All. You so remaine Mene. And so are like to doe Com. That is the way to lay the Citie flat, To bring the Roofe to the Foundation, And burie all, which yet distinctly raunges In heapes, and piles of Ruine Scici. This deserues Death Brut. Or let vs stand to our Authoritie, Or let vs lose it: we doe here pronounce, Vpon the part o'th' People, in whose power We were elected theirs, Martius is worthy Of present Death Scici. Therefore lay hold of him: Beare him toth' Rock Tarpeian, and from thence Into destruction cast him Brut. aediles seize him All Ple. Yeeld Martius, yeeld Mene. Heare me one word, 'beseech you Tribunes, heare me but a word Aediles. Peace, peace Mene. Be that you seeme, truly your Countries friend, And temp'rately proceed to what you would Thus violently redresse Brut. Sir, those cold wayes, That seeme like prudent helpes, are very poysonous, Where the Disease is violent. Lay hands vpon him, And beare him to the Rock. Corio. drawes his Sword. Corio. No, Ile die here: There's some among you haue beheld me fighting, Come trie vpon your selues, what you haue seene me Mene. Downe with that Sword, Tribunes withdraw a while Brut. Lay hands vpon him Mene. Helpe Martius, helpe: you that be noble, helpe him young and old All. Downe with him, downe with him. Exeunt. In this Mutinie, the Tribunes, the aediles, and the People are beat in. Mene. Goe, get you to our House: be gone, away. All will be naught else 2.Sena. Get you gone Com. Stand fast, we haue as many friends as enemies Mene. Shall it be put to that? Sena. The Gods forbid: I prythee noble friend, home to thy House, Leaue vs to cure this Cause Mene. For 'tis a Sore vpon vs, You cannot Tent your selfe: be gone, 'beseech you Corio. Come Sir, along with vs Mene. I would they were Barbarians, as they are, Though in Rome litter'd: not Romans, as they are not, Though calued i'th' Porch o'th' Capitoll: Be gone, put not your worthy Rage into your Tongue, One time will owe another Corio. On faire ground, I could beat fortie of them Mene. I could my selfe take vp a Brace o'th' best of them, yea, the two Tribunes Com. But now 'tis oddes beyond Arithmetick, And Manhood is call'd Foolerie, when it stands Against a falling Fabrick. Will you hence, Before the Tagge returne? whose Rage doth rend Like interrupted Waters, and o're-beare What they are vs'd to beare Mene. Pray you be gone: Ile trie whether my old Wit be in request With those that haue but little: this must be patcht With Cloth of any Colour Com. Nay, come away. Exeunt. Coriolanus and Cominius. Patri. This man ha's marr'd his fortune Mene. His nature is too noble for the World: He would not flatter Neptune for his Trident, Or Ioue, for's power to Thunder: his Heart's his Mouth: What his Brest forges, that his Tongue must vent, And being angry, does forget that euer He heard the Name of Death. A Noise within.