CORIOLANUS. I would they were barbarians, as they are, Though in Rome littered, not Romans, as they are not, Though calved i’ th’ porch o’ th’ Capitol. MENENIUS. Begone! Put not your worthy rage into your tongue. One time will owe another. CORIOLANUS. On fair ground I could beat forty of them. MENENIUS. I could myself Take up a brace o’ th’ best of them, yea, the two tribunes. COMINIUS. But now ’tis odds beyond arithmetic, And manhood is called foolery when it stands Against a falling fabric. Will you hence, Before the tag return, whose rage doth rend Like interrupted waters, and o’erbear What they are used to bear? MENENIUS. Pray you, begone. I’ll try whether my old wit be in request With those that have but little. This must be patched With cloth of any colour. COMINIUS. Nay, come away. [_Exeunt Coriolanus and Cominius._] PATRICIAN. This man has marred his fortune. MENENIUS. His nature is too noble for the world. He would not flatter Neptune for his trident Or Jove for’s power to thunder. His heart’s his mouth; What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent, And, being angry, does forget that ever He heard the name of death. [_A noise within._] Here’s goodly work. PATRICIAN. I would they were abed! MENENIUS. I would they were in Tiber! What the vengeance, Could he not speak ’em fair? Enter Brutus and Sicinius with the rabble again. SICINIUS. Where is this viper That would depopulate the city and Be every man himself? MENENIUS. You worthy tribunes— SICINIUS. He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock With rigorous hands. He hath resisted law, And therefore law shall scorn him further trial Than the severity of the public power Which he so sets at naught. FIRST CITIZEN. He shall well know The noble tribunes are the people’s mouths, And we their hands. ALL PLEBEIANS. He shall, sure on’t. MENENIUS. Sir, sir— SICINIUS. Peace! MENENIUS. Do not cry havoc where you should but hunt With modest warrant. SICINIUS. Sir, how comes’t that you Have holp to make this rescue? MENENIUS. Hear me speak. As I do know the Consul’s worthiness, So can I name his faults. SICINIUS. Consul? What consul? MENENIUS. The consul Coriolanus. BRUTUS. He consul? ALL PLEBEIANS. No, no, no, no, no! MENENIUS. If, by the Tribunes’ leave, and yours, good people, I may be heard, I would crave a word or two, The which shall turn you to no further harm Than so much loss of time. SICINIUS. Speak briefly then, For we are peremptory to dispatch This viperous traitor. To eject him hence Were but one danger, and to keep him here Our certain death. Therefore it is decreed He dies tonight. MENENIUS. Now the good gods forbid That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude Towards her deserved children is enrolled In Jove’s own book, like an unnatural dam Should now eat up her own. SICINIUS. He’s a disease that must be cut away.