Coriolanus

he’ll be to Rome
As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it
By sovereignty of nature. First he was
A noble servant to them; but he could not
Carry his honours even: whether ’twas pride,
Which out of daily fortune ever taints
The happy man; whether defect of judgment,
To fail in the disposing of those chances
Which he was lord of; or whether nature,
Not to be other than one thing, not moving
From the casque to the cushion, but commanding peace
Even with the same austerity and garb
As he controll’d the war; but one of these⁠—
As he hath spices of them all, not all,
For I dare so far free him⁠—made him fear’d,
So hated, and so banish’d: but he has a merit,
To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues
Lie in the interpretation of the time:
And power, unto itself most commendable,
Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair
To extol what it hath done.
One fire drives out one fire; one nail, one nail;
Rights by rights falter, strengths by strengths do fail.
Come, let’s away. When, Caius, Rome is thine,
Thou art poor’st of all; then shortly art thou mine. Exeunt.

Act V

Scene I

Rome. A public place.

	Enter Menenius, Cominius, Sicinius, Brutus, and others.
Menenius	No, I’ll not go: you hear what he hath said Which was sometime his general; who loved him In a most dear particular. He call’d me father: But what o’ that? Go, you that banish’d him; A mile before his tent fall down, and knee The way into his mercy: nay, if he coy’d To hear Cominius speak, I’ll keep at home.
Cominius	He would not seem to know me.
Menenius	Do you hear?
Cominius	Yet one time he did call me by my name: I urged our old acquaintance, and the drops That we have bled together. Coriolanus He would not answer to: forbad all names; He was a kind of nothing, titleless, Till he had forged himself a name o’ the fire Of burning Rome.
Menenius	Why, so: you have made good work! A pair of tribunes that have rack’d for Rome, To make coals cheap⁠—a noble memory!
Cominius	I minded him how royal ’twas to pardon When it was less expected: he replied, It was a bare petition of a state To one whom they had punish’d.
Menenius	Very well: Could he say less?
Cominius	I offer’d to awaken his regard For’s private friends: his answer to me was, He could not stay to pick them in a pile Of noisome musty chaff: he said ’twas folly, For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt, And still to nose the offence.
Menenius	For one poor grain or two! I am one of those; his mother, wife, his child, And this brave fellow too, we are the grains: You are the musty chaff; and you are smelt Above the moon: we must be burnt for you.
Sicinius	Nay, pray, be patient: if you refuse your aid In this so never-needed help, yet do not Upbraid’s with our distress. But, sure, if you Would be your country’s pleader, your good tongue, More than the instant army we can make, Might stop our countryman.
Menenius	No, I’ll not meddle.
Sicinius	Pray you, go to him.
Menenius	What should I do?
Brutus	Only make trial what your love can do For Rome, towards Marcius.
Menenius	Well, and say that Marcius Return me, as Cominius is return’d, Unheard; what then? But as a discontented friend, grief-shot With his unkindness? say’t be so?
Sicinius	Yet your good will Must have that thanks from Rome, after the measure As you intended well.
Menenius	I’ll undertake’t: I think he’ll hear me. Yet, to bite his lip And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me. He was not taken well; he had not dined: The veins unfill’d, our blood is cold, and then We pout upon the morning, are unapt To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff’d These and these conveyances of our blood With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls Than in our priest-like fasts: therefore I’ll watch him Till he be dieted to my request, And then I’ll set upon him.
Brutus	You know the very road into his kindness, And cannot lose your way.
Menenius	Good faith, I’ll prove him, Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge Of my success. Exit.
Cominius	He’ll never hear him.
Sicinius	Not?
Cominius	I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye Red as ’twould burn Rome; and his injury The gaoler to his pity. I kneel’d before him; ’Twas very faintly he said “Rise;” dismiss’d me Thus, with his speechless hand: what he would do, He sent in writing after me; what he would not, Bound with an oath to yield to his conditions: So that all hope is vain, Unless his noble mother, and his wife; Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him For mercy to his country. Therefore, let’s hence, And with our fair entreaties haste them on. Exeunt.

Scene II

Entrance of the Volscian camp before Rome. Two Sentinels on guard.

	Enter to them, Menenius.
First Senator	Stay: whence are you?
Second Senator	Stand, and go back.
Menenius	You guard like men; ’tis well: but, by your leave, I am an officer of state, and come To speak with Coriolanus.
First Senator	From whence?
Menenius	From Rome.
First Senator	You may not pass, you must return: our general Will no more hear from thence.
Second Senator	You’ll see your Rome embraced with fire before You’ll speak with Coriolanus.
Menenius	Good my friends, If you have heard your general talk of Rome, And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks, My name hath touch’d your ears: it is Menenius.
First Senator	Be it so; go back: the virtue of your name Is not here passable.
Menenius	I tell thee, fellow, The general is my lover: I have been The book of his good acts, whence men have read His name unparallel’d, haply amplified; For I have ever verified my friends, Of whom he’s chief, with all the size that verity Would without lapsing suffer: nay, sometimes, Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground, I have tumbled past the throw; and in his praise Have almost stamp’d the leasing: therefore, fellow, I must have leave to pass.
First Senator	Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in his behalf as you have uttered words in your own, you should not