MENENIUS

What work's my Countrymen in hand? Where go you with Bats and Clubs? The matter Speak I pray you. I tell you Friends, most charitable care Have the Patricians of you for your wants. Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well Strike at the Heaven with your staves, as lift them Against the Roman State, whose course will on The way it takes: cracking ten thousand Curbs Of more strong link asunder, then can ever Appear in your impediment. For the Dearth, The Gods, not the Patricians make it, and Your knees to them (not arms) must help. Alack, You are transported by Calamity Thither, where more attends you, and you slander The Helms of that State; who care for you Like Father's, When you curse them, as Enemies. There was a time, when all the bodies members Rebelled against the Belly; thus accused it: That only Like a Gulf it did remain In that midst a the body, idle and unactive, Still cubbording the Viand, never bearing Like labour with the rest, where the other Instruments Did see, and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel, And mutually participate, did minister Unto the appetite; and affection common Of the whole body, the Belly answered. Sir, I shall tell you with a kind of Smile, Which never came from the Lungs, but even thus: For look you I may make the belly Smile, As well as speak, it taintingly replied To the discontented Members, the mutinous parts That envied his receit: even so most fitly, As you malign our Senators, for that They are not such as you. What then? Foreme, this Fellow speaks. What then? What then? Well, what then? I will tell you, If you'll bestow a small (of what you have little) Patience awhile; you'st hear the Bellies answer. Note me this good Friend; Your most graven Belly was deliberate, Not rash Like his Accusers, and thus answered. True is it my Incorporate Friends (quoth he) That I receive the general Food at first Which you do live upon: and fit it is, Because I am the Storehouse, and the Shop Of the whole Body. But, if you do remember, I send it through the Rivers of your blood Even to the Court, the Heart, to the seat of the Brain, And through the Cranks and Offices of man, The strongest Nerves, and small inferior Veins From me receive that natural competency Whereby they live. And though that all at once (You my good Friends, this says the Belly) mark me. Though all at once, cannot See what I do deliver out to each, Yet I can make my Awdit up, that all From me do back receive the Flower of all, And leave me but the Bran. What say you too't? The Senators of Room, are this good Belly, And you the mutinous Members: For examine Their Counsels, and their Cares; digest things rightly, Touching the Weal of that Common, you shall find No public benefit which you receive But it proceeds, or comes from them to you, And no way from your selves. What do you think? You, the great Toe of this Assembly? For that being one of that lowest, basest, poorest Of this most wise Rebellion, thou goest foremost: Thou Rascal, that art worst in blood to run, Leadest first to win some vantage. But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs, Room, and her Rats, are at the point of battle, The one side must have bail. Hail, Noble Martius. For Corn at their own rates, whereof they say The City is well stored. O truebred. The Agurer tells me, we shall have News to night. Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Martius. Pray you, who does the Wolf love? I, to devour him, as the hungry Plebeians would the Noble Martius. He's a Bear indeed, that lives Like a Lamb. You two are old men, tell me one thing that I shall ask you. In what enormity is Martius poor in, that you two have not in abundance? This is strange now: Do you two know, how you are censured here in the City, I mean of us of the right hand File, do you? Because you talk of Pride now, will you not be angry. Why it's no great matter: for a very little thief of Occasion, will rob you of a great deal of Patience: Give your dispositions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures (at the least) if you take it as a pleasure to you, in being so: you blame Martius for being proud. I know you can do very little alone, for your helps are many, or else your actions would grow wone drous single: your abilities are to Infantlike, for doing much alone. You talk of Pride: O, that you could turn your eyes towards the Napes of your necks, and make but and Interior survey of your good selves. O that you could. Why then you should discover a brace of un meriting, proud, violent, testy Magistrates (alias Fools) as any in Room. I am known to be a humorous Patrician, and one that loves a cup of hight Wine, with not a drop of allay king Tiber in't: Said, to be something imperfect in fauou ring the first complaint, hasty and Tinder-like upon, to trivial motion: One, that converses more with the But tocke of the night, then with the forehead of the morning. What I think, I utter, and spend my malice in my breath. Meeting two such Weals men as you are (I cannot call you Licurgusses, ) if the drink you give me, touch my Pa lat adversely, I make a crooked face at it, I can say, your Worships have delivered the matter well, when I find the Ass in compound, with the Mayor partly of your Sulla bles. And though I must be content to bear with those, that say you are reverend graven men, yet they lie deadly, that tell you have good faces, if you see this in the Map of my Microcosm, follows it that I am known well e nough too? What harm can your beesome Conspectui ties glean out of this Character, if I be known well e nough too. Our very Priests must become Mockers, if they shall encounter such ridiculous Subjects as you are, when you speak best unto the purpose. It is not Worth the wagging of your Beards, and your Beards deserve not so honourable a graven, as to stuff a Butchers Cushion, or to be entombed in and Asses Packe-saddle; yet you must be saying, Martius is proud: who in a cheap estimation, is worth all your predecessors, since Deucalion, though per adventure some of the best of they were hereditary hang men. Godden to your Worships, more of your conuer sation would infect my Brain, being the Herdsmen of the Beastly Plebeans. I will be bold to take my leave of you. How now (my as fair as Noble) Ladies, and the Moon were she Earthly, no Nobler; whither do you follow your Eyes so fast? O Sir, you are not right: have you not known The worthiest men have done't? You'll mar all. I'll leave you: Pray you speak to em, I pray you In wholesome manner. Come, come, you have been too rough, something too rough: you must return, and mend it. Prithee fellow, remember my name is Menenius, always factionary on the party of your General. Why Master's, my good Friends, mine honest Neighbours, will you undo your selves? Either you must Confess your selves wondrous Malicious, Or be accused of Folly. I shall tell you A pretty Tale, it may be you have herd it, But since it serves my purpose, I will venture To scale't a little more. Nay these are almost thoroughly persuaded: For though abundantly they lack discretion Yet are they passing Cowardly. But I beseech you, What says the other Troop? What is granted them? This is strange. You know neither me, your selves, nor any thing: you are ambitious, for poor knaves caps and legs: you wear out a good wholesome Forenoon, in hearing a cause between and Orendge wife, and a Forset seller, and then reiourne the Controversy of threepence to a second day of Audience. When you are hearing a matter between party and party, if you chance to be pinched with the Colic, you make faces Like Mum mers, set up the bloody Flag against all Patience, and in roaring for a Chamber-pot, dismiss the Controversy bleeding, the more entangled by your hearing: All the peace you make in their Cause, is calling both the parties Knaves. You are a pair of strange ones. Would? Martius coming home? Take my Cap Jupiter, and I thank thee: ho, Martius coming home? I will make my very house reel to night: A Letter for me? A Letter for me? it gives me and Estate of see ven years health; in which time, I will make a Lip at the Physician: The most sovereign Prescription in Galen, is but Empiric qutique; and to this Preservative, of no better report then a Horse-drench. Is he not wounded? he was wont to come home wounded? So do I too, if it be not too much: brings a Victory in his Pocket? the wounds become him. Ha he disciplined Auffidius soundly? And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him that: and he had stayed by him, I would not have been so fiddious'd, for all the Chests in Carioles, and the Gold that's in them. Is the Senate possessed of this? Wondrous: I, I warrant you, and not with out his true purchasing. Having determined of the Volces, And to send for Titus Lartius: it remains, As the main Point of this our after-meeting, To gratify his Noble service, that hath Thus stood for his Country. Therefore please you, Most reverend and graven Elders, to desire The present Consul, and last General, In our well-found Successes, to report A little of that worthy Work, performed By Martius Caius Coriolanus: whom We met here, both to thank, and to remember, With Honours Like himself. That's off, that's off: I would you rather had been silent: Please you to hear Cominius speak? He loves your People, but tie him not to be their Bedfellow: Worthy Cominius speak. Nay, keep your place. Pray now fit down. Master's of the People, Your multiplying Spawn, how can he flatter? That's thousand to one good one, when you now see He had rather venture all his Limbs for Honour, Then on ones Ears to hear it. Proceed Cominius. Worthy man. He's right Noble, let him be called for. The Senate, Coriolanus, are well pleased to make thee Consul. It then remains, that you do speak to the People. Put them not too't: Pray you go fit you to the Custom, And take to you, as your Predecessors have, Your Honour with your form. Do not stand vpon't: We recommend to you Tribunes of the People Our purpose to them, and to our Noble Consul Wish we all Joy, and Honour. O me the Gods, you must not speak of that, You must desire them to think upon you. Now the good Gods forbid, That our renowned Room whose gratitude Towards her deserved Children, is enrolled In Jove's own Book, Like and unnatural Dam Should now eat up her own. The service of the foot Being once gangrened, is not then respected For what before it was. One word more, one word: This Tiger-footed-rage, when it shall find The harm of vnskan'd swiftness, will (too late) Tie Leaden pounds too's heals. Proceed by Process, Least parties (as he is beloved) break out, And sack great Room with Romans. I'll bring him to you. Let me desire your company: he must come, Or what is worst will follow. Noble Lady, Come go with us, speak fair: you may salve so, Not what is dangerous present, but the lose Of what is passed. This but done, Even as she speaks, why their hearts were yours: For they have Pardons, being asked, as free, As words to little purpose. Only fair speech. I, but mildly. That's worthily As any ear can hear. Come, let's not weep, If I could shake off but one seven years From these old arms and legs, by the good Gods I'd with thee, every foot. Peace, peace, be not so loud. Come, come, peace. No, I'll not go: you hear what he hath said Which was sometime his General: who loved him In a most deer particular. He called me Father: But what o'that? Go you that banished him A Mile before his Tent, fallen down, and knee The way into his mercy: Nay, if he coyed To hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home. Do you hear? Why so: you have made good work: A pair of Tribunes, that have wracked for Room, To make Coals cheap: A Noble memory. Very well, could he say less. 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 smelled Above the Moon. We must be burned for you. I neither care for the world, nor your General: for such things as you. I can scarce think ther's any, you are so slight. He that hath a will to die by himself, fears it not from another: Let your General do his worst. For you, be that you are, long; and your misery increase with your age. I say to you, as I was said to, Away. True? I'll be sworn they are true: where is he wounded, God save your good Worships? Martius is coming home: he ha more cause to be proud: where is he wounded? One ith' Neck, and two ith' Thigh, there's nine that I know. Now it's twenty seven; every gash was and Enemies Grave. Hark, the Trumpets. Now the Gods Crown thee. A hundred thousand Welcomes: I could weep, and I could laugh, I am light, and heavy; welcome: A Curse begin at very root on's heart, That is not glad to see thee. You are three, that Room should dote on: Yet by the faith of men, we have Some old Crabtrees here at home, That will not be grafted to your Rallish. Yet welcome Warriors: We call a Nettle, but a Nettle; And the faults of fools, but folly. You have stood your Limitation: And the Tribunes endue you with the Peoples Voice, Remains, that in the Official Marks invested, You anon do meet the Senate. I'll keep you company. Will you along? The matter? Be calm, be calm. Let's be calm. Not now, not now. Well, no more. What, what? His Choler? Well, well, no more of that. Come enough. On both sides more respect. What is about to be? I am out of Breath, Confusions near, I cannot speak. You, Tribunes To the people: Coriolanus, patience: Speak good Sicinius. Fie, fie, fie, this is the way to kindle, not to quench. And so are Like to do. Hear me one word, beseech you Tribunes, hear me but a word. Be that you seem, truly your Countries friend, And temp rately proceed to what you would Thus violently redress. Down with that Sword, Tribunes withdraw a while. Help Martius, help: you that be noble, help him young and old. Go, get you to our House: be gone, away. All will be nought else. Shall it be put to that? For it's a Soar upon us, You cannot Tent your self: be gone, beseech you. I would they were Barbarians, as they are, Though in Room littered not Roman, as they are not, Though calved in the Porch of the Capitol: Be gone, put not your worthy Rage into your Tongue, One time will owe another. I could my self take up a Brace of the best of them, yea, the two Tribunes. Pray you be gone: I'll try whither my old Wit be in request With those that have but little: this must be patched With Cloth of any Colour. His nature is too noble for the World: He would not flatter Neptune for his Trident, Or Jove, for's power to Thunder: his Heart's his Mouth: What his Breast forges, that his Tongue must vent, And being angry, does forget that ever He herd the Name of Death. Here's goodly work. I would they were in Tiber. What the vengeance, could he not speak they fair? You worthy Tribunes. Sir, sir. Here me speak? As I do know The Consuls worthiness, so can I name his Faults. The Consul Coriolanus. If by the Tribunes leave, And yours good people, I may be herd, I would crave a word or two, The which shall turn you to no further harm, Then so much lose of time. O he's a Limb, that ha but a Disease Mortal, to cut it off: to cure it, easy. What ha he done to Room, that's worthy death? Killing our Enemies, the blood he hath lost (Which I dare vouch, is more then that he hath By many and Ounce) he dropped it for his Country: And what is left, to lose it by his Country, Were to us all that doo't, and suffer it A brand to the end a 'th World. Consider this: He ha been bred in the Wars Since a could draw a Sword, and is ill schooled In bolted Language: Meal and Bran together He throws without distinction. Give me leave, I'll go to him, and undertake to bring him in peace, Where he shall answer by a lawful Form (In peace) to his utmost peril. Well said, Noble woman: Before he should thus stoop to the heart, but that The violent fit of the time craves it as Physic For the whole State; I would put mine Armour on, Which I can scarcely bear. Return to the Tribunes. Repent, what you have spoke. A good demand. Calmly, I do beseech you. A Noble wish. Lo Citizens, he says he is Content. The warlike Service he ha done, consider: Think Upon the wounds his body bears, which show Like Graves in that holy Churchyard. Consider further: That when he speaks not Like a Citizen, You find him Like a Soldier: do not take His rougher Actions for malicious sounds: But as I say, such as become a Soldier, Rather then envy you. Nay temperately: your promise. Is this the promise that you made your mother. You have told them home, And by my troth you have cause: you'll Sup with me. Fie, fie, fie. Hail to you both. All's well, and might have be much better, if he could have temporized. Nay I hear nothing: His Mother and his wife, hear nothing from him. I think not so. It's Auffidius, Who hearing of our Martius Banishment, Thrusts forth his horns again into the world Which were In-shell'd, when Martius stood for Room, And durst not once peep out. Cannot be? We have Record, that very well it can, And three examples of the Like, hath been Within my Age. But reason with the fellow Before you punish him, where he herd this, Least you shall chance to whip your Information, And beat the Messenger, who bids beware Of what is to be dreaded. This is unlikely, He, and Auffidius can no more atone Then violentest Contrariety. What news? What news? What's the news? What's the news? Pray now, your News: You have made fair work I fear me: pray your news, If Martius should be joined with Volceans. You have made good work, You and your Apron men: you, that stood so much Upon the voice of occupation, and The breath of Garlicke-eaters. As Hercules did shake down Mellow Fruit You have made fair work. We are all undone, unless The Noble man have mercy. How? Was't we? We loved him, But Like Beasts, and Cowardly Nobles, Gave way unto your Clusters, who did hoot Him out of the City. Here come the Clusters. And is Auffidius with him? You are they That made the Air unwholesome, when you cast Your stinking, greasy Caps, in hooting At Coriolanus Exile. Now he's coming, And not a hair upon a Soldiers head Which will not prove a whip: As many Coxcombs As you threw Caps up, will he tumble down, And pay you for your voices. It's no matter, If he could burn us all into one coal, We have deserved it. You have made good work You and your cry. Shall's to the Capitol? No: I'll not meddle. What should I do? Well, and say that Martius return me, As Cominius is returned, unheard: what then? But as a discontented Friend, greefe-shot With his unkindness. Say't be so? I'll vndertak't: I think he'll hear me. Yet to bite his lip, And humme at good Cominius, much vnhearts me. He was not taken well, he had not dined, The Veins unfilled, our blood is cold, and then We powt upon the Morning, are unapt To give or to forgive; but when we have stuffed These Pipes, and these Conveyances of our blood With Wine and Feeding, we have suppler Souls Then in our Priestlike Fasts: therefore I'll watch him Till he be dieted to my request, And then I'll set upon him. Good faith I'll prove him, Speed how it will. I shall ere long, have knowledge Of my success. From Room. Good my Friends, If you have herd your General talk of Room, And of his Friends there, it is Lots to Blanks, My name hath touched your ears: it is Menenius. I tell thee Fellow, Thy General is my Lover: I have been The book of his good Acts, whence men have read His Fame vnparolell'd, happily amplified: For I have ever verified my Friends (Of whom he's chief) with all the size that verity Would without lapsing suffer Nay, sometime, Like to a Bowl upon a subtle ground I have tumbled passed the throw: and in his praise Have (almost) stamped the Leasing. Therefore Fellow, I must have leave to pass. Ha he dined canst thou tell? For I would not speak with him, till after dinner. I am as thy General is. Sirrah, if thy Captain knew I were here, He would use me with estimation. I mean thy General. Nay but Fellow, Fellow. Now you Companion: I'll say and arrant for you: you shall know now that I am in estimation: you shall perceive, that a Jack gardant cannot office me from my Son Coriolanus, guess but my entertainment with him: if thou standest not in that state of hanging, or of some death more long in Spectatorship, and crueler in suffering, be hold now presently, and swooned for what's to come upon thee. The glorious Gods fit in hourly Synod about thy particular prosperity, and love thee no worse then thy old Father Menenius do's. Oh my Son, my Soul thou art pre paring fire for us: look thee, here's water to quench it. I was hardly moved to come to thee: but being assured none but my self could move thee, I have be blown out of your Gates with sighs: and conjure thee to par done Room, and thy petitionary Countrymen. The good Gods assuage thy wrath, and turn the dregs of it, upon this Varlet here: This, who Like a block hath denied my access to thee. How? Away? See you yoned Coin of that Capitol, you corner stone? If it be possible for you to displace it with your little finger, there is some hope the Ladies of Room, espe cially his Mother, may prevail with him. But I say, there is no hope in't, our throats are sentenced, and stay upon execution. There is difference between a Grub & a But terfly, yet your Butterfly was a Grub: this Martius, is grown from Man to Dragon: He has wings, he's more then a creeping thing. So did he me: and he no more remembers his Mother now, then and eight year old horse. The rareness of his face, sours ripe Grapes. When he walks, he moves Like and Engine, and the ground shrinks before his Trea ding. He is able to pierce a Corflet with his eye: Talks Like a knell, and his hum is a Battery. He sits in his State, as a thing made for Alexander. What he bids be done, is finished with his bidding. He wants nothing of a God but Eternity, and a Heaven to Throne in. I paint him in the Character. Mark what mere cy his Mother shall bring from him: There is no more mercy in him, then there is milk in a male-Tyger, that shall our poor City find: and all this is long of you. No, in such a case the Gods will not be good unto us. When we banished him, we respected not them: and he returning to break our necks, they respect not us. This is good News: I will go meet the Ladies. This Volumnia, Is worth of Consuls, Senators, Patricians, A City full: Of Tribunes such as you, A Sea and Land full: you have prayed well to day: This Morning, for ten thousand of your throats, I'de not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy. Do not cry havoc, where you should but hunt With modest warrant. It's true, if he were putting to my house, the brand That should consume it, I have not the face To say, beseech you cease. You have made fair hands, You and your Crafts, you have crafted fair. You guard Like men, it's well. But by your leave, I am and Officer of State, & come to speak with Coriolanus