Enter Coriolanus.

Cor. A goodly house: The feast smells well: but I Appear not like a guest.

Re-enter the first Servant.

1 Serv. 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.

Cor. Away!

2 Serv. Away? Get you away.

Cor. Now thou art troublesome.

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 hearth.

s Serv. What are you?

Cor. A gentleman.

3 Serv. A marvellous poor one.

Cor. True, so I am.

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.

3 Serv. Where dwell'st thou?

Cor. Under the canopy.

3 Serv. Under the canopy?

Cor. Ay.

3 Serv. Where's that?

Cor. I' the city of kites and crows.

[Exit.

3 Serv. I' 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 Serv. 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.

Auf. Where is this fellow?

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?

[Sercants retire.

Cor. A name unmusical to the Volcians' ears, And harsh in sound to thine.

Auf.

Say, what's thy name? Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face Bears a command in't; though thy tackle's torn, Thou show'st a noble vessel: What's thy name? Cor. Prepare thy brow to frown: Know'st thou me yet?

Auf. I know thee not:-Thy name?

Cor. My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done To thee particularly, and to all the Volces, Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may My surname, Coriolanus: The painful service, The extreme dangers, and the drops of blood Shed for my thankless country, are requited But with that surname; a good memory,

And witness of the malice and displeasure Which thou should'st bear me: only that name remains;

The cruelty and envy of the people,

Permitted by our dastard nobles, who

Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest;

And suffer'd me by the voice of slaves to be

Whoop'd out of Rome. Now, this extremity
Hath brought me to thy hearth; Not out of hope,
Mistake me not, to save my life; for if

I had fear'd death, of all the men i' the world
I would have 'voided thee: but in mere spite,
To be full quit of those my banishers,

Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast
A heart of wreak in thee, that will revenge
Thine own particular wrongs, and stop those maims
Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee
straight,

And make my misery serve thy turn; so use it,
That my revengeful services may prove
As benefits to thee; for I will fight

Against my canker'd country with the spleen

Of all the under fiends. But if so be

Thou dar'st not this, and that to prove more for

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

say,

'Tis true; I'd not believe them more than thee,
All noble Marcius.-O, let me twine

Mine arms about that body, where against
My grained ash an hundred times hath broke,
And scar'd the moon with splinters! Here I clip
The anvil of my sword; and do contest
As hotly and as nobly with thy love,
As ever in ambitious strength I did
Contend against thy valour. Know thou first,
I lov'd the maid I married; never man

Sigh'd truer breath; but that I see thee here,
Thou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart,
Than when I first my wedded mistress saw
Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars! I tell thee,
We have a power on foot; and I had purpose
Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn,
Or lose mine arm for't: Thou hast beat me out
Twelve several times, and I have nightly since
Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me;
We have been down together in my sleep,
Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat,
And wak'd half dead with nothing. Worthy Mar-

cius,

Had we no quarrel else to Rome, but that
Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster all
From twelve to seventy; and, pouring war
Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome,

Like a bold flood o'er-beat. O, come, go in,
And take our friendly senators by the hands;
Who now are here, taking their leaves of me,
Who am prepar'd against your territories,
Though not for Rome itself.