So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before,
To say, thou'lt enter friendly.
2 Sen.

Throw thy glove,
Or any token of thine honour else,
That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress,
And not as our confusion, all thy powers
Shall make their harbour in our town, till we
Have seal'd thy full desire.
Alcib.

Then there's my glove;
Descend, and open your uncharged ports:
Those enemies of Timon's, and mine own,
Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof,
Fall, and no more: and, -to atone your fears
With my more noble meaning, -not a man
Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream
Of regular justice in your city's bounds,
But shall be remedied, to your publick laws
At heaviest answer.
Both.

'Tis most nobly spoken. Alcib. Descend, and keep your words.

The Senators descend, and

open

the gates.

Enter a Soldier.

Sol. My noble general, Timon is dead; Entomb'd

upon

the

very hem o’the sea: And, on his grave-stone, this insculpture; which With wax I brought away, whose soft impression Interprets for my poor ignorance. Alcib. [Reads.] Here lies a wretched corse, of

wretched soul bereft: Seek not my name: A plague consume you wicked

caitiffs left.

Here lie I Timon; who, alive, all living men did hate: Pass by, and curse thy fill; but pass, and stay not here

thy gait. These well express in thee thy latter spirits: Though thou abhorr’dst in us our human griefs, Scorn'dst our brain's flow, and those our droplets

which From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead Is noble Timon; of whose memory Hereafter more.—Bring me into your city, And I will use the olive with my sword: Make war breed peace; make peace stint war;

make each Prescribe to other, as each other's leech. Let our drums strike.

[Exeunt.

Auf......

What's thy name? Cor. Prepare thy brow to frown: Know'st thou

me yet?

Coriolanus.

A

TRAGEDY,

BY

WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.

ACCURATELY PRINTED

FROM THE TEXT OF

MR. STEEVENS'S LAST EDITION.