Corio. Martius? Auf. I Martius, Caius Martius: Do'st thou thinke Ile grace thee with that Robbery, thy stolne name Coriolanus in Corioles? You Lords and Heads a'th' State, perfidiously He ha's betray'd your businesse, and giuen vp For certaine drops of Salt, your City Rome: I say your City to his Wife and Mother, Breaking his Oath and Resolution, like A twist of rotten Silke, neuer admitting Counsaile a'th' warre: But at his Nurses teares He whin'd and roar'd away your Victory, That Pages blush'd at him, and men of heart Look'd wond'ring each at others Corio. Hear'st thou Mars? Auf. Name not the God, thou boy of Teares Corio. Ha? Aufid. No more Corio. Measurelesse Lyar, thou hast made my heart Too great for what containes it. Boy? Oh Slaue, Pardon me Lords, 'tis the first time that euer I was forc'd to scoul'd. Your iudgments my graue Lords Must giue this Curre the Lye: and his owne Notion, Who weares my stripes imprest vpon him, that Must beare my beating to his Graue, shall ioyne To thrust the Lye vnto him 1 Lord. Peace both, and heare me speake Corio. Cut me to peeces Volces men and Lads, Staine all your edges on me. Boy, false Hound: If you haue writ your Annales true, 'tis there, That like an Eagle in a Doue-coat, I Flatter'd your Volcians in Corioles. Alone I did it, Boy Auf. Why Noble Lords, Will you be put in minde of his blinde Fortune, Which was your shame, by this vnholy Braggart? 'Fore your owne eyes, and eares? All Consp. Let him dye for't All People. Teare him to peeces, do it presently: He kill'd my Sonne, my daughter, he kill'd my Cosine Marcus, he kill'd my Father 2 Lord. Peace hoe: no outrage, peace: The man is Noble, and his Fame folds in This Orbe o'th' earth: His last offences to vs Shall haue Iudicious hearing. Stand Auffidius, And trouble not the peace Corio. O that I had him, with six Auffidiusses, or more: His Tribe, to vse my lawfull Sword Auf. Insolent Villaine All Consp. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him. Draw both the Conspirators, and kils Martius, who falles, Auffidius stands on him Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold Auf. My Noble Masters, heare me speake 1.Lord. O Tullus 2.Lord. Thou hast done a deed, whereat Valour will weepe 3.Lord. Tread not vpon him Masters, all be quiet, Put vp your Swords Auf. My Lords, When you shall know (as in this Rage Prouok'd by him, you cannot) the great danger Which this mans life did owe you, you'l reioyce That he is thus cut off. Please it your Honours To call me to your Senate, Ile deliuer My selfe your loyall Seruant, or endure Your heauiest Censure 1.Lord. Beare from hence his body, And mourne you for him. Let him be regarded As the most Noble Coarse, that euer Herald Did follow to his Vrne 2.Lord. His owne impatience, Takes from Auffidius a great part of blame: Let's make the Best of it