BRUTUS.
But since he hath
Served well for Rome—
CORIOLANUS.
What do you prate of service?
BRUTUS.
I talk of that that know it.
CORIOLANUS.
You?
MENENIUS.
Is this the promise that you made your mother?
COMINIUS.
Know, I pray you—
CORIOLANUS.
I’ll know no further.
Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death,
Vagabond exile, flaying, pent to linger
But with a grain a day, I would not buy
Their mercy at the price of one fair word,
Nor check my courage for what they can give,
To have’t with saying “Good morrow.”
SICINIUS.
For that he has,
As much as in him lies, from time to time
Envied against the people, seeking means
To pluck away their power, as now at last
Given hostile strokes, and that not in the presence
Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers
That do distribute it, in the name o’ th’ people
And in the power of us the Tribunes, we,
Even from this instant, banish him our city
In peril of precipitation
From off the rock Tarpeian, never more
To enter our Rome gates. I’ th’ people’s name,
I say it shall be so.
ALL PLEBEIANS.
It shall be so, it shall be so! Let him away!
He’s banished, and it shall be so.
COMINIUS.
Hear me, my masters and my common friends—