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Enter Coriclanus. Cor. A goodly house: The feast smells well: but I Appear not like a guest.
Re-enter the first Servant. i Sero. What would you have, friend? Whence are you? Here's no place for you: Pray, go to the door.
Cor. I have deserv'd no better entertainment, In being Coriolanus.
Re-enter second Servant. 2 Serv. Whence are you, sir? Has the porter his eyes in his head, that he gives entrance to such companions? Pray, get you out.
2 Serv. Are you so brave? I'll have you talk'd with anon.
Enter a third Servant. The first meets him. 3 Serv. What fellow's this?
1 Serv. A strange one as ever I look'd on: I cannot get him o'the house: Pr’ythee, call my master to him.
3 Serv. What have you to do here, fellow? Pray you, avoid the house. Cor. Let me but stand; I will not hurt your
Cor. A gentleman.
3 Serv. Pray you, poor gentleman, take up some other station : here's no place for you; pray you, avoid: come.
Cor. Follow your function, go. And batten on cold bits. [Pushes him amay.
3 Sero. What, will you not? Pr’ythee, tell my master what a strange guest he has here. 2 Serv. And I shall.
[Exit. 3 Sero. Where dwell'st thou? Cor. Under the canopy. 3 Sero. Under the canopy? Cor. Ay. 3 Sero. Where's that? Cor. l' the city of kites and crows.
3 Sero. l' the city of kites and crows?—What an ass it is!—Then thou dwell'st with daws too?
Cor. No, I serve not thy master.
3 Sero. How, sir! Do you meddle with my master?
Cor. Ay; 'tis an honester service, than to meddle with thy mistress: Thou prat’st, and prat'st; serve with thy trencher, hence!
[Beats him away.
Enter Aufidius and the second Servant.
2 Serv. Here, sir; I'd have beaten him like a dog, but for disturbing the lords within.
Auf. Whence comest thou? what wouldest thou?
Thy name? Why speak’st not? Speak, man: What's thy name? Cor.
If, Tullus, [unmuffling. Not yet thou know'st me, and seeing me, dost not Think me for the man I am, necessity Commands me name myself. Auf.
What is thy name?
[Servants retire. Cor. A name unmusical to the Volcians' ears, . And harsh in sound to thine. Auf.
Say, what's thy name?
Cor. My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done
Whoop'd out of Rome. Now, this extremity
tunes Thou art tir'd, then, in a word, I also am Longer to live most weary, and present My throat to thee, and to thy ancient malice: Which not to cut, would show thee but a fool; Since I have ever follow'd thee with hate, Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast, And cannot live but to thy shame, unless It be to do thee service. Auf.
O Marcius, Marcius, Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my
heart A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter Should from yon cloud speak divine things, and
'Tis true; I'd not believe them more than thee,