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Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart Too great for what contains it. Boy! O slave!Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever

I was forc'd to scold. Your judgements, my grave


Must give this cur the lie: and his own notion (Who wears my stripes impress'd on him; that must


My beating to his grave;) shall join to thrust
The lie unto him.

1 Lord.

Peace, both, and hear me speak. Cor. Cut me to pieces, Volces; men and lads, Stain all your edges on me.-Boy! False hound! If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there, That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I

Flutter'd your Volces in Corioli:

Alone I did it.-Boy!


Why, noble lords,

Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune,

Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart,

'Fore your own eyes and ears?

Con. Let him die for't.

[Several speak at once.

Cit. [speaking promiscuously.] Tear him to pieces, do it presently. He kill'd my son;—my daughter; -He kill'd my cousin Marcus;-He kill'd my father.

2 Lord. Peace, ho;- -no outrage;-peace, The man is noble, and his fame folds in

This orb o' the earth 69. His last offence to us

Shall have judicious hearing.-Stand, Aufidius,

And trouble not the peace.


O, that I had him,

With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe,

To use my lawful sword!


Insolent villain!

Con, Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him.


[Aufidius and the Conspirators draw, and kill Coriolanus, who falls, and Aufidius

stands on him.

Hold, hold, hold, hold.

Auf. My noble masters, hear me speak.

1 Lord.

O Tullus,

2 Lord. Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will


3 Lord. Tread not upon him.-Masters all, be


Put up your swords.

Auf. My lords, when you shall know (as in this rage, Provok'd by him, you cannot,) the great danger Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours To call me to your senate, I'll deliver

Myself your loyal servant, or endure

Your heaviest censure.

1 Lord.

Bear from hence his body,

And mourn you for him: let him be regarded
As the most noble corse, that ever herald
Did follow to his urn.

2 Lord.

His own impatience

Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame.
Let's make the best of it.


My rage is gone,

And I am struck with sorrow.-Take him up:-
Help, three o' the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one.-
Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully:
Trail your steel pikes.-Though in this city he
Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one,
Which to this hour bewail the injury,
Yet he shall have a noble memory.—


[Exeunt, bearing the body of Coriolanus. A dead march sounded.





-WITH our pikes, ere we become rakes:] It was Shakspeare's design to make this fellow quibble all the way. But time, who has done greater things, has here stifled a miserable joke; which was then the same as if it had been now wrote, Let us now revenge this with forks, ere we become rakes: for pikes then signified the same as forks do now. So Jewel in his own translation of his Apology, turns Christianos ad furcas condemnare, to-To condemn Christians to the pikes. But the Oxford editor, without knowing any thing of this, has with great sagacity found out the joke, and reads, on his own authority, pitch-forks.


It is plain that, in our author's time, we had the proverb, as lean as a rake. Of this proverb the original is obscure. Rake now signifies a dissolute man, a man worn out with disease and debauchery. But the signification is, I think, much more modern than the

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