MENENIUS. O, he’s a limb that has but a disease— Mortal to cut it off; to cure it easy. What has he done to Rome that’s worthy death? Killing our enemies, the blood he hath lost— Which I dare vouch is more than that he hath By many an ounce—he dropt it for his country; And what is left, to lose it by his country Were to us all, that do’t and suffer it A brand to th’ end o’ th’ world. SICINIUS. This is clean cam. BRUTUS. Merely awry. When he did love his country, It honoured him. MENENIUS. The service of the foot, Being once gangrened, is not then respected For what before it was. BRUTUS. We’ll hear no more. Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence, Lest his infection, being of catching nature, Spread further. MENENIUS. One word more, one word! This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find The harm of unscanned swiftness, will too late, Tie leaden pounds to’s heels. Proceed by process, Lest parties—as he is beloved—break out And sack great Rome with Romans. BRUTUS. If it were so— SICINIUS. What do ye talk? Have we not had a taste of his obedience? Our aediles smote! Ourselves resisted? Come. MENENIUS. Consider this: he has been bred i’ th’ wars Since he could draw a sword, and is ill schooled In bolted language; meal and bran together He throws without distinction. Give me leave, I’ll go to him and undertake to bring him Where he shall answer by a lawful form, In peace, to his utmost peril. FIRST SENATOR. Noble tribunes, It is the humane way: the other course Will prove too bloody, and the end of it Unknown to the beginning. SICINIUS. Noble Menenius, Be you then as the people’s officer.— Masters, lay down your weapons. BRUTUS. Go not home. SICINIUS. Meet on the marketplace. We’ll attend you there, Where if you bring not Martius, we’ll proceed In our first way. MENENIUS. I’ll bring him to you. [_To Senators_.] Let me desire your company. He must come, Or what is worst will follow. FIRST SENATOR. Pray you, let’s to him. [_Exeunt._] SCENE II. Rome. A room in Coriolanus’s house Enter Coriolanus with Nobles. CORIOLANUS. Let them pull all about mine ears, present me Death on the wheel or at wild horses’ heels, Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock, That the precipitation might down stretch Below the beam of sight, yet will I still Be thus to them. FIRST PATRICIAN. You do the nobler. CORIOLANUS. I muse my mother Does not approve me further, who was wont To call them woollen vassals, things created To buy and sell with groats, to show bare heads In congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonder When one but of my ordinance stood up To speak of peace or war. Enter Volumnia. I talk of you. Why did you wish me milder? Would you have me False to my nature? Rather say I play The man I am. VOLUMNIA. O, sir, sir, sir, I would have had you put your power well on Before you had worn it out. CORIOLANUS. Let go.