Here's goodly worke Patri. I would they were a bed Mene. I would they were in Tyber. What the vengeance, could he not speake 'em faire? Enter Brutus and Sicinius with the rabble againe. Sicin. Where is this Viper, That would depopulate the city, & be euery man himself Mene. You worthy Tribunes Sicin. He shall be throwne downe the Tarpeian rock With rigorous hands: he hath resisted Law, And therefore Law shall scorne him further Triall Then the seuerity of the publike Power, Which he so sets at naught 1 Cit. He shall well know the Noble Tribunes are The peoples mouths, and we their hands All. He shall sure ont Mene. Sir, sir Sicin. Peace Me. Do not cry hauocke, where you shold but hunt With modest warrant Sicin. Sir, how com'st that you haue holpe To make this rescue? Mene. Heere me speake? As I do know The Consuls worthinesse, so can I name his Faults Sicin. Consull? what Consull? Mene. The Consull Coriolanus Bru. He Consull All. No, no, no, no, no Mene. If by the Tribunes leaue, And yours good people, I may be heard, I would craue a word or two, The which shall turne you to no further harme, Then so much losse of time Sic. Speake breefely then, For we are peremptory to dispatch This Viporous Traitor: to eiect him hence Were but one danger, and to keepe him heere Our certaine death: therefore it is decreed, He dyes to night Menen. Now the good Gods forbid, That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude Towards her deserued Children, is enroll'd In Ioues owne Booke, like an vnnaturall Dam Should now eate vp her owne Sicin. He's a Disease that must be cut away Mene. Oh he's a Limbe, that ha's but a Disease Mortall, to cut it off: to cure it, easie. What ha's he done to Rome, that's worthy death? Killing our Enemies, the blood he hath lost (Which I dare vouch, is more then that he hath By many an Ounce) he dropp'd it for his Country: And what is left, to loose it by his Countrey, Were to vs all that doo't, and suffer it A brand to th' end a'th World Sicin. This is cleane kamme Brut. Meerely awry: When he did loue his Country, it honour'd him Menen. The seruice of the foote Being once gangren'd, is not then respected For what before it was Bru. Wee'l heare no more: Pursue him to his house, and plucke him thence, Least his infection being of catching nature, Spred further Menen. One word more, one word: This Tiger-footed-rage, when it shall find The harme of vnskan'd swiftnesse, will (too late) Tye Leaden pounds too's heeles. Proceed by Processe, Least parties (as he is belou'd) breake out, And sacke great Rome with Romanes Brut. If it were so? Sicin. What do ye talke? Haue we not had a taste of his Obedience? Our Ediles smot: our selues resisted: come