Auf. I vnderstand thee well, and be thou sure When he shall come to his account, he knowes not What I can vrge against him, although it seemes And so he thinkes, and is no lesse apparant To th' vulgar eye, that he beares all things fairely: And shewes good Husbandry for the Volcian State, Fights Dragon-like, and does atcheeue as soone As draw his Sword: yet he hath left vndone That which shall breake his necke, or hazard mine, When ere we come to our account Lieu. Sir, I beseech you, think you he'l carry Rome? Auf. All places yeelds to him ere he sits downe, And the Nobility of Rome are his: The Senators and Patricians loue him too: The Tribunes are no Soldiers: and their people Will be as rash in the repeale, as hasty To expell him thence. I thinke hee'l be to Rome As is the Aspray to the Fish, who takes it By Soueraignty of Nature. First, he was A Noble seruant to them, but he could not Carry his Honors eeuen: whether 'twas Pride Which out of dayly Fortune euer taints The happy man; whether detect of iudgement, To faile in the disposing of those chances Which he was Lord of: or whether Nature, Not to be other then one thing, not moouing From th' Caske to th' Cushion: but commanding peace Euen with the same austerity and garbe, As he controll'd the warre. But one of these (As he hath spices of them all) not all, For I dare so farre free him, made him fear'd, So hated, and so banish'd: but he ha's a Merit To choake it in the vtt'rance: So our Vertue, Lie in th' interpretation of the time, And power vnto it selfe most commendable, Hath not a Tombe so euident as a Chaire T' extoll what it hath done. One fire driues out one fire; one Naile, one Naile; Rights by rights fouler, strengths by strengths do faile. Come let's away: when Caius Rome is thine, Thou art poor'st of all; then shortly art thou mine. Exeunt. Actus Quintus. Enter Menenius, Cominius, Sicinius, Brutus, the two Tribunes, with others. Menen. No, ile not go: you heare what he hath said Which was sometime his Generall: who loued him In a most deere particular. He call'd me Father: But what o'that? Go you that banish'd him A Mile before his Tent, fall downe, and knee The way into his mercy: Nay, if he coy'd To heare Cominius speake, Ile keepe at home Com. He would not seeme to know me Menen. Do you heare? Com. Yet one time he did call me by my name: I vrg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops That we haue bled together. Coriolanus He would not answer too: Forbad all Names, He was a kinde of Nothing, Titlelesse, Till he had forg'd himselfe a name a'th' fire Of burning Rome Menen. Why so: you haue made good worke: A paire of Tribunes, that haue wrack'd for Rome, To make Coales cheape: A Noble memory Com. I minded him, how Royall 'twas to pardon When it was lesse expected. He replyed It was a bare petition of a State To one whom they had punish'd Menen. Very well, could he say lesse