourish with drums and trumpets. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.-Antium. 4 Public Place.
Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS, with Attendants.
Auf. Go tell the lords of the city, I am here:
Deliver them this paper: having read it,
Bid them repair to the market-place; where I,
Even in theirs and in the commous' ears,
Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse,
The city ports by this hath enter'd, and
Intends to appear before the people, hoping
To purge himself with words: despatch.

[Exeunt Attendants, Enter Three or Four Conspirators of Aufidius' fac tion. Most welcome !

1 Con. How is it with our general? Auf

Even so
As with a man by his own alms empoison'd,
And with his charity slain.

2 Con.
Most noble sir,
If you do hold the same intent wherein
You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you
Of your great danger.

We must proceed, as we do find the people.

3 Con. The people will remain uncertain whilst "Twixt you there's difference; but the fall of either Makes the survivor heir of all.

Auf.
I know it:
And my pretext to strike at him admits

A good construction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd
Mine honour for his truth: who being so heighten'd,
He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery,
Seducing so my friends: and, to this end,
He bow'd his nature, never known before
But to be rough, unswayable, and free.

3 Con. Sir, his stoutness,

When he did stand for consul, which he lost By lack of stooping,

Auf.

That I would have spoke of: Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth; Presented to my knife his throat: I took him; Made him joint-servant with me; gave him way In all his own desires; nay, let him choose Out of my files, his projects to accomplish, My best and freshest men; serv'd his designments In mine own person; holp to reap the fame, Which he did end all his; and took some pride To do myself this wrong: till, at the last, I seem'd his foliower, not partner; and He wag'd me with his countenance, as if I had been mercenary.

Con.

So he did, my lord:

1 Lord. And grieve to hear it. What faults he made before the last, I think, Might have found easy fines: but there to end, Where he was to begin, and give away

The benefit of our levies, answering us

With our own charge; making a treaty, where
There was a yielding; this admits no excuse.
Auf. He approaches,-you shall hear him.

Enter CORIOLANUS, with Drums and Colours; a crowl of Citizens with him.

Cor. Hail, lords! I am return'd your soldier;
No more infected with my country's love,
Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting
Under your great command. You are to know
That prosperously I have attempted, and,
With bloody passage, led your wars, even to
The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought
home,

Do more than counterpoise, a full third part,
The charges of the action. We have made peace,
With no less honour to the Antiates,

Than shame to the Romans; and we here deliver,
Subscribed by the consuls and patricians,
Together with the seal o' the senate, what
We have compounded on.

Auf.

Read it not, noble lords;

But tell the traitor, in the highest degree He hath abus'd your powers.

Cor. Traitor !-How now?

Auf. Cor.

Ay, traitor Marcius.

Marcius! Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius: dost thou thing 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, like
A twist of rotten silk, never admitting
Counsel o'the war; but at his nurse's tears
He whin'd and roar'd away your victory;
That pages blush'd at him and men of heart
Look'd wondering each at other.

Cor.

Hear'st thou, Mars? Auf Name not the god, thou boy of tears,Cor.

Auf. No more.

Ha!

Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart Too great for what contains it. Boy! O slave!Pardon me, lords, 'tis 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,
Stain all your edges on me.-Boy. False hound!
If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there
That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I

Flutter'd your Volces in Corioli:
Alone I did it.-Boy!

Auf.

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 fa ther.

2 Lord. Peace, ho! no outrage;-peace.
The man is noble, and his fame folds in
This orb o' the earth. His last offence to us
Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius,
And trouble not the peace.

Cor.
O, that I had him,
With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe,
To use my lawful sword!
Auf.

Insolent villain!

Con. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him,
[AUFIDIUS and the Conspirators draw, and kill
CORIOLANUS, who fulls, and AUFIDIUS stands
on him.

Lords.
Hold, hold, hold, hold.
Auf. My noble masters, hear me speak.
1 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.

1 Lord.
Bear from hence his body,
And mourn you for him: let him be regarded
As the most noble corse 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 struck with sorrow.-Take him up :-
Help, three o' the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one.-
Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully;
Trail your steel 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.-

Assist. [Exeunt, bearing the body of CORIOLANUS; a dead march sounded.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

JULIUS CESAR.

OCTAVIUS CESAR,

MARCUS ANTONIUS,

M. EMIL. LEPIDUS,

Julius Cæsar.

CICERO, PUBLIUS, POPILIUS LENA; Senators.

MARCUS BRUTUS,

CASSIUS,

SCENE I.-Rome. A Street.

Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and a rabble of
Citizens.

Flav. Hence; home, you idle creatures; get you home!

Is this a holiday? what! know you not,
Being mechanical, you ought not walk,
Upon a labouring day, without the sign

Of your profession ?-Speak, what trade art thou P 1 Cit, Why, sir, a carpenter.

Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule? What dost thou with thy best apparel on?You, sir-what trade are you

2 Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler.

Mar. But what trade art thou ? Answer me directly. 2 Cit. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.

Mar. What trade, thou knave; thou naughty knave, what trade?

2 Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me; yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you.

Mar. What meanest thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow ?

2 Cit. Why, sir, cobble you.

Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou?

2 Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl: I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, a eurgeon to old shoes: when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neat'sleather, have gone upon my handywork,

Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? 2 Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holyday, to see Cæsar, and to rejoice in his triumph.

Mar. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home ?

What tributaries follow him to Rome,

To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels ?
You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless

things!

O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft

And, when you saw his chariot but appear,
Have you not made a universal shout,
That Tiber trembled underneath her banks,
To hear the replication of your sounds,
Made in her concave shores ?
And do you now put on your best attire ?
And do you now call out a holyday?
And do you now strew flowers in his way,
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood?
Be gone;

Run to your houses, fall upon your knees,
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague
That needs must light on this ingratitude.

Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and for this fault,
Assemble all the poor men of your sort:
Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears
Into the channel, till the lowest stream
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.

[Exeunt Citizens,
See, whe'r their basest metal be not mov'd;
They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.
Go you down that way towards the Capitol;
This way will I: disrobe the images,

If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies.
Mar. May we do so?

You know it is the feast of Lupercal.

Flav. It is no matter; let no images

Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about,
And drive away the vulgar from the streets;
So do you, too, where you perceive them thick.
These growing feathers pluck'd from Cæsar's wing,
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch;
Who else would soar above the view of men,
And keep us all in servile fearfulness.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.- The Same. A Public Place. Enter in procession with music, CESAR; ANTONY, for the course; CALPHURNIA, PORTIA, DECIUS, CICERO, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, and CASCA; a great crowd following; among them a Soothsayer. Cæs. Calphurnia,— Cusca.

Cæs.

Peace, ho! Cæsar speaks.
[Music ceases.、
Calphurnia,--

Cal. Here, my lord.
Ces. Stand you directly in Antonius' way,
When he doth run his course,-Antonius,
Ant. Cæsar, my lord.

Cæs. Forget not in your speed, Antonius,
To touch Caiphurnia: for our elders say,
The barren, touched in this holy chase,
Shake off their steril curse.

Ant, I shall remember; When Cæsar, says, Do this, it is perform'd. Cæs. Set on; and leave no ceremony out. [Music. Sooth, Cæsar.

Cæs. Ha? Who calls P

Casca. Bid every noise be still:-Peace yet again. [Music ceases.

Cæs. Who is it in the press, that calls on me?
I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music,
Cry, Cæsar-Speak; Cæsar is turned to hear.
Sooth. Beware the ides of March.
Cæs.
What man is that?
Bru. A soothsayer, bids you beware the ides of
March.

Cas. Set him before me,-let me see his face.
Cas. Fellow, come from the throng: look upon

Cæsar.

Cæs. What say'st thou to me, now? Speak once again.

Sooth. Beware the ides of March,
Cas. He is a dreamer; let us leave him ;-pass.
LSennet. Exeunt all but BRU. and CA3,