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- Edition: Coriolanus
Coriolanus (Folio 1, 1623)
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- Facsimiles
3570Enter Menenius and Sicinius.
3572Sicin. Why what of that?
3575cially his Mother, may preuaile with him. But I say, there
3577execution.
3579condition of a man.
3582growne from Man to Dragon: He has wings, hee's more
3583then a creeping thing.
3584Sicin. He lou'd his Mother deerely.
3585Mene. So did he mee: and he no more remembers his
3587of his face, sowres ripe Grapes. When he walks, he moues
3589ding. He is able to pierce a Corslet with his eye: Talkes
3590like a knell, and his hum is a Battery. He sits in his State,
3591as a thing made for Alexander. What he bids bee done, is
3593Eternity, and a Heauen to Throne in.
3594Sicin. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly.
3596cy his Mother shall bring from him: There is no more
3597mercy in him, then there is milke in a male-Tyger, that
3599Sicin. The Gods be good vnto vs.
3603Enter a Messenger.
Mess.
The Tragedie of Coriolanus. 29
3605The Plebeians haue got your Fellow Tribune,
3606And hale him vp and downe; all swearing, if
3607The Romane Ladies bring not comfort home,
3608They'l giue him death by Inches.
3609Enter another Messenger.
3610Sicin. What's the Newes?
3611Mess. Good Newes, good newes, the Ladies haue (preuayl'd,
3612The Volcians are dislodg'd, and Martius gone:
3613A merrier day did neuer yet greet Rome,
3614No, not th' expulsion of the Tarquins.
3615Sicin. Friend, art thou certaine this is true?
3616Is't most certaine.
3618Where haue you lurk'd that you make doubt of it:
3619Ne're through an Arch so hurried the blowne Tide,
3620As the recomforted through th' gates. Why harke you:
3621Trumpets, Hoboyes, Drums beate, altogether.
3622The Trumpets, Sack-buts, Psalteries, and Fifes,
3623Tabors, and Symboles, and the showting Romans,
3624Make the Sunne dance. Hearke you. A shout within
3625Mene. This is good Newes:
3626I will go meete the Ladies. This Volumnia,
3627Is worth of Consuls, Senators, Patricians,
3628A City full: Of Tribunes such as you,
3629A Sea and Land full: you haue pray'd well to day:
3630This Morning, for ten thousand of your throates,
3631I'de not haue giuen a doit. Harke, how they ioy.
3632Sound still with the Shouts.
3634Next, accept my thankefulnesse.
3636Sicin. They are neere the City.